N O T S P A C E – Isandril
The Man who was The Shadow Over Himself stood perched atop the metallic head of the pseudo-mechanical monster, chest heaving with heavy breaths as the ecstasy of Notspace power wafted about him in a manner unlike he had experienced in untold millennia. His gossamer form stood almost puppet-like, taller than any average man yet utterly dwarfed by the Dendril monstrosity upon which he mounted. Wide shoulders, long white-blonde hair that fell unkempt in his face, hunched over slightly, arms curled with clenched fingers and a wide, psychotic grin almost a caricature of real expression.
All around them, the ghosts of Isandril moved in their unreality. The tall, waiflike humanoids – white-blonde hair, palest skin, eyes with white irises – they went about their business in the image of a land long, long gone. A green land, where palm-trees like bioluminescent jellyfish exploding in the sky to rain still and glowing above, where buildings towered in silvery mirroring glory, where sleek little vehicles darted about in the sky of deepest azure, where clouds of alabaster swirled high above. Where a sky blacker than blackest night, devoid of stars, lacking a sun – yet all was lighted to perfect clarity. Impossibility. The image of the First People as they had been so long ago, inconceivably long ago – before the holocaust that wiped them out of existence for all eternity.
The man took one last deep breath.
“A lo̴nģ̷̴ ̡tí̷̷me in̢͡͝d͏̴eed̨͢..." He said, quietly, voice sultry and deep like tattered silk. “Do you remember, Big Brother? The last time we were here together? Do you remember how they sc͏̕ŗea̕ḿ̢è͢d̸ and b҉̀e͜g̨͘g̷̴̷e̸͏d͝ and d̤i͕̻͍̘͉ͅḛ̵̫̟̰̗͉̩ḑ̖̤̠ beneath our cla͝ws?" The ancient Dendril did, of course, remember. How could it not? It had been the Glory Day. The last day of the First People. The beginning of everything. The younger Dendril would not have been around quite as long, however. It was a special memory for the Old One and The Shadow Over Himself to share in their remembrance of bloodlust long past…and now returning.
The man could not restrain a devious chortle any longer, yet he spoke through it. “Ye҉̶s, Y̠̣̟̞͘Ę̭̼̻̘͖͟S̶̛̞̠̮͔̜̤̳͉!̷̶͍̣̭̰̣̠͚̙" He clenched his fists tighter, reveling in the icy warmth of the power that surrounded him. When the majority of his existential conscience had been focused aboard the Dendril battleship – where a small part of it did still remain, flitting about, incorporeal – the feeling of being surrounded, immersed within Notspace was fleeting, but here it was like being one with a glacial tide of paradoxical wonder beyond the comprehension even of his mind.
His mind.
“I kn̷͘͟o҉҉w̵ what ͠I̧ ̴am̷." He incanted, mumbling quietly, reciting the most ancient words. “I s҉͞e̵̶͏e my͘s̷ȩl҉f a҉s͜ I̧ ̢am, a̸̕s̶̸ ͠I̡̕͠ ̶͟͞a̕̕m ̛̕n̶̡ot̨.̢͏.҉̕." But the anticipation of this moment was too great and he again burst into laughter, interrupting the sacred incantation which, at its heart, was more formality than anything else. Why bother, he decided?
Flamboyantly he raised his arms, then swept into a crouching position, gripping the great Dendril beast’s head where he pearched. Hands in white gloves at the end of the grey suit arms, fingers inconsequential against the sleek metallic surface of the ancient being he so affectionately referred to as ‘Big Brother’. Sentimentality, of course.
His power was weak in reality, but this was not reality. This was Notspace, where the ghosts of the First People moved around them, where the world looked green and alive when in reality it was desolate and dead. It was unreality incarnate, and here where the power of the Quantum Mechanics would be at its greatest, as was his blasphemous, unholy ability at its maximum potential. He focused himself into almost full being now, concentrating his will and his consciousness into this single unreal body, and he smiled the wide toothy grin and he signed a great sigh.
“C̛o̵̵m̴̶͡e̶ ͡f̧̕o҉̴rt̀h̵̵̕,͢͡ ̶my͏ b̶̕͡r̨̀o̴̧ţ̸h͞er̶̢͜ś̕͝!͏̕" He bellowed suddenly, clinging to the surface of the ancient Dendril’s head as though he might be shaken from it. “Today we ravage the machine-city of I̷̧̢͕̻ͅś̳̦͉ͅa̶̢̘͖͡n̖̙͉̺͞d̨̢̧͖͕̻r̭̻͈͕̺̲̦̫ì͎͠ͅl̤̗͙ once more! We wreak v̜̺̹͓͉̺e̲͇̣͞ngeance upon them y̛et͞ ͘aga̕i̡n̸ for their d̛ef̡iance of ọ̥̹̹̼̥͎͠u̪̯̻͕͇r͖̠̞̲̬̪ ͅḺ̼͔̪͔̺a͙̪͝d̜͇͕͞y, for daring to question her laws of Time and Sp͏̘̝̞̠̻̻a͖͚̼͢ce, for attempting to investigate that utter e͇̦̭̭̼ͅͅv̶͏̩̦̻i̲̞̩̩̣͟ͅl̵̵̖͖̻ͅ in which we so long ago sealed away in this terrible place. It will be sealed here for eternity! Có̢m̀̀e̷̷ ́f͢ort̵͏h!̴͘ Ç̀͏̻͇̫o̟̬͚̯͇͙̠̝m͖̱̱͘͠é̷̢͈̤ ̸̠͜f̢̝̮̫o͝҉̣̲̹͍͍̲̜͡r͟҉̼͎̣̹͈̙ͅͅt̛̳͙͓̖̯͘h̤̘̰̖̳͖̗̝̺͘!͏̴̞͚̙̦͓̣͙!̧̞̹̱͚͙͉̗͈̭͢"
And as he focused on his own being, so he focused on the existence of his ‘brethren’, the other Dendril aboard the vessels, who may or may not have been prepared for this development beforehand.
Here, where unreality was at its maximum, he could encompass his mind around more than the barely-existent apparition that was The Shadow Over Himself. He could bring the others into the incorporeality that he was and was not. The boundaries of Notspace physics were hardly to him what they would have been to a Mechanic…And since he was bound by no such religious doctrines as they…
All around them, the younger, smaller Dendril began to flicker into existence. They clung to the outside of the Isandril walls, despite the physical impossibility of it. Some appeared atop the walls, looking down into the city. They could see the city square, where the temporary research base had been constructed, then hastily abandoned. A few insignificant individuals scurried around, though the Dendril would dare not leap to attack without the word from their ‘like-it-or-not’ ‘commander’.
Indeed, the sensation they would be feeling now was unfamiliar. No Dendril had experienced anything approaching this state of existence, save for the Old One that The Shadow now mounted – and even he had only flitting impressions of the sensation from that first attack. It was here that his comrades could comprehend the true nature of simultaneous existence and nonexistence. To the Old One, it would be as a familiar dream suddenly coming to life. To the young ones it would be an uncertain undeath, a new memory flooding in upon them – an inconceivable power combined with the fluttering weakness of nonexistence. Likely they would be disoriented at first, but soon the feeling of their power would overwhelm them…Possibly to death.
An army of them had manifested, all but abandoning the ships entirely. Their slow approach temporarily ceased as the entire crew appeared as apparitions surrounding the city.
The pitiful human occupants fled to the central tower by consensus, trying to put as much space between them and the monsters as they could.
From the sky, a small, black transport ship came darting, having originated from the Stella Viventium. It was too small for any Dendril to bother with, as it dove straight down into the city center, seeking out the most important of staff worth saving. It was the only vessel fast enough to reach the surface in time. It would only be salvaging a very few, unless the onslaught could be fended off. But Rivierre’s security team had already begun to dwindle. They fired intermittently up at the Dendril ‘ghosts’ appearing atop the walls. More began to scurry over them the walls. They would begin to move slowly, encroaching in upon the towers, threatening to flood over the walls in inconceivable number.
Still more appeared outside the wall, stepping through the nonexistent images of the long-gone First People city. The force mounted to overwhelming majority.
Then, for a long and heavy moment, the finishing touches took place. The Shadow held them all in his mind as he held himself. They experienced the disorienting madness only in spattering flashes in the back of their alien minds.
Then he stood to full height, raised one arm and, looked across the city into the black eyes of his nemesis, smiling feverishly, insanely. His nemesis did not look back. He was not really there – but The Shadow Over Himself saw the black eyes, the scar, envisioned his target there in the depths of the city. He saw them in his mind, and to him they were real, and he would find them.
Then, flourishing, he descended his arm to signal the attack. His allies need not have seen the gesture to know it had been made.
“Att̢ack,́ mi̧ h̕er͟m̴a͟n͡es͏ d͝i͢m͢en͝sio͡na͘le͞s!͡ ̵L̴ea̴v̸e ͠n͏ǫ mo͝rt͜al ̵s͏tándi͢ng!̨ ͘Cu҉t t̵h̴em̕ d͏ow̨n wh̵e͞re̸ ̕t̢heỳ ̨c͞ow̡e̢ŗ! S̙̳͚̹̣l̳̘̙a̼̲͔͇̣̱ụ͚̼̙̙͞ͅͅg͚̤̲͠h̤͇͚̄̄̎ͤͣͥt̻̫͕͚̱͇e̻̣͕̼͉͕̰̕r̘̲̘̞̝̰ͅ t̡̤̲͓̤ͅh̢ẹ̹̣̪̱̣m̵̫̘̼̰ ̹̘̻͍̥̞͓a͎̜̘̠͕l̖̙͎͕̝͔͍͘l̦͔̳!̜͈̱̘̬̯͡!͠"
Many of the lesser Dendril would flood over the walls, pouring over en masse, overwhelming the narrow streets like a liquid of insectine mercury. Yet the remainder would simply stride through the walls as though no such wall existed. To them, to those who had particularly taken to The Shadow’s impossible mindset, they would be incorporeal – and yet deadly. They would be capable of moving through the walls and towers, yet equally capable of disemboweling pathetic human scientists and soldiers with their claws and other vicious apparatuses.
He too, gestured forth in assurance that his ‘Big Brother’ would step through the wall as easily as though it were naught but a trick of the light. Old One was much too large to fit within the narrow ‘streets’ and ‘corridors’ formed by the clustered towers, but there was no need for such physics now – Old One stood among the spires as a man disrupting a hologram projection…Yet with all the corporeality needed to decimate the pitiful humans scurrying about farther into the depth of the superstructure. The great creature’s projectile beams would likely end up wounding their own hoarde more than the puny, virtually inconsequential enemy however, so Old One might have preferred to keep to melee as they approached the scattering fodder...
The little black transport shuttle, piloted by a skillful, but otherwise irrelevant member of the shipside security team, came shooting through the atmosphere at an incredible speed but making virtually no fuss as it did so. It was a smaller version of the Bullet and, being an extension of the Stella Viventium itself, could operate normally within Notspace despite the technical differences between the ‘mother ship’ so ancient and itself. The pilot cursed as he looked down to the rapidly mounting offensive surrounding the city, paying little mind to the phantom First People who, he was already more-or-less aware, were inconsequential in their nonexistence.
HUD between the ship’s frontal port, his pilot goggles and BrainPal™ directed him efficiently as to how to home in on the most important targets – those being Security Chief Aleessa Rivierre, Chief Analyst Dorin Harkahn and, of course, the Captain and his wife…Not that anyone had heard a peep from them since the very beginning of this disastrous operation.
The ship was too small to be worth the time of any of the now mostly-corporeal Dendril attackers, and it was zippy enough that it would prove an inordinate hassle to strike. It had little trouble locating the orange blip that was the Security Chief Rivierre. It darted through the towers as the Dendril were beginning to crawl over and through the wall, descending on her position none too soon. She pinged the men closest to her position with orders to hold on as long as they could, and boarded.
Hanging on to a handhold and leaning out the open bay door of the little ship, she scanned for Harkahn’s signature – which the pilot and the Bullet were having a difficult time locking on to. But the woman was infuriated more than anything at the Captain, who had been despicably absent throughout the entire ordeal. She screamed at him, verbally, through BrainPal™ ”Where the @#$% is that piece of @#$% Captain!?” though to no avail.
Was he dead?
As the monsters began to come upon the helpless scientists, her security team fired back uselessly upon them. Their guns might have functioned as extensions of the Stella itself so long as they were in this oxygen environment, but their bullets would soar through their insectine enemies as nothing…And still their enemies would gore them nonetheless, spattering their innards in squelching masses all along the shimmering gilded towers, disemboweling them mercilessly, killing every last one, leaving blood and death in their wake.
The scientists would scatter throughout the city, and the hunt would commence as every last one was tracked and slaughtered indiscriminately by the metal bugs that existed, did not exist, and something terrible in between. It wouldn’t take long now for the carnage to begin.
Pausing from her rage at the Captain, she looked down as the two masses just began to converge about the towers. She knew very well that the entire operation was now a failure. The most she could hope for would be to rescue Dorin and, possibly, the Captain and Alexa...
Dorin Harkahn at last ceased his increasingly sluggish running, abruptly devoid of hope that he might find the Captain and learn from him what the next move was to be. Where was the man?
But it didn’t matter now, Dorin realized as, panting for breath, he turned to the east and witnessed climb over the wall a metallic monstrosity known only as a Dendril. His heart sank as, from his limited, distant vantage point, still more came flooding over the coppery walls. So then, it was over. The Captain was nowhere to be found – what could Rivierre’s security team possibly hope to do against something like that?
Inside the city walls, there was no trace of the ghost images that walked about in the long-dead city beyond, what hung there in the unreality-light like moving snapshots of a discarded past. In the city, he could look up and see only the blackness of the sky, which somehow illuminated his surroundings in dreamlike, shadowless light.
Dreamlike. That’s how it was now. Not even like a nightmare – even though he knew that his own death would be soon at hand.
Granted, he was far enough away from the creatures he had seen pouring over the wall that it would take some time yet for them to reach him, or even to find him – but suddenly it all looked bleak. Funny, he realized, how at the time of his imminent doom he would be so unnaturally calm. How at the verge of untold discovery, unprecedented scientific revelations – he would die gored at the claws of pincers of some reality-devouring cretin in the last remaining monument to the long-dead First People.
Where was the Captain when his people needed him the most?
Resolved to his fate, Dorin Harkahn leaned against one of the towering structures, looked down to the polished brass city floor, and pondered just how meaningless his life, and indeed the lives of all his colleagues had been.
As The Shadow Over Himself drew nearer into the heart of the city aboard the head of Old One, he gazed down at the ‘streets’ which would soon be filled with the scant, bloody remains of the hapless scientists and scanter-still security operatives, envisioning how beautifully they would die at the hands of his semi-corporeal ‘brethren’.
Grinning like the madman he was, The Shadow abruptly and without warning flickered out of existence, leaving Old One to continue his part of the massacre on his own – lacking none of the new and – to him vaguely familiar powers that The Shadow’s presence in Notspace had granted him.
But the man with the long, blonde hair and grey suit had allowed the flickering conscience that constituted his presence to move, teleporting instantaneously to another part of the city. Here it was quiet. He turned, and in the distance could see the last of his ‘brethren’ scurrying over the walls, and surely some scampering through it though they would be below the horizon of the towers.
Indeed, the silence was eerie here, in this unremarkable alleyway. He strode calmly, relishing the knowledge that just beyond the range of hearing, a massacre was about to take place. A slaughter the likes of which he had scarcely the pleasure of witnessing for so very, very long.
He rounded a corner and there, at the end of a clear stretch, was a man with rusty brown hair and a white coat. He had been exhaustedly leaning against one of the coppery pillars until seeing him – at which point the man stood up straighter, but did not flee.
The Shadow Over Himself strode toward the man, deciding that he was probably important enough to warrant some meager sliver of his attention, some insignificant portion of his shattered, broken, but expansive pseudo-consciousness.
It was unlike anything Dorin Harkahn had ever seen. The figure of a man stepping around the corner at the end of the corridor formed by happenstance of the towers around them. The man was abnormally tall, with broad shoulders and long limbs. His clothing was a grey suit, largely devoid of any significant markings, with white gloves on his hands – which were presently being held behind his back. His hair was white-blonde, falling loosely about his shoulders, obscuring much of his face – but not enough to hide the terrible, wicked, madman’s grin plastered across it. Nor did it obscure completely the ghost-pale skin.
And worst of all, it did not obscure the eyes – or what constituted eyes.
There were no eyes. Only great, largely-circular discs of glowing cyan-blue that seemed to explode out from where his eye sockets had once been. It was as though a detonation had occurred within the man’s skull, and the force had escaped via the eyes – blowing the skin and bone around them back until there were great gaping voids in the face that extended well up into the forehead and back to the bases of the ears. But it was difficult to look upon the decimated physiology of it, for the terrible, impossible blue that emanated from within the skull not only blurred the details, but created a migraine-inducing mental trauma to attempt to see. Space-time was broken there. The fiber of his being shattered and recreated a billion, billion times in less than the smallest divisible fraction of a millisecond. It made him dizzy to look at. The man himself flickered and fragmented, as though he was there but only by sheer force of will and concentration of being.
But Harkahn was beyond fear now. He stood up straight and did his best to stare the thing down.
Even as the roaring from above came into his hearing, indicating the approach of his salvation from certain doom, Harkahn did not take his eyes away from the splintering madness that was the blue emanating from the man’s face. It was as if the man was a shadow of a memory, the culmination of a mind that had been split and twisted beyond recognition, with terrible black-magic supersciences lost to the ages before time. Behind the man, the fabric of reality seemed to twist and erode and distort, as though his presence – or what constituted his ‘presence’ – was an utter, blasphemous affront to everything that had ever been meant to be. He was an abomination from the time before time.
The Shadow-Man stopped then, halting his forward stroll. It was impossible to tell where he was looking, though Harkahn imagined that his attention had been suddenly caught elsewhere. As Harkahn boarded the little Bullet, the Shadow-Man turned to look up at the sky, his grin fading at last.
As Harkahn was lifted away into the blackness above the doomed Isandril, it’s secrets barely grazed upon by the previously excited scientists and students and interns who would soon be slaughtered like baying cattle, the Shadow-Man returned his pseudo-gaze to the coppery floor of the superstructure city.
Dimly, he heard Rivierre saying something about abandoning the operation completely, returning to the ship and letting the Captain take his chances…if the bastard was even still alive at all.
Dimly, he perceived that someone from the Kingsbane – presumably their head Star-Class Astrophysicist – was trying to contact him via radio converted on his own end to BrainPal™, but to no avail.
Dimly, he was aware that something terrible had happened, and was happening – but that there was little to nothing at all he could do about it.
He, nor anyone else.
The Shadow Over Himself ceased his approach upon the man. The little black ship had not yet approached, yet something had occurred to him abruptly and it was disturbing. His grin had not faded, yet he had become still, frozen in time and space, if ever flickering and distorting the universe or Notspace in his immediate vicinity like some terrible plague of unreality and manipulation and corruption.
He looked upward, though outwardly he did not appear to move at all, for only a fraction of his entity was devoted to the things he did, regardless of what he was appearing to do.
He sensed as something – an entity ceased to be. He had not the cause previously to notice it at all. It was so insignificant. He had been so accustomed to them long ago, yet now in his fervor for destruction he had overlooked what might have very well been the last one.
The absolute last.
And, it died.
And despite that he was not like her – not quite – The Shadow found that he was, much to his own astonishment, sad.
Not crushingly so. Not abysmally. It was no tragedy. Indeed, it served only as the completion of a task which he and Big Brother had embarked on so very, very long ago.
But it was a task he had previously thought complete. They were all gone, he had thought. It was over.
And now, for the last second, for the single dying breath, he was to learn that one had survived.
And now it was dead. Not by his hand, nor by Big Brother’s…But by someone else.
And, in a way, this was a relief to him. None of it really mattered anyway.
Even as he re-examined the moment in his past, looked over and again experienced that overlooked memory – stronger now that he was paying attention to it. Tragic.
The pain was immense, he perceived. She had been sliced in half. It might have been a quick death, but no – not for her – for her it had been an eternity of unbearable agony. It had been a universe of nothing but pain – pain so fierce that it could not be called pain at all. It was a torture of the being beyond the most fundamental levels. It was, as he recalled now, the ultimate punishment. Not the act of slicing itself, but the result – the real Unbeing.
He was as well versed in the ancient, long-dead philosophy as any of them had been.
There were two states that mattered.
Being and UnBeing.
Regardless of all the other impossibilities and paradoxes which Notspace and the existence of the First People entailed, this was always true. Being and UnBeing. It was heinous to damn a Person into UnBeing. No such crime had ever been committed in the entire, convoluted and nonsensical history of the People that warranted such a heinous punishment.
He wondered absently what that last Person had done to deserve the ultimate punishment.
He wondered who it had been that brought such a terrible fate down upon her?
But as he sent out a flitting sliver of his consciousness to see, something unimaginably terrible warded him away. It sent a shiver down his spine. It wiped the wild smile off his face.
The Shadow Over Himself had looked, for a fleeting fraction of a second, into chaos unimaginable even by his own standard of fragmented madness. It was crimson unreality. It was a presence dwelling within that unholy abomination of a ship that was unlike anything that even he, with his mind shattered by the failed Quantum Process could not hope to comprehend.
Lady Dulcinea had to know about this immediately.
He could not imagine what it was, he dared not investigate. Even for all his insanity, he could not begin to fathom what unspeakable monstrosity was dwelling within that vessel. He had never experienced true, utter dread before that day. He had never witnessed what could only be described as the essence of chaos itself.
He knew not what it was, but he did not like it.
Having only barely tapped the slightest hint of the presence of that chaotic, abyssal entity, The Shadow looked back to the floor of the Isandril superstructure and contemplated what to do next. What to do now?
It was best not to think about the thing that he had almost unwittingly caught a glimpse of.
If merely knowing that it was there had affected him so…
What would have actually seeing it done?
All around Aelyn-Paeryc Petrovalyc, the floating monitors showed him from every possible vantage point the doom that was encroaching upon the city. He could see them all, even the hazy, virtually indistinguishable figure standing atop the head of the biggest, mechanical-scorpion-monster Dendril.
Out of the corner of his black eyes he watched as certain death swept down into and through the streets.
He spoke not a word of it. Alexa watched on with mounting, but unspoken concern…Yet, it was still detached.
Aelyn-Paeryc hunched over the primary monitor, fingers playing with the pseudo-holographic controls that glowed beneath his palms. Row upon row of incomprehensible, ancient-alien language flitted before his eyes. Data in incredible sums was translated directly from visual patterns into BrainPal™ and stored for transfer later. Indeed, the BrainPal™ had even established something approaching a direct link with the Isandril mainframe and was preparing to relate every scrap of precious data back to the Stella.
The two mainframes were, after all, compatible.
But A.P. was interested only in learning the next step. He had been following in his dead brother’s footsteps all this time. They had led him here. Certainly the next course of action had to be within this hyper-complex, First People computer. Surely some hint, some clue would be revealed that would continue his quest for Lost Earth of Sol. It had to!
Nothing else mattered.
Nothing.
As the Dendril hoarde finally began to meet up with the bulk of the helpless scientists and stand security team, Alex was at last moved to speak.
”Ael…” She began, but was cut off by her husband’s cool, dark gaze shifting momentarily to her own. He did not speak for a long moment, and then in quiet words and an unhurried, ice-cold tone he spoke.
”Let them die.”
The words sent shivers down Alex’s spine. ”They’re on their own. We have more important business to attend to.”
And, with a dull horror, Alex had to admit that he was right. After all, the search for Lost Earth of Sol was more important than the insignificant lives of a few paltry, expendable scientists and certainly more vital than the meaningless existences of a few security guns.
She sighed, returning her eyes to her own screen.
By the light of unreality, the couple worked away, seeking the final clue that would allow them to leave.
There was no rush.
They would be fine.
Even if the Dendril had found a way to transcend the concept of ‘matter’ within Notspace, what did they care? They were still impossible to harm, that much was inevitable. Undeniable. They would continue their work unhindered. Let the fools mount their attack. Nothing was going to stop them now. Not with the absurd power of the great Isandril itself at their fingertips.
Then, at last, a broad, wicked smile came over Aelyn-Paeryc’s face. He crossed his arms, standing up straight to gaze into that one little bit of data he had found.
Standard characters, hidden deep and cleverly within irrelevant data. Characters which only could have been inserted there by someone with knowledge of the language of Standard, which had been invented only in the time of Aelyn and Paeryc Petrovalyc themselves.
Paeryc Petrovalyc had transcended time, paradoxically met with the First People, and left a single string of letters for his older brother as a clue.
He spoke the word aloud, though Alexa need not have heard it to witness the importance on the screen.
”IRIA.”
The Man who was The Shadow Over Himself stood perched atop the metallic head of the pseudo-mechanical monster, chest heaving with heavy breaths as the ecstasy of Notspace power wafted about him in a manner unlike he had experienced in untold millennia. His gossamer form stood almost puppet-like, taller than any average man yet utterly dwarfed by the Dendril monstrosity upon which he mounted. Wide shoulders, long white-blonde hair that fell unkempt in his face, hunched over slightly, arms curled with clenched fingers and a wide, psychotic grin almost a caricature of real expression.
All around them, the ghosts of Isandril moved in their unreality. The tall, waiflike humanoids – white-blonde hair, palest skin, eyes with white irises – they went about their business in the image of a land long, long gone. A green land, where palm-trees like bioluminescent jellyfish exploding in the sky to rain still and glowing above, where buildings towered in silvery mirroring glory, where sleek little vehicles darted about in the sky of deepest azure, where clouds of alabaster swirled high above. Where a sky blacker than blackest night, devoid of stars, lacking a sun – yet all was lighted to perfect clarity. Impossibility. The image of the First People as they had been so long ago, inconceivably long ago – before the holocaust that wiped them out of existence for all eternity.
The man took one last deep breath.
“A lo̴nģ̷̴ ̡tí̷̷me in̢͡͝d͏̴eed̨͢..." He said, quietly, voice sultry and deep like tattered silk. “Do you remember, Big Brother? The last time we were here together? Do you remember how they sc͏̕ŗea̕ḿ̢è͢d̸ and b҉̀e͜g̨͘g̷̴̷e̸͏d͝ and d̤i͕̻͍̘͉ͅḛ̵̫̟̰̗͉̩ḑ̖̤̠ beneath our cla͝ws?" The ancient Dendril did, of course, remember. How could it not? It had been the Glory Day. The last day of the First People. The beginning of everything. The younger Dendril would not have been around quite as long, however. It was a special memory for the Old One and The Shadow Over Himself to share in their remembrance of bloodlust long past…and now returning.
The man could not restrain a devious chortle any longer, yet he spoke through it. “Ye҉̶s, Y̠̣̟̞͘Ę̭̼̻̘͖͟S̶̛̞̠̮͔̜̤̳͉!̷̶͍̣̭̰̣̠͚̙" He clenched his fists tighter, reveling in the icy warmth of the power that surrounded him. When the majority of his existential conscience had been focused aboard the Dendril battleship – where a small part of it did still remain, flitting about, incorporeal – the feeling of being surrounded, immersed within Notspace was fleeting, but here it was like being one with a glacial tide of paradoxical wonder beyond the comprehension even of his mind.
His mind.
“I kn̷͘͟o҉҉w̵ what ͠I̧ ̴am̷." He incanted, mumbling quietly, reciting the most ancient words. “I s҉͞e̵̶͏e my͘s̷ȩl҉f a҉s͜ I̧ ̢am, a̸̕s̶̸ ͠I̡̕͠ ̶͟͞a̕̕m ̛̕n̶̡ot̨.̢͏.҉̕." But the anticipation of this moment was too great and he again burst into laughter, interrupting the sacred incantation which, at its heart, was more formality than anything else. Why bother, he decided?
Flamboyantly he raised his arms, then swept into a crouching position, gripping the great Dendril beast’s head where he pearched. Hands in white gloves at the end of the grey suit arms, fingers inconsequential against the sleek metallic surface of the ancient being he so affectionately referred to as ‘Big Brother’. Sentimentality, of course.
His power was weak in reality, but this was not reality. This was Notspace, where the ghosts of the First People moved around them, where the world looked green and alive when in reality it was desolate and dead. It was unreality incarnate, and here where the power of the Quantum Mechanics would be at its greatest, as was his blasphemous, unholy ability at its maximum potential. He focused himself into almost full being now, concentrating his will and his consciousness into this single unreal body, and he smiled the wide toothy grin and he signed a great sigh.
“C̛o̵̵m̴̶͡e̶ ͡f̧̕o҉̴rt̀h̵̵̕,͢͡ ̶my͏ b̶̕͡r̨̀o̴̧ţ̸h͞er̶̢͜ś̕͝!͏̕" He bellowed suddenly, clinging to the surface of the ancient Dendril’s head as though he might be shaken from it. “Today we ravage the machine-city of I̷̧̢͕̻ͅś̳̦͉ͅa̶̢̘͖͡n̖̙͉̺͞d̨̢̧͖͕̻r̭̻͈͕̺̲̦̫ì͎͠ͅl̤̗͙ once more! We wreak v̜̺̹͓͉̺e̲͇̣͞ngeance upon them y̛et͞ ͘aga̕i̡n̸ for their d̛ef̡iance of ọ̥̹̹̼̥͎͠u̪̯̻͕͇r͖̠̞̲̬̪ ͅḺ̼͔̪͔̺a͙̪͝d̜͇͕͞y, for daring to question her laws of Time and Sp͏̘̝̞̠̻̻a͖͚̼͢ce, for attempting to investigate that utter e͇̦̭̭̼ͅͅv̶͏̩̦̻i̲̞̩̩̣͟ͅl̵̵̖͖̻ͅ in which we so long ago sealed away in this terrible place. It will be sealed here for eternity! Có̢m̀̀e̷̷ ́f͢ort̵͏h!̴͘ Ç̀͏̻͇̫o̟̬͚̯͇͙̠̝m͖̱̱͘͠é̷̢͈̤ ̸̠͜f̢̝̮̫o͝҉̣̲̹͍͍̲̜͡r͟҉̼͎̣̹͈̙ͅͅt̛̳͙͓̖̯͘h̤̘̰̖̳͖̗̝̺͘!͏̴̞͚̙̦͓̣͙!̧̞̹̱͚͙͉̗͈̭͢"
And as he focused on his own being, so he focused on the existence of his ‘brethren’, the other Dendril aboard the vessels, who may or may not have been prepared for this development beforehand.
Here, where unreality was at its maximum, he could encompass his mind around more than the barely-existent apparition that was The Shadow Over Himself. He could bring the others into the incorporeality that he was and was not. The boundaries of Notspace physics were hardly to him what they would have been to a Mechanic…And since he was bound by no such religious doctrines as they…
All around them, the younger, smaller Dendril began to flicker into existence. They clung to the outside of the Isandril walls, despite the physical impossibility of it. Some appeared atop the walls, looking down into the city. They could see the city square, where the temporary research base had been constructed, then hastily abandoned. A few insignificant individuals scurried around, though the Dendril would dare not leap to attack without the word from their ‘like-it-or-not’ ‘commander’.
Indeed, the sensation they would be feeling now was unfamiliar. No Dendril had experienced anything approaching this state of existence, save for the Old One that The Shadow now mounted – and even he had only flitting impressions of the sensation from that first attack. It was here that his comrades could comprehend the true nature of simultaneous existence and nonexistence. To the Old One, it would be as a familiar dream suddenly coming to life. To the young ones it would be an uncertain undeath, a new memory flooding in upon them – an inconceivable power combined with the fluttering weakness of nonexistence. Likely they would be disoriented at first, but soon the feeling of their power would overwhelm them…Possibly to death.
An army of them had manifested, all but abandoning the ships entirely. Their slow approach temporarily ceased as the entire crew appeared as apparitions surrounding the city.
The pitiful human occupants fled to the central tower by consensus, trying to put as much space between them and the monsters as they could.
From the sky, a small, black transport ship came darting, having originated from the Stella Viventium. It was too small for any Dendril to bother with, as it dove straight down into the city center, seeking out the most important of staff worth saving. It was the only vessel fast enough to reach the surface in time. It would only be salvaging a very few, unless the onslaught could be fended off. But Rivierre’s security team had already begun to dwindle. They fired intermittently up at the Dendril ‘ghosts’ appearing atop the walls. More began to scurry over them the walls. They would begin to move slowly, encroaching in upon the towers, threatening to flood over the walls in inconceivable number.
Still more appeared outside the wall, stepping through the nonexistent images of the long-gone First People city. The force mounted to overwhelming majority.
Then, for a long and heavy moment, the finishing touches took place. The Shadow held them all in his mind as he held himself. They experienced the disorienting madness only in spattering flashes in the back of their alien minds.
Then he stood to full height, raised one arm and, looked across the city into the black eyes of his nemesis, smiling feverishly, insanely. His nemesis did not look back. He was not really there – but The Shadow Over Himself saw the black eyes, the scar, envisioned his target there in the depths of the city. He saw them in his mind, and to him they were real, and he would find them.
Then, flourishing, he descended his arm to signal the attack. His allies need not have seen the gesture to know it had been made.
“Att̢ack,́ mi̧ h̕er͟m̴a͟n͡es͏ d͝i͢m͢en͝sio͡na͘le͞s!͡ ̵L̴ea̴v̸e ͠n͏ǫ mo͝rt͜al ̵s͏tándi͢ng!̨ ͘Cu҉t t̵h̴em̕ d͏ow̨n wh̵e͞re̸ ̕t̢heỳ ̨c͞ow̡e̢ŗ! S̙̳͚̹̣l̳̘̙a̼̲͔͇̣̱ụ͚̼̙̙͞ͅͅg͚̤̲͠h̤͇͚̄̄̎ͤͣͥt̻̫͕͚̱͇e̻̣͕̼͉͕̰̕r̘̲̘̞̝̰ͅ t̡̤̲͓̤ͅh̢ẹ̹̣̪̱̣m̵̫̘̼̰ ̹̘̻͍̥̞͓a͎̜̘̠͕l̖̙͎͕̝͔͍͘l̦͔̳!̜͈̱̘̬̯͡!͠"
Many of the lesser Dendril would flood over the walls, pouring over en masse, overwhelming the narrow streets like a liquid of insectine mercury. Yet the remainder would simply stride through the walls as though no such wall existed. To them, to those who had particularly taken to The Shadow’s impossible mindset, they would be incorporeal – and yet deadly. They would be capable of moving through the walls and towers, yet equally capable of disemboweling pathetic human scientists and soldiers with their claws and other vicious apparatuses.
He too, gestured forth in assurance that his ‘Big Brother’ would step through the wall as easily as though it were naught but a trick of the light. Old One was much too large to fit within the narrow ‘streets’ and ‘corridors’ formed by the clustered towers, but there was no need for such physics now – Old One stood among the spires as a man disrupting a hologram projection…Yet with all the corporeality needed to decimate the pitiful humans scurrying about farther into the depth of the superstructure. The great creature’s projectile beams would likely end up wounding their own hoarde more than the puny, virtually inconsequential enemy however, so Old One might have preferred to keep to melee as they approached the scattering fodder...
The little black transport shuttle, piloted by a skillful, but otherwise irrelevant member of the shipside security team, came shooting through the atmosphere at an incredible speed but making virtually no fuss as it did so. It was a smaller version of the Bullet and, being an extension of the Stella Viventium itself, could operate normally within Notspace despite the technical differences between the ‘mother ship’ so ancient and itself. The pilot cursed as he looked down to the rapidly mounting offensive surrounding the city, paying little mind to the phantom First People who, he was already more-or-less aware, were inconsequential in their nonexistence.
HUD between the ship’s frontal port, his pilot goggles and BrainPal™ directed him efficiently as to how to home in on the most important targets – those being Security Chief Aleessa Rivierre, Chief Analyst Dorin Harkahn and, of course, the Captain and his wife…Not that anyone had heard a peep from them since the very beginning of this disastrous operation.
The ship was too small to be worth the time of any of the now mostly-corporeal Dendril attackers, and it was zippy enough that it would prove an inordinate hassle to strike. It had little trouble locating the orange blip that was the Security Chief Rivierre. It darted through the towers as the Dendril were beginning to crawl over and through the wall, descending on her position none too soon. She pinged the men closest to her position with orders to hold on as long as they could, and boarded.
Hanging on to a handhold and leaning out the open bay door of the little ship, she scanned for Harkahn’s signature – which the pilot and the Bullet were having a difficult time locking on to. But the woman was infuriated more than anything at the Captain, who had been despicably absent throughout the entire ordeal. She screamed at him, verbally, through BrainPal™ ”Where the @#$% is that piece of @#$% Captain!?” though to no avail.
Was he dead?
As the monsters began to come upon the helpless scientists, her security team fired back uselessly upon them. Their guns might have functioned as extensions of the Stella itself so long as they were in this oxygen environment, but their bullets would soar through their insectine enemies as nothing…And still their enemies would gore them nonetheless, spattering their innards in squelching masses all along the shimmering gilded towers, disemboweling them mercilessly, killing every last one, leaving blood and death in their wake.
The scientists would scatter throughout the city, and the hunt would commence as every last one was tracked and slaughtered indiscriminately by the metal bugs that existed, did not exist, and something terrible in between. It wouldn’t take long now for the carnage to begin.
Pausing from her rage at the Captain, she looked down as the two masses just began to converge about the towers. She knew very well that the entire operation was now a failure. The most she could hope for would be to rescue Dorin and, possibly, the Captain and Alexa...
Dorin Harkahn at last ceased his increasingly sluggish running, abruptly devoid of hope that he might find the Captain and learn from him what the next move was to be. Where was the man?
But it didn’t matter now, Dorin realized as, panting for breath, he turned to the east and witnessed climb over the wall a metallic monstrosity known only as a Dendril. His heart sank as, from his limited, distant vantage point, still more came flooding over the coppery walls. So then, it was over. The Captain was nowhere to be found – what could Rivierre’s security team possibly hope to do against something like that?
Inside the city walls, there was no trace of the ghost images that walked about in the long-dead city beyond, what hung there in the unreality-light like moving snapshots of a discarded past. In the city, he could look up and see only the blackness of the sky, which somehow illuminated his surroundings in dreamlike, shadowless light.
Dreamlike. That’s how it was now. Not even like a nightmare – even though he knew that his own death would be soon at hand.
Granted, he was far enough away from the creatures he had seen pouring over the wall that it would take some time yet for them to reach him, or even to find him – but suddenly it all looked bleak. Funny, he realized, how at the time of his imminent doom he would be so unnaturally calm. How at the verge of untold discovery, unprecedented scientific revelations – he would die gored at the claws of pincers of some reality-devouring cretin in the last remaining monument to the long-dead First People.
Where was the Captain when his people needed him the most?
Resolved to his fate, Dorin Harkahn leaned against one of the towering structures, looked down to the polished brass city floor, and pondered just how meaningless his life, and indeed the lives of all his colleagues had been.
As The Shadow Over Himself drew nearer into the heart of the city aboard the head of Old One, he gazed down at the ‘streets’ which would soon be filled with the scant, bloody remains of the hapless scientists and scanter-still security operatives, envisioning how beautifully they would die at the hands of his semi-corporeal ‘brethren’.
Grinning like the madman he was, The Shadow abruptly and without warning flickered out of existence, leaving Old One to continue his part of the massacre on his own – lacking none of the new and – to him vaguely familiar powers that The Shadow’s presence in Notspace had granted him.
But the man with the long, blonde hair and grey suit had allowed the flickering conscience that constituted his presence to move, teleporting instantaneously to another part of the city. Here it was quiet. He turned, and in the distance could see the last of his ‘brethren’ scurrying over the walls, and surely some scampering through it though they would be below the horizon of the towers.
Indeed, the silence was eerie here, in this unremarkable alleyway. He strode calmly, relishing the knowledge that just beyond the range of hearing, a massacre was about to take place. A slaughter the likes of which he had scarcely the pleasure of witnessing for so very, very long.
He rounded a corner and there, at the end of a clear stretch, was a man with rusty brown hair and a white coat. He had been exhaustedly leaning against one of the coppery pillars until seeing him – at which point the man stood up straighter, but did not flee.
The Shadow Over Himself strode toward the man, deciding that he was probably important enough to warrant some meager sliver of his attention, some insignificant portion of his shattered, broken, but expansive pseudo-consciousness.
It was unlike anything Dorin Harkahn had ever seen. The figure of a man stepping around the corner at the end of the corridor formed by happenstance of the towers around them. The man was abnormally tall, with broad shoulders and long limbs. His clothing was a grey suit, largely devoid of any significant markings, with white gloves on his hands – which were presently being held behind his back. His hair was white-blonde, falling loosely about his shoulders, obscuring much of his face – but not enough to hide the terrible, wicked, madman’s grin plastered across it. Nor did it obscure completely the ghost-pale skin.And worst of all, it did not obscure the eyes – or what constituted eyes.
There were no eyes. Only great, largely-circular discs of glowing cyan-blue that seemed to explode out from where his eye sockets had once been. It was as though a detonation had occurred within the man’s skull, and the force had escaped via the eyes – blowing the skin and bone around them back until there were great gaping voids in the face that extended well up into the forehead and back to the bases of the ears. But it was difficult to look upon the decimated physiology of it, for the terrible, impossible blue that emanated from within the skull not only blurred the details, but created a migraine-inducing mental trauma to attempt to see. Space-time was broken there. The fiber of his being shattered and recreated a billion, billion times in less than the smallest divisible fraction of a millisecond. It made him dizzy to look at. The man himself flickered and fragmented, as though he was there but only by sheer force of will and concentration of being.
But Harkahn was beyond fear now. He stood up straight and did his best to stare the thing down.
Even as the roaring from above came into his hearing, indicating the approach of his salvation from certain doom, Harkahn did not take his eyes away from the splintering madness that was the blue emanating from the man’s face. It was as if the man was a shadow of a memory, the culmination of a mind that had been split and twisted beyond recognition, with terrible black-magic supersciences lost to the ages before time. Behind the man, the fabric of reality seemed to twist and erode and distort, as though his presence – or what constituted his ‘presence’ – was an utter, blasphemous affront to everything that had ever been meant to be. He was an abomination from the time before time.
The Shadow-Man stopped then, halting his forward stroll. It was impossible to tell where he was looking, though Harkahn imagined that his attention had been suddenly caught elsewhere. As Harkahn boarded the little Bullet, the Shadow-Man turned to look up at the sky, his grin fading at last.
As Harkahn was lifted away into the blackness above the doomed Isandril, it’s secrets barely grazed upon by the previously excited scientists and students and interns who would soon be slaughtered like baying cattle, the Shadow-Man returned his pseudo-gaze to the coppery floor of the superstructure city.
Dimly, he heard Rivierre saying something about abandoning the operation completely, returning to the ship and letting the Captain take his chances…if the bastard was even still alive at all.
Dimly, he perceived that someone from the Kingsbane – presumably their head Star-Class Astrophysicist – was trying to contact him via radio converted on his own end to BrainPal™, but to no avail.
Dimly, he was aware that something terrible had happened, and was happening – but that there was little to nothing at all he could do about it.
He, nor anyone else.
The Shadow Over Himself ceased his approach upon the man. The little black ship had not yet approached, yet something had occurred to him abruptly and it was disturbing. His grin had not faded, yet he had become still, frozen in time and space, if ever flickering and distorting the universe or Notspace in his immediate vicinity like some terrible plague of unreality and manipulation and corruption.
He looked upward, though outwardly he did not appear to move at all, for only a fraction of his entity was devoted to the things he did, regardless of what he was appearing to do.
He sensed as something – an entity ceased to be. He had not the cause previously to notice it at all. It was so insignificant. He had been so accustomed to them long ago, yet now in his fervor for destruction he had overlooked what might have very well been the last one.
The absolute last.
And, it died.
And despite that he was not like her – not quite – The Shadow found that he was, much to his own astonishment, sad.
Not crushingly so. Not abysmally. It was no tragedy. Indeed, it served only as the completion of a task which he and Big Brother had embarked on so very, very long ago.
But it was a task he had previously thought complete. They were all gone, he had thought. It was over.
And now, for the last second, for the single dying breath, he was to learn that one had survived.
And now it was dead. Not by his hand, nor by Big Brother’s…But by someone else.
And, in a way, this was a relief to him. None of it really mattered anyway.
Even as he re-examined the moment in his past, looked over and again experienced that overlooked memory – stronger now that he was paying attention to it. Tragic.
The pain was immense, he perceived. She had been sliced in half. It might have been a quick death, but no – not for her – for her it had been an eternity of unbearable agony. It had been a universe of nothing but pain – pain so fierce that it could not be called pain at all. It was a torture of the being beyond the most fundamental levels. It was, as he recalled now, the ultimate punishment. Not the act of slicing itself, but the result – the real Unbeing.
He was as well versed in the ancient, long-dead philosophy as any of them had been.
There were two states that mattered.
Being and UnBeing.
Regardless of all the other impossibilities and paradoxes which Notspace and the existence of the First People entailed, this was always true. Being and UnBeing. It was heinous to damn a Person into UnBeing. No such crime had ever been committed in the entire, convoluted and nonsensical history of the People that warranted such a heinous punishment.
He wondered absently what that last Person had done to deserve the ultimate punishment.
He wondered who it had been that brought such a terrible fate down upon her?
But as he sent out a flitting sliver of his consciousness to see, something unimaginably terrible warded him away. It sent a shiver down his spine. It wiped the wild smile off his face.
The Shadow Over Himself had looked, for a fleeting fraction of a second, into chaos unimaginable even by his own standard of fragmented madness. It was crimson unreality. It was a presence dwelling within that unholy abomination of a ship that was unlike anything that even he, with his mind shattered by the failed Quantum Process could not hope to comprehend.
Lady Dulcinea had to know about this immediately.
He could not imagine what it was, he dared not investigate. Even for all his insanity, he could not begin to fathom what unspeakable monstrosity was dwelling within that vessel. He had never experienced true, utter dread before that day. He had never witnessed what could only be described as the essence of chaos itself.
He knew not what it was, but he did not like it.
Having only barely tapped the slightest hint of the presence of that chaotic, abyssal entity, The Shadow looked back to the floor of the Isandril superstructure and contemplated what to do next. What to do now?
It was best not to think about the thing that he had almost unwittingly caught a glimpse of.
If merely knowing that it was there had affected him so…
What would have actually seeing it done?
All around Aelyn-Paeryc Petrovalyc, the floating monitors showed him from every possible vantage point the doom that was encroaching upon the city. He could see them all, even the hazy, virtually indistinguishable figure standing atop the head of the biggest, mechanical-scorpion-monster Dendril.
Out of the corner of his black eyes he watched as certain death swept down into and through the streets.
He spoke not a word of it. Alexa watched on with mounting, but unspoken concern…Yet, it was still detached.
Aelyn-Paeryc hunched over the primary monitor, fingers playing with the pseudo-holographic controls that glowed beneath his palms. Row upon row of incomprehensible, ancient-alien language flitted before his eyes. Data in incredible sums was translated directly from visual patterns into BrainPal™ and stored for transfer later. Indeed, the BrainPal™ had even established something approaching a direct link with the Isandril mainframe and was preparing to relate every scrap of precious data back to the Stella.
The two mainframes were, after all, compatible.
But A.P. was interested only in learning the next step. He had been following in his dead brother’s footsteps all this time. They had led him here. Certainly the next course of action had to be within this hyper-complex, First People computer. Surely some hint, some clue would be revealed that would continue his quest for Lost Earth of Sol. It had to!
Nothing else mattered.
Nothing.
As the Dendril hoarde finally began to meet up with the bulk of the helpless scientists and stand security team, Alex was at last moved to speak.
”Ael…” She began, but was cut off by her husband’s cool, dark gaze shifting momentarily to her own. He did not speak for a long moment, and then in quiet words and an unhurried, ice-cold tone he spoke.
”Let them die.”
The words sent shivers down Alex’s spine. ”They’re on their own. We have more important business to attend to.”
And, with a dull horror, Alex had to admit that he was right. After all, the search for Lost Earth of Sol was more important than the insignificant lives of a few paltry, expendable scientists and certainly more vital than the meaningless existences of a few security guns.
She sighed, returning her eyes to her own screen.
By the light of unreality, the couple worked away, seeking the final clue that would allow them to leave.
There was no rush.
They would be fine.
Even if the Dendril had found a way to transcend the concept of ‘matter’ within Notspace, what did they care? They were still impossible to harm, that much was inevitable. Undeniable. They would continue their work unhindered. Let the fools mount their attack. Nothing was going to stop them now. Not with the absurd power of the great Isandril itself at their fingertips.
Then, at last, a broad, wicked smile came over Aelyn-Paeryc’s face. He crossed his arms, standing up straight to gaze into that one little bit of data he had found.
Standard characters, hidden deep and cleverly within irrelevant data. Characters which only could have been inserted there by someone with knowledge of the language of Standard, which had been invented only in the time of Aelyn and Paeryc Petrovalyc themselves.
Paeryc Petrovalyc had transcended time, paradoxically met with the First People, and left a single string of letters for his older brother as a clue.
He spoke the word aloud, though Alexa need not have heard it to witness the importance on the screen.
”IRIA.”
Iril didn't need a second thought. Understanding the dire situation, she bolted from the door and towards the opening, ensuring that the others would be close behind and/or ahead of her when entering into whatever transport there might be.
This was quite the bizarre situation indeed. Never before had she been in such a high intensity showdown... except for, perhaps the whole fiasco that cost her a right arm. What next? Giant space monsters? Could this be any more... exciting?
It must have been thrill that coursed through her system. What else could that unique sensation be? Thousands of years on this rock and not a single day had been this strange and intense.
The gaping hole into the terminal was just large enough that she could squeeze on through. Knowing it would take some time for her to fully get herself through, and seeming how she was the most expendable of the group, Iril made a quick note and decided she would go through last.
Her eye scanned the area rapidly. Kox and Papyus were alright, it seemed. Seeming how she had lost track of Toffi, she turned to face Kallenger and...
What was Toffi DOING?! Was he trying to force Kallenger from her position? Had he gone mad?! Her gaze rapidly switched between both Toffi's expressions and Kallenger's. What was going on here?!
Whatever the case, there was to be no room for conflict when she was around. She had two options. Force her way through the hole in the wall now so the two could possibly make it through the hole together and risk their relations crumbling even more... or just intervene and grab both of them, taking them through with her, possibly making the two angry at her instead of one another.
Well, there was really only one choice that would work out.
If tensions started to run too high, Iril would be ready to grab the two of them.
Time was ticking.
"I'm surprised they even sound familiar to you." Q admitted to Kilwen. "I had been looking through the computers on this Kampfer ship and found no sort of evidence that anyone ever heard of them... but, to answer your question, yes. They're quite old indeed. I have evidence to believe that they were around much earlier than even my creation, and I'm a good fifty-something thousand years old... Maybe even older. As you can see... my name is IRI-Q, meaning that I am of the Iridiite Series, Model Q... suggesting I am 17th in the series... or so I might think, at least."
Q looked down at the floor of the ship. Yes, 17th or so she thought. There was only one flaw in this hypothesis, the existence of Z. She just seemed... older. And despite being further down in the Alphabet, and being larger, stronger, and more intimidating too (just as a newer make should be), Q never saw any other IRI models leading up to Z... or leading down towards A. The whole thing puzzled her.
She looked back towards Kilwen. "I don't suppose you have any information, huh?"
Z didn't even bother looking at this new attacker. Still staring down her sister, Z raised her hard light hand and intercepted the hilt of the dimensional lord's sword. A fierce shockwave emitted from the connection, but the hand did not budge... and neither did Z.
"You know, you had the element of surprise right in your grasp and you completely blew it. Honestly, you humanoids just don't know when to shut your trap." Z growled as she grasped the weapon and forced it down towards the ruined city below.
The "feathers" on Z's wings swung to face Arena, and began to fire a rapid succession of energy blasts in her general direction. She didn't even care if she was hit or not; this pest had to be driven off. Arena was interfering. Ruining, as it were, the thrill of the fight. Still, Z made no eye contact with the attacker.
"See, I don't care WHO you are, WHO'S city this was, and I CERTAINLY don't care that you're angry. You could be supreme heiress to the entire universe and I still wouldn't care, and you're intruding on family business you have no part of, so take note."
One of Z's hard-light hands flickered, and then took the form of a nasty looking sword. "If you take one more step forward... you are not going to like what happens next."
Z's eye finally turned to look arena straight in the face. She stared intensely at this measly creature that dared threaten her, the product of millions of years of knowledge and advanced technology. Pure rage and hatred seemed to glow within the pupil. She would have no nonsense. There was a goal to be completed here.
B stared at the newcomer to the fight, doing her best to make eye contact and to let the intruder know that her presence had been acknowledged.
This could work in both of their favor if they would cooperate... at least B hoped.
She revved up her thrusters and set her mechanical maw open, ready to clamp down on an open spot of any kind.
As soon as she had enough support from the newcomer, B would shoot forward and move in for the attack.
Her only worry was that something would go horribly awry.
This was quite the bizarre situation indeed. Never before had she been in such a high intensity showdown... except for, perhaps the whole fiasco that cost her a right arm. What next? Giant space monsters? Could this be any more... exciting?
It must have been thrill that coursed through her system. What else could that unique sensation be? Thousands of years on this rock and not a single day had been this strange and intense.
The gaping hole into the terminal was just large enough that she could squeeze on through. Knowing it would take some time for her to fully get herself through, and seeming how she was the most expendable of the group, Iril made a quick note and decided she would go through last.
Her eye scanned the area rapidly. Kox and Papyus were alright, it seemed. Seeming how she had lost track of Toffi, she turned to face Kallenger and...
What was Toffi DOING?! Was he trying to force Kallenger from her position? Had he gone mad?! Her gaze rapidly switched between both Toffi's expressions and Kallenger's. What was going on here?!
Whatever the case, there was to be no room for conflict when she was around. She had two options. Force her way through the hole in the wall now so the two could possibly make it through the hole together and risk their relations crumbling even more... or just intervene and grab both of them, taking them through with her, possibly making the two angry at her instead of one another.
Well, there was really only one choice that would work out.
If tensions started to run too high, Iril would be ready to grab the two of them.
Time was ticking.
"I'm surprised they even sound familiar to you." Q admitted to Kilwen. "I had been looking through the computers on this Kampfer ship and found no sort of evidence that anyone ever heard of them... but, to answer your question, yes. They're quite old indeed. I have evidence to believe that they were around much earlier than even my creation, and I'm a good fifty-something thousand years old... Maybe even older. As you can see... my name is IRI-Q, meaning that I am of the Iridiite Series, Model Q... suggesting I am 17th in the series... or so I might think, at least."
Q looked down at the floor of the ship. Yes, 17th or so she thought. There was only one flaw in this hypothesis, the existence of Z. She just seemed... older. And despite being further down in the Alphabet, and being larger, stronger, and more intimidating too (just as a newer make should be), Q never saw any other IRI models leading up to Z... or leading down towards A. The whole thing puzzled her.
She looked back towards Kilwen. "I don't suppose you have any information, huh?"
Z didn't even bother looking at this new attacker. Still staring down her sister, Z raised her hard light hand and intercepted the hilt of the dimensional lord's sword. A fierce shockwave emitted from the connection, but the hand did not budge... and neither did Z.
"You know, you had the element of surprise right in your grasp and you completely blew it. Honestly, you humanoids just don't know when to shut your trap." Z growled as she grasped the weapon and forced it down towards the ruined city below.
The "feathers" on Z's wings swung to face Arena, and began to fire a rapid succession of energy blasts in her general direction. She didn't even care if she was hit or not; this pest had to be driven off. Arena was interfering. Ruining, as it were, the thrill of the fight. Still, Z made no eye contact with the attacker.
"See, I don't care WHO you are, WHO'S city this was, and I CERTAINLY don't care that you're angry. You could be supreme heiress to the entire universe and I still wouldn't care, and you're intruding on family business you have no part of, so take note."
One of Z's hard-light hands flickered, and then took the form of a nasty looking sword. "If you take one more step forward... you are not going to like what happens next."
Z's eye finally turned to look arena straight in the face. She stared intensely at this measly creature that dared threaten her, the product of millions of years of knowledge and advanced technology. Pure rage and hatred seemed to glow within the pupil. She would have no nonsense. There was a goal to be completed here.
B stared at the newcomer to the fight, doing her best to make eye contact and to let the intruder know that her presence had been acknowledged.
This could work in both of their favor if they would cooperate... at least B hoped.
She revved up her thrusters and set her mechanical maw open, ready to clamp down on an open spot of any kind.
As soon as she had enough support from the newcomer, B would shoot forward and move in for the attack.
Her only worry was that something would go horribly awry.
After jumping back a few distance away from Z, Arena gave a cocky smile and says "Well its quite dishonorable if I stabbed you in the back without notice" as she give a grunted chuckle at her opponent. She pointed her sword at her as her other arm went over her sword wielding arm, giving some kind of etiquette towards the large bot. She glances over at B and gives her a friendly wink. "Family business? I pretty sure getting your sister to committing Galactic genocide isn't really a friendly family thing" she says being a smartass towards her. "Plus if you are sisters why are you fighting? Aren't both blo- made from the same circuits? I mean it seems to me Orange bucket with wings that you are the only one who thinks the galaxy is hers and hers alone...I'm sorry to say but this galaxy belongs to everyone and everything and not just you" she says to her as she takes one more step closer to Z, not afraid of this bot with a God complex. Beings with a God- complex or who are actual Gods, she hates with a passion...a rather similar feeling to all Dimensional Lords, believing that mortals have the choice in what they do while Dimensional Lords just mettle in for both good or ill for mortal kind.
She throws her sword towards Z, zooming right past her and before Z can gloot on her apparent miss, Arena vanishes and soon appears behind Z, using her ability to teleport to her weapon and launch off the handle towards Z, holding onto her Hard light wings and goes to grab her arms. She always wondered if this ability would work on the large scale and she was about find out. Arena being a formerLord of Technology, she understood how hardlight operates. Its basically light particles being bonded together by something, whether it be it hydrogen, helium or whatever causing a rigid structure that can be morphed into anything one desires and being "unbreakable". Being the Lord of Chaos and Destruction she has an uncanny ability that she alone possessed...the ability to dismantle down into its molecular structure. She did with ice, turning into water then into steam all within her hand and with aid of her chaos energy. If Z's hardlight operates like any other hardlight, this should be an easy process. Sparks began to fly as energy was induced in Z's arms. They soon shattered, which brought a smile to Arena's face and she yells to B "Do it now!"
She was aware that Z will try to throw her off, but she held onto her wings as tightly as she could to give B as much time as she could to allow B to do whatever she's going to do.
She throws her sword towards Z, zooming right past her and before Z can gloot on her apparent miss, Arena vanishes and soon appears behind Z, using her ability to teleport to her weapon and launch off the handle towards Z, holding onto her Hard light wings and goes to grab her arms. She always wondered if this ability would work on the large scale and she was about find out. Arena being a formerLord of Technology, she understood how hardlight operates. Its basically light particles being bonded together by something, whether it be it hydrogen, helium or whatever causing a rigid structure that can be morphed into anything one desires and being "unbreakable". Being the Lord of Chaos and Destruction she has an uncanny ability that she alone possessed...the ability to dismantle down into its molecular structure. She did with ice, turning into water then into steam all within her hand and with aid of her chaos energy. If Z's hardlight operates like any other hardlight, this should be an easy process. Sparks began to fly as energy was induced in Z's arms. They soon shattered, which brought a smile to Arena's face and she yells to B "Do it now!"
She was aware that Z will try to throw her off, but she held onto her wings as tightly as she could to give B as much time as she could to allow B to do whatever she's going to do.
SECTOR J84 - MOON 456
ILLIYA "DRAGON LADY" VS. MARIA "LOCK-ON"
Strike upon strike, the onslaught was ceaseless. A restless inferno of ferocity glowed in Illiya's eyes as puffs of white smoke and flames spat out from the sides of her fierce maw, all while she descended all of her might against Lock-On. The draconian's knife-long claws struck Maria's arms with the force of gigantic metal scythes. Her kicks landed with the might of a being three to four larger her size and, even seeing that her attacks were mostly useless, Illiya would just not stop. By that time, any living being would be already torn into fleshy ribbons. It was even worse, her fighting style was confusing to the very sense of that word, frequently varying. When the Dragon Lady thought her rival got used to her savage strikes - and she was right about that assumption - she suddenly switched to CQC techniques exclusive for those of years stacked upon years of the most cruel training courses available... Just to switch to her primitive strikes after figuring out Lock-On attempt to counter them. Over and over again.Yet, even though Illiya's efforts and her unique combat style, she managed to pull a fatal mistake: Letting her guard open for just a split second. Right after the attempt to slash Maria chest with a graceful vertical kick.
Illiya was still not used to Maria. In an attempt to show her undoubted masterful combat proficiency to her rival, mysteriously held in high-regard, the absurdly tiny time it took to lower down her leg was just the perfect opportunity for Maria to latch unto her and execute a grapple. There couldn't be another outcome.
But again, Maria could see herself on a situation that she would easily deal with if Illiya wasn't such a formidable enemy. After all, a would simple 'snap' and done. Target down, capture, torture and finish it off. However, this was not the case. The force of hundreds upon hundreds of kilograms twisting around Illiya's muscles and bone was aptly answered by an eardrum splitting, agonized roar. High pitched, it resembled a desperate animal, shrieking in misery after a sudden surge of great pain. Obviously the case of Illiya... That was it. Roar, draconian limbs flailing around and nothing. No 'snap' nor 'crack'. It hurt? Sure. Some minor tendons torn apart? Check, but nothing a bunch of days would take care of. In general, however, Illiya's leg would be pretty much fine, compared to what she had endured in her short-life.
"Stop crying, Illiya! Look at how big you already are! That's just a hundred millimeter slug on your shoulder, I'll patch you up in a sec~! GEARS, PUT SOME PRESSURE ON THAT WOUND!!!"
After the long painful roar directed towards the skies of Moon 456, Illiya went awfully silent, almost as like she died right on the spot. No matter how hard her legs were to be twisted by Maria, nothing would happen. The effects would be simply the same done on Lock-On's Dendril arms. She could double or triple the pressure applied but not a single centimeter of Illiya's femur would even crack.
"Quick, take her to the medbay! What a horrible cut... Number Nine, I TOLD YOU not to mess with the Captain's Cutlass!"
That's when the Dragon Lady's face started to slowly low down towards Maria. What was to expect? The burning rage of trillions suns radiating on her fierce yet infantile expression? A drooling beast with eyes, this time, literally on fire? A cosmic horror incarnating right there in front of Maria through Illiya's face? Surprisingly, none of those was what really happened.
"That was a... Mobile Armored Unit down, Dragon... 'Adopting' you was not a mistake."
... Her draconian face reverted to a much calmer, yet upset expression now, with big and wide pupils akin to those of felines begging for a long-waited meal. A sad frown formed on her draconian maw and, much for Maria's pleasure, Illiya's big golden eyes were full of water, a single tear running down her jaws shortly after. Suddenly raising one arm diagonally up, Illiya opened her claws wide and, with vengeful - however, not lethal - intent, directed a straight slash against her rival's cyborg face... One of the few features on the bounty hunter's face.
— T-That hurts.
Even after being thrown into a fierce martial trance just now, Illiya would only whimper, ready to slash against Maria if she wouldn't stop. In fact, even though there was worst wounds Illiya had taken, Maria was hurting her as much as those.
ILLIYA "DRAGON LADY" VS. MARIA "LOCK-ON"
Strike upon strike, the onslaught was ceaseless. A restless inferno of ferocity glowed in Illiya's eyes as puffs of white smoke and flames spat out from the sides of her fierce maw, all while she descended all of her might against Lock-On. The draconian's knife-long claws struck Maria's arms with the force of gigantic metal scythes. Her kicks landed with the might of a being three to four larger her size and, even seeing that her attacks were mostly useless, Illiya would just not stop. By that time, any living being would be already torn into fleshy ribbons. It was even worse, her fighting style was confusing to the very sense of that word, frequently varying. When the Dragon Lady thought her rival got used to her savage strikes - and she was right about that assumption - she suddenly switched to CQC techniques exclusive for those of years stacked upon years of the most cruel training courses available... Just to switch to her primitive strikes after figuring out Lock-On attempt to counter them. Over and over again.Yet, even though Illiya's efforts and her unique combat style, she managed to pull a fatal mistake: Letting her guard open for just a split second. Right after the attempt to slash Maria chest with a graceful vertical kick.
Illiya was still not used to Maria. In an attempt to show her undoubted masterful combat proficiency to her rival, mysteriously held in high-regard, the absurdly tiny time it took to lower down her leg was just the perfect opportunity for Maria to latch unto her and execute a grapple. There couldn't be another outcome.
But again, Maria could see herself on a situation that she would easily deal with if Illiya wasn't such a formidable enemy. After all, a would simple 'snap' and done. Target down, capture, torture and finish it off. However, this was not the case. The force of hundreds upon hundreds of kilograms twisting around Illiya's muscles and bone was aptly answered by an eardrum splitting, agonized roar. High pitched, it resembled a desperate animal, shrieking in misery after a sudden surge of great pain. Obviously the case of Illiya... That was it. Roar, draconian limbs flailing around and nothing. No 'snap' nor 'crack'. It hurt? Sure. Some minor tendons torn apart? Check, but nothing a bunch of days would take care of. In general, however, Illiya's leg would be pretty much fine, compared to what she had endured in her short-life.
"Stop crying, Illiya! Look at how big you already are! That's just a hundred millimeter slug on your shoulder, I'll patch you up in a sec~! GEARS, PUT SOME PRESSURE ON THAT WOUND!!!"
After the long painful roar directed towards the skies of Moon 456, Illiya went awfully silent, almost as like she died right on the spot. No matter how hard her legs were to be twisted by Maria, nothing would happen. The effects would be simply the same done on Lock-On's Dendril arms. She could double or triple the pressure applied but not a single centimeter of Illiya's femur would even crack.
"Quick, take her to the medbay! What a horrible cut... Number Nine, I TOLD YOU not to mess with the Captain's Cutlass!"
That's when the Dragon Lady's face started to slowly low down towards Maria. What was to expect? The burning rage of trillions suns radiating on her fierce yet infantile expression? A drooling beast with eyes, this time, literally on fire? A cosmic horror incarnating right there in front of Maria through Illiya's face? Surprisingly, none of those was what really happened.
"That was a... Mobile Armored Unit down, Dragon... 'Adopting' you was not a mistake."
... Her draconian face reverted to a much calmer, yet upset expression now, with big and wide pupils akin to those of felines begging for a long-waited meal. A sad frown formed on her draconian maw and, much for Maria's pleasure, Illiya's big golden eyes were full of water, a single tear running down her jaws shortly after. Suddenly raising one arm diagonally up, Illiya opened her claws wide and, with vengeful - however, not lethal - intent, directed a straight slash against her rival's cyborg face... One of the few features on the bounty hunter's face.
— T-That hurts.
Even after being thrown into a fierce martial trance just now, Illiya would only whimper, ready to slash against Maria if she wouldn't stop. In fact, even though there was worst wounds Illiya had taken, Maria was hurting her as much as those.
(Decided against the hilariously bad music. Saving it for later. )
A R D E L L A – Abandoned Air Reserve
The enemy was at the gates.
The only thing standing between the unlikely team and certain death was Royanna Kallenger and the slab of metal she was keeping the door jammed.
The entire place was going to erupt into nuclear hellfire in less than three minutes.
Royanna was going to hold that door shut, keep the enemy at bay, and give her impromptu ‘comrades’ that much better a chance at outrunning their seemingly inevitable demise.
Something had been lurking in the deepest depths of this facility – something that had been toying with their minds, making things appear that were not really there. The girl in the doorway – she had just been an illusion, but Royanna had a particular grudge against that one. She had never existed in the first place, but if this whole rotten hole went up in smoke at least whatever caused her appearance in the first place would be gone too.
Oh, and it would destroy those new attackers, too.
So what if she died in the process? At least she’d be serving a purpose. Plus, afterwards she wouldn’t be able to screw up anymore! So that was good.
The door pounded against her. If not for that piece of metal she was holding jammed there, it would have blown in on her the moment Iril released it. But for now, as long as she stood here –
There was a tug on her arm. No, more than a tug – someone was forcefully grabbing at her coat and trying to yank her away from the door!
She flailed that arm in an attempt to fling whatever pesky thing had grappled onto her, but it failed, obviously. Fiercely, she whirled on the annoyance, teeth gritted and green eyes almost wild with fury – and something else. After all, blatant suicide wasn’t something a non-drugged Royanna would even consider.
”What the f-“ But she was cut off by Christofer’s words – and, indeed, just his presence instantly seemed to soften her expression from blatant rage to something more resembling a dazed half-anger. She blinked, looking subtly more perplexed than anything now, as if Christofer were coming out with some preposterous idea suddenly that was so crazy it might just work – but why?
”Wh-…I-…B-…” She tried to speak a few times, barely getting past a half-spoken syllable.
She clung to the metal piece, refusing to be let go.
He won’t allow it? Who was he to-
No, no! It would all be much better if she sacrificed herself here.
Some little part of her exclaimed in silence that he was being stupid. What she was doing would only assure the reset of the team’s survival. Her coming with them would only hold them back. She was not important. She was expendable. She was useful inside the old Imperial base due to her specialty, but once they no longer required a Galactic Imperial Special Agent – then what? It wasn’t as if anyone wanted her around, and it was the cold truth that the fact did not bother her. If the brat would just…let…go…!
But he didn’t. Instead, he actually moved to trip her!
But just as Christofer was moving his leg to interlock her own and send her down, she looked over his shoulder and her eyes went bolt-wide. She made the sort of semi-dread expression associated with suddenly witnessing something very large coming her way.
It was Iril, preparing to end their little spat by plucking them both up like bits of straw and carrying them into the adjoining terminal. Her face was actually comically over-expressive in that particular second.
But it passed as Christofer went through with his intention of putting her off-balance to drag her off.
”Gh- o-okay! Alright, f-fine, I’m coming!” She snapped, stuttering, still clearly astounded by the fact that Christofer had come back for her at all. Surely, she had to remind herself, it was only for what he perceived as the betterment of the team as whole and not her as an individual. Inconceivable…And, in a way, it was made better for that fact. She could respect a decision made for the whole – even if she’d have rather stayed behind and gone up in atomic death with the enemy.
Whirling to give the metal bar one last good kick – and possibly concerning Toffi that she might be trying to grab it again, which luckily for him she was not – Roya proceeded with them through the hole in the wall leading to the terminal. She stopped again to help give Iril a tug if she happened to get a little stuck, quite possible given her bulk.
But remarkably, the whole of them were now in the ‘escape’ terminal, faced with that beautiful, flat-surfaced transport magrail that would zoom them away to safety. Once Iril was through, Royanna doubled back again, but this time in order to draw and give a quick curving slash to some gigantic metal cargo crates in order that they might go crashing down to block their path. Considering that the enemy would probably be busting down the first door by now, it would probably be worth the effort.
Indeed, a few tons of metal and parts would come crashing down in front of the hole they had carved, nearly crushing Royanna to death in the process – but she managed to clumsily escape the debris just in time.
Possibly Cox had been tampering with the thing, putting it into a kind of overdrive to help their chances of escape, since she was familiar with the technology and it would probably prove a quick modification to experienced eyes and fingers.
The terminal itself was wide and stacked with various old cargo crates, some mechanical equipment that had long-since ceased to function, all manifesting along the sides of the room. The platform centralized the room, with the rail embedded in the floor disappearing into a tunnel that might as well have been the portal to Heaven itself for all the chances of living it posed.
But before long, the team was clamoring onto the platform, which was already starting to build up the initial speed.
But since Royanna was apparently still set on killing herself, she had not actually told anyone about doubling back to cause that extra destruction – she was going to be the last one aboard the transport. Cox would have seen her coming and not anticipated for this second hold-up, so the transport was already moving.
Black coat billowing behind her, Roya raced behind the thing, managing to latch on to someone’s (Presumably Toffi’s) hand to be hoisted up with them just as the platform kicked into full-speed. The force from it almost sent Royanna – and by proxy, whoever had extended their hand for her – to go tumbling off the back of the thing, for the protective railing had not snapped into place yet. It would probably take a third member of the team to keep the two of them from tumbling to their demise.
As the railed transport proceeded down the rail, gaining speed exponentially, great blast doors descended behind them. One, two, three, there seemed no end to them. The tunnel was straight-bored.
Then, after what seemed like an extremely long time, the blast could be heard – or, felt, more than heard. The whole universe seemed to quake, a shiver of inconceivable proportions rocking the team to the core. Some more gut-wrenching guh-thunks could be heard as a number of the inner blast doors went flying in upon each other from the force.
But then, as suddenly as it had happened, it was over. The reserve base had detonated. Having had no prior warning, the enemies inside were likely gone along with whatever Imperial secrets had been hidden away there. No more mind tricks, and no more pursuers.
For now.
It was just as likely that the troops of Ova had been perfectly expendable – that they would very soon find the team again. But for now, they had at least a little time to themselves.
It would be a very short ride given the speed they had been moving at, and all the while Royanna was on the floor of the thing panting desperately for breath. So that was what almost dying in a small nuke felt like? Interesting. Unpleasant.
The platform came to a stop at the opposite terminal – they were now within the bowels of a much smaller, less ’mysterious’ Old Imperial base. Here, the lights were on already – as was normal for bases that had not been ‘infested’, nor had their hydrogen plants drained by unknown, and now-dead entities.
As the protective rail opened, Royanna just kept where she was – that being whatever possibly rather awkward position she had ended up in, likely on the floor, following the chaotic mess that was their narrowest of narrow escapes yet.
A R D E L L A – Abandoned Air Reserve
The enemy was at the gates.
The only thing standing between the unlikely team and certain death was Royanna Kallenger and the slab of metal she was keeping the door jammed.
The entire place was going to erupt into nuclear hellfire in less than three minutes.
Royanna was going to hold that door shut, keep the enemy at bay, and give her impromptu ‘comrades’ that much better a chance at outrunning their seemingly inevitable demise.
Something had been lurking in the deepest depths of this facility – something that had been toying with their minds, making things appear that were not really there. The girl in the doorway – she had just been an illusion, but Royanna had a particular grudge against that one. She had never existed in the first place, but if this whole rotten hole went up in smoke at least whatever caused her appearance in the first place would be gone too.
Oh, and it would destroy those new attackers, too.
So what if she died in the process? At least she’d be serving a purpose. Plus, afterwards she wouldn’t be able to screw up anymore! So that was good.
The door pounded against her. If not for that piece of metal she was holding jammed there, it would have blown in on her the moment Iril released it. But for now, as long as she stood here –
There was a tug on her arm. No, more than a tug – someone was forcefully grabbing at her coat and trying to yank her away from the door!
She flailed that arm in an attempt to fling whatever pesky thing had grappled onto her, but it failed, obviously. Fiercely, she whirled on the annoyance, teeth gritted and green eyes almost wild with fury – and something else. After all, blatant suicide wasn’t something a non-drugged Royanna would even consider.
”What the f-“ But she was cut off by Christofer’s words – and, indeed, just his presence instantly seemed to soften her expression from blatant rage to something more resembling a dazed half-anger. She blinked, looking subtly more perplexed than anything now, as if Christofer were coming out with some preposterous idea suddenly that was so crazy it might just work – but why?
”Wh-…I-…B-…” She tried to speak a few times, barely getting past a half-spoken syllable.
She clung to the metal piece, refusing to be let go.
He won’t allow it? Who was he to-
No, no! It would all be much better if she sacrificed herself here.
Some little part of her exclaimed in silence that he was being stupid. What she was doing would only assure the reset of the team’s survival. Her coming with them would only hold them back. She was not important. She was expendable. She was useful inside the old Imperial base due to her specialty, but once they no longer required a Galactic Imperial Special Agent – then what? It wasn’t as if anyone wanted her around, and it was the cold truth that the fact did not bother her. If the brat would just…let…go…!
But he didn’t. Instead, he actually moved to trip her!
But just as Christofer was moving his leg to interlock her own and send her down, she looked over his shoulder and her eyes went bolt-wide. She made the sort of semi-dread expression associated with suddenly witnessing something very large coming her way.
It was Iril, preparing to end their little spat by plucking them both up like bits of straw and carrying them into the adjoining terminal. Her face was actually comically over-expressive in that particular second.
But it passed as Christofer went through with his intention of putting her off-balance to drag her off.
”Gh- o-okay! Alright, f-fine, I’m coming!” She snapped, stuttering, still clearly astounded by the fact that Christofer had come back for her at all. Surely, she had to remind herself, it was only for what he perceived as the betterment of the team as whole and not her as an individual. Inconceivable…And, in a way, it was made better for that fact. She could respect a decision made for the whole – even if she’d have rather stayed behind and gone up in atomic death with the enemy.
Whirling to give the metal bar one last good kick – and possibly concerning Toffi that she might be trying to grab it again, which luckily for him she was not – Roya proceeded with them through the hole in the wall leading to the terminal. She stopped again to help give Iril a tug if she happened to get a little stuck, quite possible given her bulk.
But remarkably, the whole of them were now in the ‘escape’ terminal, faced with that beautiful, flat-surfaced transport magrail that would zoom them away to safety. Once Iril was through, Royanna doubled back again, but this time in order to draw and give a quick curving slash to some gigantic metal cargo crates in order that they might go crashing down to block their path. Considering that the enemy would probably be busting down the first door by now, it would probably be worth the effort.
Indeed, a few tons of metal and parts would come crashing down in front of the hole they had carved, nearly crushing Royanna to death in the process – but she managed to clumsily escape the debris just in time.
Possibly Cox had been tampering with the thing, putting it into a kind of overdrive to help their chances of escape, since she was familiar with the technology and it would probably prove a quick modification to experienced eyes and fingers.
The terminal itself was wide and stacked with various old cargo crates, some mechanical equipment that had long-since ceased to function, all manifesting along the sides of the room. The platform centralized the room, with the rail embedded in the floor disappearing into a tunnel that might as well have been the portal to Heaven itself for all the chances of living it posed.
But before long, the team was clamoring onto the platform, which was already starting to build up the initial speed.
But since Royanna was apparently still set on killing herself, she had not actually told anyone about doubling back to cause that extra destruction – she was going to be the last one aboard the transport. Cox would have seen her coming and not anticipated for this second hold-up, so the transport was already moving.
Black coat billowing behind her, Roya raced behind the thing, managing to latch on to someone’s (Presumably Toffi’s) hand to be hoisted up with them just as the platform kicked into full-speed. The force from it almost sent Royanna – and by proxy, whoever had extended their hand for her – to go tumbling off the back of the thing, for the protective railing had not snapped into place yet. It would probably take a third member of the team to keep the two of them from tumbling to their demise.
As the railed transport proceeded down the rail, gaining speed exponentially, great blast doors descended behind them. One, two, three, there seemed no end to them. The tunnel was straight-bored.
Then, after what seemed like an extremely long time, the blast could be heard – or, felt, more than heard. The whole universe seemed to quake, a shiver of inconceivable proportions rocking the team to the core. Some more gut-wrenching guh-thunks could be heard as a number of the inner blast doors went flying in upon each other from the force.
But then, as suddenly as it had happened, it was over. The reserve base had detonated. Having had no prior warning, the enemies inside were likely gone along with whatever Imperial secrets had been hidden away there. No more mind tricks, and no more pursuers.
For now.
It was just as likely that the troops of Ova had been perfectly expendable – that they would very soon find the team again. But for now, they had at least a little time to themselves.
It would be a very short ride given the speed they had been moving at, and all the while Royanna was on the floor of the thing panting desperately for breath. So that was what almost dying in a small nuke felt like? Interesting. Unpleasant.
The platform came to a stop at the opposite terminal – they were now within the bowels of a much smaller, less ’mysterious’ Old Imperial base. Here, the lights were on already – as was normal for bases that had not been ‘infested’, nor had their hydrogen plants drained by unknown, and now-dead entities.
As the protective rail opened, Royanna just kept where she was – that being whatever possibly rather awkward position she had ended up in, likely on the floor, following the chaotic mess that was their narrowest of narrow escapes yet.
From the roar to the failure of breaking a leg on a Dragon! For Maria, her choices in this current time have been abhorrently bad, but who's to say if her other choices would have made a difference. Maria was slowly starting to think that this Dragon-kin was design to go up against her, an almost bulletproof hide, tough body frame, and strength of more than ten men, almost like a hundred men, all of this just not going in the bounty hunter's direction. And with the cut across her face, she lets go of Illyia's leg as she screams in pain as she holds onto her face as she backs up. She collapses onto her knees holding onto her face, her scream in pain died down into sobs. She felt as if this actually maybe the end...has her luck finally run out? Was this how she goes out? On a god forsaken moon, to some dragon being?
She looks at her hand as she see's some of her blood on it and that just made her blood boil. All of this not barely a scratch on that damn dragon thing besides a half ass punch. She stared as she felt herself almost losing it towards rage and tapping more into infection in which by will alone she made it dormant, but now starting to stir alive. But of course, losing herself was not to be as she felt a hand on her shoulder with along the sounds of boots and track roll up next to her. The Z bots and Doc-bots finally arrived and surrounded her as protection. "Ma'am we are here now...sorry to make you wait" the Z-bot sergeant said as he looks at with concern. She looks up at him and then closes to her eyes and shakes her head, "Took you long enough...apprehend that dragon, show it the power you have your disposal" she says as she slowly gets up with pistol in hand.
The Doc-bots where in front of Maria with there twin guns pointed at Illyia. The Z-bots where on Maria's flanks with assault high energy laser rifles pointed at Illyia, all poised to fire upon the dragon. Maria wiped her face as a smear of blood appeared on her face as she points her hand-cannon revolver at Illyia and says calmly towards her "I call this check...surrender and you won't be hurt, you have my word, but if you don't then..." as she pulls the hammer back on her gun as the others just ready to fire at the dragon "...then you'll leave me no choice " her voice calm and serious towards her opponent. She gives her a friendly nod, seeing her as a worthy opponent as a battleship can be seen in up in space pretty close towards the moon. Maria now, with every few cards left only hopes that this opponent picks the sense able option.
She looks at her hand as she see's some of her blood on it and that just made her blood boil. All of this not barely a scratch on that damn dragon thing besides a half ass punch. She stared as she felt herself almost losing it towards rage and tapping more into infection in which by will alone she made it dormant, but now starting to stir alive. But of course, losing herself was not to be as she felt a hand on her shoulder with along the sounds of boots and track roll up next to her. The Z bots and Doc-bots finally arrived and surrounded her as protection. "Ma'am we are here now...sorry to make you wait" the Z-bot sergeant said as he looks at with concern. She looks up at him and then closes to her eyes and shakes her head, "Took you long enough...apprehend that dragon, show it the power you have your disposal" she says as she slowly gets up with pistol in hand.
The Doc-bots where in front of Maria with there twin guns pointed at Illyia. The Z-bots where on Maria's flanks with assault high energy laser rifles pointed at Illyia, all poised to fire upon the dragon. Maria wiped her face as a smear of blood appeared on her face as she points her hand-cannon revolver at Illyia and says calmly towards her "I call this check...surrender and you won't be hurt, you have my word, but if you don't then..." as she pulls the hammer back on her gun as the others just ready to fire at the dragon "...then you'll leave me no choice " her voice calm and serious towards her opponent. She gives her a friendly nod, seeing her as a worthy opponent as a battleship can be seen in up in space pretty close towards the moon. Maria now, with every few cards left only hopes that this opponent picks the sense able option.
Ardella
With the way open, Papyus hesitantly and slowly made her towards the opening before hoping down, not exactly wanting to be around when IRIL leaves the door. Once down on the platform, the Colonel got her footing and waited for rest to come down. Once they did, Papyus went ahead and grabs whoever was going off the railing. "Wow there, we are this far no need to be dying on us!" she says as she tries her best to hoist Royanna and possibly Toffi up onto and over the railing onto her side.
Once IRIL left the door, the soldiers were able to open it with inhuman strength and the soldiers rushed in and began to fire into the small group just as they hop down towards the platform. The soldiers rushed in as the Inquisitor walked in as the commander rushed passed. The Inquisitor heard a noise and heard it was getting louder. He turns around as he sees the explosion and all he could say was "Oh Cardinal Sulyvhan, I have failed you" and the entire room and all of the soldiers where engulfed with the small mini nuke explosion. A few soldiers went over the hole that Royanna made and there bodies hit the track. The inquisitor's body however landed on the platform, very much crispy and dead.
With the way open, Papyus hesitantly and slowly made her towards the opening before hoping down, not exactly wanting to be around when IRIL leaves the door. Once down on the platform, the Colonel got her footing and waited for rest to come down. Once they did, Papyus went ahead and grabs whoever was going off the railing. "Wow there, we are this far no need to be dying on us!" she says as she tries her best to hoist Royanna and possibly Toffi up onto and over the railing onto her side.
Once IRIL left the door, the soldiers were able to open it with inhuman strength and the soldiers rushed in and began to fire into the small group just as they hop down towards the platform. The soldiers rushed in as the Inquisitor walked in as the commander rushed passed. The Inquisitor heard a noise and heard it was getting louder. He turns around as he sees the explosion and all he could say was "Oh Cardinal Sulyvhan, I have failed you" and the entire room and all of the soldiers where engulfed with the small mini nuke explosion. A few soldiers went over the hole that Royanna made and there bodies hit the track. The inquisitor's body however landed on the platform, very much crispy and dead.
The Dendrils as they begin to faze into existence upon the planet Isandril, they began to laugh all at the same time with this low chuckling and soon as they were over the wall, their low chuckling began to come to a full laugh. The Ancient Dendril also joined in his brothers laughter, making it even louder than before. Then as if by command the laughter stopped and Ancient Dendril gave out a bellowing roar, which in turn the rest of his brothers roared as well as they charged into city, wrecking havoc upon the city, now with the sole purpose in destroying it instead of letting it be covered within the sands of time.
The Dendril's charged with there chainsaw like bayonets forward. They charged at groups of Aelyn's security forces, ripping them apart from limb to limb leaving only small pieces of flesh and cloth on the sandy floor of the city. For his scientists however, a more gruesome fate awaits for them. Among the feet of the Dendril masses, are the crab like dendril fledglings and one by one, they crawl to there targets, leaping forward towards there heads and and latching themselves upon them with there little legs crushing there skulls and brain and using there long tail to connect themselves to the scientist's backbone, having complete control of the body, turning them into mindless zombies, hungry for flesh, before they turn into full fledged Dendril's. Of course, even though destroying the victim's mind that doesn't mean that a little piece of there memory is gone but transferred towards the Dendrils. Its only spotty info, from place of work, to bits of family, and even infusing the Brainpal system into themselves, but only partially though.
As the young dendrils take not only Aeyln's ground team, they also began there destruction of the city, taking down the great towers that loom over the city collapsing upon themselves, ripping things out there foundations as well as using explosives to take down other structures. The sight was definitely apocalyptic to this barren city. The destruction and killing is fun and all, but the Ancient Dendril set its sights for where Aelyn and his wife are at. He gives a loud roar as he charges towards the building in where he is occupying, squishing some of his brethren who were in the way. In full on rage and the power from his long term ally, it shoves its claw within the large doors and begins to slowly pry it open. He gives another loud roar letting the rest of his comrades know that the way towards Alyen is open seeing that itself was too large to actually fit into the building. A large wave of Dendrils began to rush into the building with large amount of zeal and savagery. With the way inside open, no doubt Brainpal communications would be open and Aleyn would begin to hear the echoes of his fallen men and woman in is head. "Help us captain....Please captain....End our misery" are only the few of many phrases that would echo like ghosts in his head and possibly his wife.
It wouldn't take long for the wave of a good hundred Dendrils various kinds to get to where Aelyn was. They would hear their savage yells and rumbles of there chainsaw like blades. Of course because of Aelyn's nature and his wife's nature they would just go straight through them, but that was fine, they weren't the target anyway. There blades made themselves towards the consoles where the captain was fiddling around, tearing it apart, destroying monitors, anything that can be used to house and display data. They were definitely intent in destroying everything on this damn planet and they don't care who it affects. Aelyn can try to shoot at them, but he won't have enough ammunition to go through them all.
FRIEND! OUR BROTHER'S IN ARMS HAVE FOUND THE DREADFUL CAPTAIN AND IS WIFE! the ancient dendril yells towards his ally wherever he is.
In space, the Dendril ships were ready to fire even though no crew are existent, but the autopilot is on and the guns on the Dendril ships are ready to fire within a few minutes...only 30 minutes left before they fire upon the Kingsbane and any other ships around in NotSpace.
The Dendril's charged with there chainsaw like bayonets forward. They charged at groups of Aelyn's security forces, ripping them apart from limb to limb leaving only small pieces of flesh and cloth on the sandy floor of the city. For his scientists however, a more gruesome fate awaits for them. Among the feet of the Dendril masses, are the crab like dendril fledglings and one by one, they crawl to there targets, leaping forward towards there heads and and latching themselves upon them with there little legs crushing there skulls and brain and using there long tail to connect themselves to the scientist's backbone, having complete control of the body, turning them into mindless zombies, hungry for flesh, before they turn into full fledged Dendril's. Of course, even though destroying the victim's mind that doesn't mean that a little piece of there memory is gone but transferred towards the Dendrils. Its only spotty info, from place of work, to bits of family, and even infusing the Brainpal system into themselves, but only partially though.
As the young dendrils take not only Aeyln's ground team, they also began there destruction of the city, taking down the great towers that loom over the city collapsing upon themselves, ripping things out there foundations as well as using explosives to take down other structures. The sight was definitely apocalyptic to this barren city. The destruction and killing is fun and all, but the Ancient Dendril set its sights for where Aelyn and his wife are at. He gives a loud roar as he charges towards the building in where he is occupying, squishing some of his brethren who were in the way. In full on rage and the power from his long term ally, it shoves its claw within the large doors and begins to slowly pry it open. He gives another loud roar letting the rest of his comrades know that the way towards Alyen is open seeing that itself was too large to actually fit into the building. A large wave of Dendrils began to rush into the building with large amount of zeal and savagery. With the way inside open, no doubt Brainpal communications would be open and Aleyn would begin to hear the echoes of his fallen men and woman in is head. "Help us captain....Please captain....End our misery" are only the few of many phrases that would echo like ghosts in his head and possibly his wife.
It wouldn't take long for the wave of a good hundred Dendrils various kinds to get to where Aelyn was. They would hear their savage yells and rumbles of there chainsaw like blades. Of course because of Aelyn's nature and his wife's nature they would just go straight through them, but that was fine, they weren't the target anyway. There blades made themselves towards the consoles where the captain was fiddling around, tearing it apart, destroying monitors, anything that can be used to house and display data. They were definitely intent in destroying everything on this damn planet and they don't care who it affects. Aelyn can try to shoot at them, but he won't have enough ammunition to go through them all.
FRIEND! OUR BROTHER'S IN ARMS HAVE FOUND THE DREADFUL CAPTAIN AND IS WIFE! the ancient dendril yells towards his ally wherever he is.
In space, the Dendril ships were ready to fire even though no crew are existent, but the autopilot is on and the guns on the Dendril ships are ready to fire within a few minutes...only 30 minutes left before they fire upon the Kingsbane and any other ships around in NotSpace.
N O T S P A C E – Stella Viventium
”…Things have been pretty hectic around here lately. You wouldn’t believe the trouble those new I-7s have been giving me. See the manufacturer decided to implant this stupid new pneumatic doohickey which would be fine if they didn’t have a ninety-nine spontaneous combustion rate in practice! So I tried to get a hold of….
“…I can’t tell you how tired I am of these kind of people. I mean I’m no stuckupper but once you get down past the Arentino corner it’s like the Ebonic Plague hit the place. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t care how someone talks but don’t go getting mad at me if…
“…And even after all these years, I’m still impressed with how well the Dubstep Revolution is coming along. I thought the counter-terrorists would be all over the poor bastards like white on rice, but they’re holdin’ out somethin’ fierce! Y’know I actually joined up with them for a while, believe it or…
“…I keep telling them that the auto-hauling system we’ve got up in the rafters just isn’t cutting it, but noooooooooo, they don’t believe old Drakis. Well I can promise you one thing, that back in my day the whole transportation industry was just booming. Not that it’s any of my business but whe….
“…Pirates! Real, honest-to-Space pirates. Big funny hats and all. What I can’t fathom is…
“…Eighteen blue humback rhinosowhales, and one Maldoonian Derpbird, would you believe it? How…
“…These two guys were fighting over a potato I guess, well long story short they both ended up dead in the snow and…
“…told them it’d be the @#$%in’ robot apocalypse if they didn’t stop @#$%in around with…
“…eels, all flailing all over like crazy, except they weren’t really…
“…know that the Lubowhanian word for ‘potato’ is the same as the word for ‘money’ and ‘happiness’? It’s…
“…blind drunk, flapping all over the place like a @#$%ing @#$% @#$%@ with a ruptured @#$hole, jackwagoning on like….
“…and I won’t believe for a second that Sheppard B is really dead. If it turned out to be true I…
“…one measily standard credit! So naturally I told him he could @#$% a @#$% in the @#$% @#$% for all I cared, and come to think of it I think he actually…
“…And that’s how I became the undisputed champion of the Sixth Realm of Darkness…
“…Really @#$% good pie. I mean, I’d never kill a man, but…
Drakis Volo was utterly oblivious to the sudden, excruciating agony that was piercing through his new friend’s skull at that very moment. He just kept talking, and talking and talking. His voice was anything but a drone – he was animated and grating, and very enthusiastic. It had gone on that way for…how long now? A few millennia, it seemed. It had definitely been at least ten thousand years by now. Probably more like twenty. They were clearly traveling very fast though, as could be determined by the featureless walls speeding by beyond the windows of the magrail pod they were seated in. So then, how big was this supposed ‘ship’ really?
Then again, they had said that the Stella Viventium would be the largest artificial structure ever created. Maybe those rumors hadn’t been exaggerated? Maybe it really was the size of a city?
Or maybe, as she had begun to expect, Rya was just in some land-bound place, and being told that she was on the famous Stella. But then, why would they lie to her like that? What purpose would it serve?
The old man was equally unaware that he was apparently being gauged as to whether or not he could be taken down in a fight. He was unaware of the inner turmoil his friend was facing, mounting question upon question and threatening to devolve into a spiral of madness induced by the gross and arguably despicable lack of information.
But presently, the old man was looking at her expectantly – or, at least, one would assume it was an expectant expression, since he had actually stopped talking for a moment. Assuming that she hadn’t heard him, he’d repeat himself, but patiently and without annoyance.
”I said, that you never introduced yourself.”
At just that moment, the pod finally slowed, and slid to an easy halt. The door opened automatically upward, and there was a soft little ’ding’.
”And I gotta’ say,” He added, getting to his feet and making for an identical terminal to the last one, without any differentiating signs or markings, but with a different arrangement of miscellaneous back-room detritus to imply that they were indeed in a different place. ”I’m bettin’ there’s a great story behind how a gal like yourself ended up lost in the Medical Ward an’ wearing a hospital gown.” He concluded expectantly, stepping out of the now unmoving pod and into the terminal. She had little choice but to follow, and clearly he was prompting her for some kind of explanation.
Of course, there was always the possibility of attacking him – but Rya would have to rely on instinct whether or not she should do so. He’d claimed to be the chief of the mechanics and robotics division, right? The implications might have involved tricks up metaphorical sleeves…
Then, something unexpected happened.
There was another little ’ding’, though if Drakis Volo heard it, he hadn’t reacted. Was it the pod about to automatically start moving again? It seemed a real possibility. Then some clear, easy-on-the-eyes text appeared unobtrusively in her field of vision.
[Initializing...]
[100%]
[BrainPal™ Startup protocols complete!]
[Linking to Other Components…]
[Link Complete!]
[Setting Up External Blocks…]
[Unauthorized Activity Successfully Quarantined!]
Then the text would disappear, but Rya would discover that a whole new avenue of cybernetic goodness had been abruptly opened up to her! Neural pathways emerged from the woodworks of her mind, a whole host of different functions manifested in her memory. It was a smart-phone in her head. With some practice, she would be communicating with others via technological ‘telepathy’ in no time. Already, words had appeared on the wall where none had been before. ’Central Station Maintenance Terminal’.
Though, of course, not all was well…Since whatever this handy new toy in her head was, it was effectively blocking the usage of all other cybernetic implants for the time being. At least the process was painless now – trying to access ‘restricted’ cybernetics would just result in an infuriating ‘right-on-the-tip-of-the-tongue’ sensation, rather than drilling pain. So that was something…right?
Drakis Volo turned back to her, still friendly and good-naturedly awaiting the story of how she ended up so lost.
In one of the many large hangar bays situated around the mass of the Stella, an insignificant little Bullet craft landed and belched out, among a couple others who had been lucky, Aleessa Rivierre and Dorin Harkahn - the ladder of whom was still rather dazed from the sudden calamity.
In the back of his head, some little-used BrainPal™ plugin alerted him that a very large, unexpected transfer of data had just occurred between an external source and the Stella Mainframe, but he ignored it entirely.
What mattered now, he realized, was getting in touch with the Kingsbane. Severin had been trying to contact him. He liked Severin - hardly knew the man, had never even seen him, but admired him nonetheless. He got the feeling that the old man's talents were being, if not squandered, at least hindered. After all, the Kingsbane was clearly a formidable death machine, but it was also low-tech in comparison with the inconceivably older, but considerably more advanced Stella.
But none of that mattered now.
The majority of the science department had just been wiped out of existence, he remembered with a returning dread in the pit of his stomach.
And who...or what had that terrible...man down there been?
Another contact attempt by Severin brought him back to reality. Having stepped away from the still fuming Rivierre and others, he spoke aloud so that his voice would be transmitted via BrainPal™ to be translated into audio by Severin's compatible respective tech.
"Severin, this is Harkahn." He sounded winded and drained, with a hint of residual dismay. Clearly something bad either had happened, or was happening. He heard the old man out without interruption, and there was an uncomfortably long pause as he considered it. The younger man was leaning into a wall and sliding to sit down, and stare at the hangar floor. It was all too much.
"Professor, things are...really bad." He said, at last. "There's been a Dendril attack on our science team planetside..." Then, fervently he added, mostly to himself with serious bitterness "@#$%, it was a Spacebedamned massacre down there!...We weren't able to find the Captain."
But, having gotten some of his tension out with his brief outburst, he had calmed slightly and spoke again in subdued, exhausted tones. "Though...Given his 'condition' I imagine he and Alexa will be just fine...But we're still without a definite leader for the time being."
It was a clumsy setup, really. A.P. was such an ever-present entity aboard the ship that one could hardly conceive of a Stella without him on and in control. There was the whole civilian governmental body, sure - but they didn't handle Notspace, and they certainly didn't handle things like this. The only 'second in command' was Alexa, and that was redundant since the two of them had never been seen apart.
There was another pause, Dorin gathering himself again. Part of him wanted to explode and proclaim that 'he just didn't know what to do, why ask him?!' But that would have been immature, and he knew it.
Finally he continued, getting to his feet again "I'm on my way to the drive controls right now. I'll be there in...ten minutes." Another downside to an unnecessarily colossal vessel. "I'll see if I can't get your boat into the Drive range and bring...No, no wait - I'll get with Yascra and see about...Agh! @#$% I don't know if that'll work either, we've never tried the guns in Notspace before. Never been a need. Dammit. This whole thing's too unexpected. Too many unknowns...You said all your systems are paralyzed, right? Propulsion too? Ok that makes sense, no entropy means no energy transfer means no kinetic energy...The ship as a while constitutes a single conceptual entity allowing others to move around inside, but... Dammit. We just don't actually know enough about Notspace itself to go about this right. Even after all this time. The laws aren't always consistent, either. Need more controlled experiments..." He felt as though it were him alone standing between the Kingsbane and Dendril-induced doom, and he did not like the pressure of it.
"Okay, just hold out a little longer. Once I'm in the Drive controls I'll see what I can..." He got word at that point from Isha that the Dendril ships had halted their approach, but it was suspected that they might be set to attack automatically on timers. He then relayed this information to Severin right away. He was on one of the speeding magrails now, headed for that most forbidden of zones, and leaning heavily into the plush seating.
"Hey, what about that anomaly we detected earlier? Did you ever figure that out?" He added suddenly, as though it had been a ray of hope in the seemingly unfathomable depths of lurking doom.
N O T S P A C E – The Fall of Isandril
The Shadow Over Himself was still amidst the surrounding destruction. The alien tide swept over the city and was devouring it – his power allowing them to do the impossible – to bend and break the previously indestructible, bronzy metal known as petrostanium. It was actually an unexpected effect to him – he had anticipated that not even his tenuous grasp of Notspace would be able to crack and warp a material so sturdy that it would stave off planet-busters. It was an amusing fact. It brought to mind that the Stella Viventium now had a real, tangible weakness – him.
But, he considered, there was no telling what effect their proximity to the city, plus their immersion into Notspace was having on all of it. He knew he was more powerful in Notspace, more powerful still when in the immediate vicinity of the gigantic Drive which made up the city interior. Perhaps then, when Isandril was destroyed, he would be unable to muster the strength of consciousness to repeat the feat with the Stella? Or maybe simply being within the cold, comforting paradox of Notspace might be enough? Begrudgingly, he had to admit that even though his experience with Notspace surpassed virtually any living being’s, there was still so very much he did not know.
Dimly, he recalled the image of a warm, muggy place – and an intense feeling of loathing for fools who dared to toy with forces they did not comprehend. But the warm, muggy place was not some location in his distant past, and the sensation seemed to be from the mind of someone who died long ago. Long before he had even undergone the Quantum Process which would backfire and detonate his skull from the inside out. Long before awakening to the presence of that dreaded Ova.
But it did not matter – for he was the most prime example of that exact feeling he had just briefly noted. He had done what none of his kind had ever undergone before in an effort to…to…to what? He never could remember the reason why he had undergone the process…
Presently, the great towers in his immediate vicinity began to bend at the bases and snap, and fall into each other with deafening sounds of screaming metal on metal. Here and there, a Dendril who happened to exist a little too much would be crushed. Indeed, by the time the city itself had begun to collapse, there were only a very scant few of the Stella’s scientific team remaining, huddling in corners waiting for one wretched monster or another to pluck them out of existence for good.
There was no need for The Shadow to be concerned, of course. He was quite incorporeal. As one of the slabs of rubble came crashing down atop his head, he flitted to the side in order that he might not spend any longer than he had to focusing his being inside the machinery, where things tended to get fuzzy. His vision after all, was for the moment centralized about the general area of where his eyes should have been.
The dissonant smile had not returned to his face. Still, that most fleeting sensation from the ship above stayed with him.
It was entropy incarnate, or so it seemed. It was dread unlike any he could have possibly conceived.
His mind, though fractured throughout time and space, was unfortunately limited to certain senses. He did not ‘see’ as an organic humanoid might conceive of it, but there was a similar, comparable sense to fill that need. He existed not ‘everywhere and nowhere’, but instead ‘had an equal chance of a given theoretical percentage of himself existing at any given point in space, Real or Not’. He could not be touched, nor could he touch – unless he focused his efforts. He could be in places infinitely far from where his consciousness was focused, but he was no psychic. He did not exist within minds, nor was he connected to them. He could find someone and whisper in their ear across the Universe, but reading their thoughts was quite out of the question.
It was for this reason that he was so very startled when yet another unfamiliar sensation washed over him from the general area around the city center. Unfamiliar, but unmistakably bad – for his people, at least. Worse still? He suddenly had the terrible feeling that he had been, if not tricked, manipulated. It was all he could to to try and backpedal the power he had put into his comrades – though it was useless. He had made them too powerful and it was going to mean some serious trouble. It enraged him – but in abrupt desperation he cried out to all the Dendril that he could;
”Wait – B̴rǫt͘h̀er͞s! Kill ͡the i͟nf̀e͡c̸t̕ed h-”
But he was too late.
In the dead center of the city was the tallest tower. In the days when the First People lived upon the world it had a name, but that was long gone to time. At the base of the tower there was a door, large but otherwise unmarked, and difficult to see for lack of hinges or handles, or any kind of control mechanism.
Empowered by The Shadow Over Himself, the Dendril were able to pry through the barrier, where they would find a deep, abyssal shaft descending far below the city. It was an elevator, of course – but the platform was already at the bottom. Not that this particularly mattered to the torrent of aliens crashing along – except for a few odd-outs that might have existed a little too much, and splattered at the bottom, or perhaps sliced themselves through the shaft walls in an unlucky moment of corporeality. Regardless, the losses were beyond insignificant. The main body of the force would reach the bottom of the shaft effortlessly, only to find another, but much shorter elevator downward. All around them, the interconnected, intricate patterns of glowing cyan lines would go ignored.
A short, but wide hallway and another door – more difficult to penetrate this time, more resilient so that none would be able to simply walk right through as they had done above, but not so sturdy that the hoardes couldn’t still tear them down with some effort.
Inside the great, cavernous central chamber of the city, Aelyn-Paeryc and Alexa Petrovalyc turned impassively to the door as it began to thump and bend and buckle under the assault of the enemy.
”I hadn’t expected them to make it this far.” A.P. commented, frowning thoughtfully.
Alexa, who had overcome her moment of what bordered on ‘empathy’ some time earlier gave a similarly detached ”Hmh.” of agreement.
Iria. That was their next clue. Underwhelming, even despite the significance of having surely been placed there by none other than Paeryc Petrovalyc himself, back before it all started. The implications were mind-shattering – it was a confirmation that he had anticipated his older brother following the trail back – if not to him, than to home.
But it was still only one word, and a virtually meaningless one at that.
The doors began to give, and the mass of monsters beyond could be glimpsed through the cracks.
”Really it’s a shame.” A.P. mused, turning toward his wife. ”Paeryc had actually come here, to this very place. It seems like there should have been a whole lot more we could do with it.” But Alexa did not appear now to be paying any attention to his words – rather she was looking queerly at Aelyn himself. He noticed this, and cocked a brow.
”We stopped existing again.” She said, with an undertone of mild, resigned disappointment, then added ”I’d forgotten that your eyes used to be hazel.” With a helpless half-smirk. His own dubious expression changed to mirror her own. ”I’d forgotten that we started to actually exist down here for a while. Would have been nice to figure out why. Probably the”
”Close proximity to the central point over there. But then in all honesty we”
”Can’t really pretend that we know anything at all about the true nature of Notspace.”
Though ‘bolts’ were a terribly uncommon object in First People architecture, some had been implanted into that last door for added security. Now, one went flying out, soaring through the open but stagnant air of the chamber, and passed through Alexa as though she were naught but a trick of the light.
Abruptly, the half-grin faded from Aelyn. ”The real question though is why”
”We’re suddenly going back to incorporeality. If it had just been our nearness to…whatever that is,” She nodded toward the pillar of incomprehensible light that illuminated the center of the domed room.
”Then we’d still be tangible.” Aelyn concluded. It was at that point he began to have some doubts that things might be anywhere within his league of understanding. Simultaneously, the two of them again turned to look with some anticipatory concern at the pillar of light, which seemed immeasurably, indescribably different somehow.
So what changed?
They said, in unison.
Nobody could have seen it coming – primarily for the fact that nobody could really imagine what in the name of Space was actually happening. It was quick – over in an eyeblink and a clamoring splatter…And it didn’t even have much of an effect on the attacking Dendril hoard…Save for the unlucky ones who had so happened to be too close to a human frag-bomb.
It was only natural that the Dendril would incorporate parts of their victims into themselves. How else would they function as a hive? Biological memory and other such intricacies. But it was equally natural that they would deliver a part of themselves into the body of their victim. Naturally there was, in rudimentary terms, a physiological change. Was it some kind of Dendril psychology? Or perhaps some byproduct of the means which they used to communicate? Whatever it was, the Dendril spawn had turned their human victims first into walking hosts - then into superbly, devastatingly powerful data transmitters.
It was also only natural that a piece of technology as advanced as the BrainPal™ would contain some kind of self-destruct mechanism from keeping opposing corporations from cracking them open and stealing trade secrets.
But when the Dendrils incorporated the minds, along with the BrainPal™s into themselves, the self-destruct function played no part. It was, after all, so very small that it would remain intact unless someone actually tried to take it apart - and that was not happening here. What was about to happen made very little logical sense.
0ͦ͑͗̓ͭ͢͏̶̡͓̖̫͙͓̫̯̹̯̝͇͙ͅ1̸̛͈͔̩̲̲͇̝̗̳̼͈̗̮͕̳̗͂̀͑͒ͭ̔̕͞͡ͅ0̴͙̬̱͈͙̯͖̼̙̯̣͓͔̲̣ͬ́̍ͤ͜͡ͅ0͛̽ͪ͂̐͂̎͌̏́ͦͦ̈̃̏̏̉̌͒͏̶̩̘̲̞͕͓̳̝͕̯̥̭̟̠͚̗͜͝ͅͅ1̨͍̭̭̗͔͖̥͇̫̹̜͕̬̹̘̓̆ͬ͝͞0̵̛̛̪̭͍͕̣̘̫̩͚̜̰̦̹̔ͧ́̔͊̅̓̒͊̿0̷̩̖̬̻̱̣̻̋̑̽̈́̅ͪ̀̈́ͤͯ̌ͩ̽ͦ̃̉͌̓̚͝1̸̴̴̮̺̟͍͍͇̞͚̦͕͓̭̝͉̞̯͙̠̤̈̍ͦ̾͊̏ͭ͌̆͌̂͛̚͝ ̴̻̣̲͖͖͇͉̫̻͕̞̯̱̻̑͗͆͌̅ͪ͌͑ͯ̕0̸̸̖̫͕͈͙͔ͪ͆͂͂̏̀̈̈ͯͦ̆̆ͮ̆͝͞1̉ͮͤ̃̉̄̔͗̔ͬ҉̡͈̮̖̻̻̰̭̦͕̼̯ͅ0̶͑̎̌ͬ͒̒ͤ̍͏͇̹͈̣͇̱̟̳̼̀͟͠1̶̱̙̗͙̠̱͉̺̻̝̪̤̳̘̖ͯ̾͆ͥ̀͆0ͭ̊ͥ̿ͦͪ̾ͭͨ̈̐̒͋҉̢̢̻̻̟̩͔̼̩́1̨ͮͯ̊͂ͫ̈́ͮ̋̓ͨ̍̓̆̓̌ͬ͒ͦ̚҉͎͔̳͙̳͕̦̯̬̥͚̝̗̣̖̻͚̻0͇̘̳̦͙̳̺̳͂̇̌̋͆ͣ̽͗̅͛̐̀̎̇͜͝0̢͒ͦ͂̓͗ͤ̋̌͟҉̘̝͕̺̙̪̞̼̟̖͖͓̞̰̳̻͕̟̀͟ ̷̶̨̗͚͓̮̤͊ͣͦͧͩͭͮ͑̆̈ͨ͌ͧ͒̇̕ͅ0̎̈́͌͋̉ͪ̊͌̈ͫ̀͒ͫ̐̓͂̆ͤ͒̀҉̻̙̝̭͖̬̳͚̲͈̥͖̠͢1̶̷̧̬͙̠̼̯̦̳̎̎͗̉ͦ͆̆̿ͥͪ͐͆ͦ̂͋̾͒͟͞0͑ͯ̈̃̄̍͐͋̓̔̒̏̊̓͂ͭ̚͏̷̛͏̦̪̬͚0̡͆͋͐̍̌̏̿͡͏̭̩̩̩̯̰̘͍0̵̛̣̯͈̙̗̾̍ͩͥ͐͆̊͋͂̈0̇ͦ͆̎̑́̎̈̈́͊̇̈̋͗҉̶̛̺͍͍͖̲̥̥͎͟1̵̧̹̯̥̪͖͇̞͍̘̏͗ͨ̌̿̿̌́͜1̵̸͙̬̥͎̙̘͈͎̖̪̣͕̟͚͈̭̘̃ͪͥ̉̇͂ͯ͑͗͆́͠ͅ ̾̈́ͬ̂ͧͯ͗ͦ̏͋͋̀͢͠͏͇͔̹͔̞͖̣̠̞0̴̨̧̭̝̤͕̺͓̥͙̟͔̱̣͔̈̾͐̇ͣ͆̔̎̃͝1̊̍ͥ̆̇̑̇͐ͮͣ̇̈́̉̒ͤ͏҉̶̵̟̻̩͙͍̱̯0̴̨̠̞͖͖̠̲̞̻̠͕̝̜̾̔́̾̑̍̌̒ͭ̈̎͊͗͆̎̎̎ͮ͟͟͠ͅ0̓̿̌ͥ̎̉̔ͨ͋͞͏̴͖̖̘͈͓̺̺͕̜̰̝͠ͅ1̤̥̤̯͈̱͔̰̭̂͐ͧ̐̍͢1̢͚̼̘͈̥̯̳̓ͨͪͪ̍ͦ͑ͧ͂͐̓̀̕͜1̶̷̢̹̪͚̹̠̦̫͉̞͖̬̟̹͇͙̠̹̥͂͐̅̓̑̉̿͊͡ͅ0͎̙͍̲̲̼͚͉̤͒̒̏̑͐̃͗̊̔ͤͪ͗ͮ̐͛̇̍͡͡ ̨̖̤̮̦̝̩̦͔̱̩͓̝̠̳̼̞̗̥̐͆͌ͨͫͧͯ͐͋̋̉ͫ͊́͢͠͡ͅ0̧̛̺̺͍̟̰̠̳̝͙͓̬͉̙ͥͤͤ͆ͨ͂́͘͠1̥̗̼̙̻̉̏̿̍̑̔̄ͯͤͨ̕0͔̗̲̞̪̻͔͎̰̬̦͕̫̖̫̰̾̄ͤ̊͘ͅ0͊ͯ͛̅̍̐̿̀҉͔̼̼̭̮̩̳͔̳͖̮̦̻̬̝́͝0̧̥͎̺̬̼̙̱͚͚͍̦̮̙̖͉̙̊̊͌́̂̽̿ͬ̊̐ͫ͑̅ͪ̚͢0̧̛̩͔̗̘̙̯̱̰̙̲ͫ̊ͭ̂̉ͨ́̆ͥͪ̐̊́̚̕͘0̵̜̬̺̙̜̬̗̘̭̺͖̲͓̘̥͓̾͗̓̓ͮͯͦ̿͠1̠̙͍̥̊̓ͦͭ̑̐̓͑͌̄́̽̈͠ ̸̢̛̱̤̯̝̭̖̹̭̩̇̇͒̆̆̈́̀͒̓̆͐͗̈́͊͘ͅ0̪̟͚͕̲̺̫̾ͬ̽̽ͣ̄͆ͮ͜1̛͚͓̹̳̦̗̺̯̭̦̙̳̎ͧͫ̍͐̑͊ͮ̔̍̉ͨ̈́́̑͆͝0̵̡̗̤͈͔̜̹̹̦͚͕ͬ͗̒ͨ͂̒͂͗̓͋͛̅ͤ̍̔͞ͅͅ1̷̂̊́ͨ̎͑̍̃̑͟҉̛͕͓̤̠̯͙͠0̶̯̖͉̮̺̳͙͈̼̠͑̾̃̋̏͆̔̆̿̉̑ͥ͢͝0̊̄̂̏ͬͦͪ̓̚̚҉͡͏̧̘̹̝͎̺̬̬͕̬͈̫̟͍ͅ1̶̢̩̩̫̩̗̟͍͇̳̜̔͛ͥ̈́́̈́ͧͤ̚1̴̵̮͈̼͉̱̖͚̮̠̹̩̟͔̬͎ͪ̔̈́ͩ͑̔̊ͤͭͭͪ͑̓̒̍͝ ̵̳̯̻̫̦̘̥̯̪͔̯̦͂ͯ͊̓̾͊̐̂̽ͮ͒̎̂̀́̕͡ͅ0̫̤̝̖̙͍̼͚̮̞͕̦̱͈͎̗̜̪̞̄̂͑̈́̈́͑̑̒ͤ͆͌̽ͧ͘͟0͌̊ͪͫ͆̃͑ͬ͂ͧ̑͆͑ͪ͐̚̚҉̷̻̜̼̦̜̠̘̗̹̲͘͜1̝͚̱̠̻̮͔̬̦͈̹̻̠̱͓̳̯̙̓ͦ̀ͫͨ̃́͟͜0͚͓̩̹̣̣̗̰͗ͯͮ̊ͭͧͨͬ̔͊͗̓̑͐̌ͪ̔̚̕͟͠0̍̏͒͋҉̭̣̼̥̼̲̀͜͢0̴͔̠̼̝͈̮̭͇̩̟͇̹͎̎̄ͮ͑͠0̸̜̭̱͍̪̙͔͔̺̦̝̪̮͉̝̞͔͙̲̐͂̄̅̒̌̿ͧ̾ͣ̋͗ͧͬ́͟͢0̵̵̴̵͍̭̬͖̜̻̼͈́́̏̆̌̇ͮ̇̿̒̂ͤ͘ ̈́̒̋̈́ͫ̃̄̔͌̋̽̇ͫ̀̿͏̴̬̳̪͉̠̻̣̠͎̤͍̞̝͘0̡̢̪̻̦̣̼̜̹̹̻̩͓̝͋̃̌̃̑̊ͯ̆̀̀̕1̷̨̮̫͉̺̱̳̲̃̉͊͆̐̎̀ͭͤ̄͛ͨ̏͒͒ͫ̇͂̋̕͡͞0̛͖͉̫͓̭͎̒ͣ̋ͮ̆̏̆ͪ̂͋̄͜͢ͅ1ͫ͐͐͐́ͬ̐ͮͤͪ̈́̚͝͏̜͙̠̣̲̖̱͇̤̞͕̼̗͈͕̤̫0̋̉̇ͯͭ̔͠͏̟͕͈̘̮̙̣̩͉͔͇̦͙͕̗̻́͡͞0̵̶̠͉̦̗͓̟͚͚͓̜̠͕͕̲̐ͣ̔͊̽̂͘1̴̧̛͓̘̺͇̯̜̮͚̪̞̲̝̠͔͓̈̄̉̑̂ͦ͌̈͊͐̈ͬͨ̇ͥ͛̃̊̈́̕̕1̶̙̤̣̘̦͕̘͔͇͍͈͉̺̠̟͓ͤ̿̾ͭ̏ͩͬͬ̿̌̀̏̒ͥ͘ ̶̷͓͔̭̻̙̙͇̜̟̩̭̖̫̲̔ͮ̿̏̋̆ͨ͘͠0̷̢͍̰̥̞̰̦̲̣̲͙͋́ͯͯͤ̐ͤ̔̾̀̓̓ͪ̅̆̌̐͟͟1̵̢̛̹̜̩̲͓̭̺͓̤͉͙̻̪͉͇̹͗ͣ̃̾̍ͭ̍̂ͬͯ̏̇ͫ͆̎ͧ͘͜0̸̢̭̹̖̺̝͔̯̠̮ͯ̃̆̑̓ͭ͐͛ͧ̏͊̐̉̌ͬ̾͂̃ͨ͜1̧̧̛̞͙͖̠̮͇̬͇͉̦͔̯̳̬͚̘͔̯͆̋ͫ͒̓̉̓́͢0̛̛̏̇ͥͭͯ͌̆̓͋҉̧͓͉̪͔̠̹̮̹̦͍͓͕̪̜̠̙͙̩̀1̛̭̥͕̦ͭͪ̅͗ͩ̃͂ͫ̂̒ͭ͌̎̀͘0̧̌͒͐͊ͨ̽ͤ̈̊̌ͫ̃ͦ̊̌͜҉̡͖̣͈̩͍͖̤͉̙͞1̰̭̠̫̥͖̜̭̲̝̘͆̾͊̍̀̉̂̄̇̿͐͌́ͧͨ̀̀̚̕͘͠ ̡̫͎͓̪̞͔̝̻̘̼̞̒̄͛͑ͫ̍ͮ͟0̱̜͈̦ͥ̒ͥ͋̌͆͋͛ͨͩ͊ͮ̑̃͑͝1̵̺̹̣͖̻͈͖̙͇̹͙̫̗̼̺ͧͥ͑ͨͯ̽̓ͬ̅͐̿̀̚͘͝0̧̪͎̤͔̬͎̞̼͔̼͙̪̐́͗̾̍͒̈́̅̃ͩ̂̚͞ͅ1͖̤̩̥̗͉͕̩͍̺̞̮ͥ̌̇ͮ͛̄̃͌̈̍́̚͘0̸̡̛̳̩̞͍̭͍̖̮͚̙͙̟̓̓̿͋̋̅̒́ͭͭ͋̎̽̀̃1̓̂͂ͨ͐̈́͡҉͖̘̠0̴͒ͦͩͮ̓̾̑͛͌ͨ̽͏̱̤͉̖͈̟͇̖͜͝0͉̩̹̪̼͔͓̥̺ͣ̔̌̃̄ͨͮ̊ͮ̕͝ͅͅ ̊̒̆͌̉̍̏̉̐̍̽̓̈́̋́͋ͫ͛̚͏͚̯̻̘̝͙̰̺͇̱̱̺͚̞͓̪0̸̵̫̹̩͇̦̪̫̮͓͍̳̜͎͇͔̗͉̎̂̋ͥ̈͌͆ͯͫ͘͢1̛̖͔̼̻̘͓͉̼͙̲̘͚̗̩̻ͦͥ͒͌̃0ͬ͛͌̅ͬ͑̃͐͒͂ͫ̈́̈́ͧ҉̵̨͍̟̩̳͔̲̩̼̲͚̯̣ͅ0̶̨̩͙̻͇͎̣͙̰̰͉̼̘͔̮̹̮͉̲̒ͫ̌ͮͦ͂ͧ̂ͣ̀1̸̐̿̏̽̐̅̆ͬ̉͑̿ͧͦ͐̿̿̚҉̞̺̜͚̱̺̬̦̖̲̳̦̳͕0̧̛̻͉̳̞͕̝̒̓͌͐ͤ̔͌̏͡0̵̢̭̩͚̙͎͎͚̜̭̜̺͇̣̤̗̫̭̺̆͌͊ͤ̔͗ͨ̕͟1̸̢̡̱̯̳̼̲̥̱̮̩̗̯͗̄ͧ̚͞ ̵̸̡̪̟̜̲͓͇ͪͮ̓̎̾̏̎̅̈́͑̀ͨ̒̚̚͢0̷̧̧̛͓̳̦͓̳͎̳̖̻͉̱̮͙̑ͧͧ͒ͫ͛̀ͨ͂̏̋̀̔ͭ͂̈́ͅ1̱̜͓͇͙̰̥̪̃͒̎̄̾̅ͬ̅̆̒ͤ̈́̚͜0̵̨̧̫̱̠͚̯̻̰ͧ͗̉͌1͔͈̙̬̩̞͕̳̦̞͛ͭͣ͗̄̌ͭͮͫ̌̔͂͂̀́͜0̸̵̹̝̟̹̭̼̫̄̈̈͛̃̓͛̊̄̋̋̋̒̅̚̚͘͢͠ͅ0̝̘̰͖̺̰͇̠̼̻̣͖̎̽͂̊͞1̛̳͖̰̳̦̪͚͈ͨ̂͑̇͊́͘͢0̹̟̪̖̖͍͔̝̮̺̲̫̝̣̹̄̃ͩ̈̈̽͜͡ ̶̨̼͖̘͇̰̠͓̮͙ͭͥ̉ͫͅ0̷͋͂̿ͩ̔̃͒̚̚͏̼̜͖͚̩͎̼̙̺̥͈͚̕͘͘1̌͛͌ͫ̄̎̋͢͠҉̫̖͉̲̙̖̹̞̬͈̘̖͓̲͉̜͕ͅ0̮͕̙̭̰̲̪̝̖̘͓̄̎̎̀̐ͧͬͬ̄̇̆ͤͧ̀̔̾̇̚͢͞0̵̥̖̻̮̦̎ͬ̌͗̓̋ͬͭ͂̉̈ͤ͟1̴̢ͪ̒̅ͣ̆͋͡͏̙̞̹̺̯̬̮̜̟͔̬0̶͌ͪͪ̐ͥ̊͐̚͏͇̮̘̣͎͓͈͇̘͇̺̩͕͍̝͕́͞0̶̫̼̲̭̖̔̏ͬ̔̇͛̋͛̋̐ͧ͜1̴̜̱͎̝̼̖̩̫̫̲̹̈̈́́̀̈̀ͪ̔̄̂̊̌̾͂̚͜͞ ̨̡̺̗̫̭̖͉͙͖̣̝͇̦͔͉̹ͭ͗ͥ̎̏̂̍́0̸͍̝͚͕̥͓ͬ͑͌͗͗̑̂͌̇̔̉̋̚͠͡1̵̦̲̞͍͂̃͂̎ͯ͒͝0̸͇̹̳͖͖̰͚̱̘̮͎͑ͬͥͤ̊ͤͫ̿ͭ̈̃ͫ̾̊ͯ̓͘͘1̴̸̢̨̡̫̥̟͈̟̇̍̓̎̇̿̿͂ͦ̔̿̀ͧ̈̉̈́̚0̴̛̛͕̤̬͚̦͙̗̥ͪ̈ͬ̅͜͞0̏̀̄͑͆͊̑ͦ͗ͨ͂̇̎͏̼͉͚̗̮̲̼̥͓̖̻͓̀̕ͅ0̷̖͖̗̫̗͇͓̠̙͔͉̤͍͍͈̮̌͂ͩ͛̇ͩ̓̓̀̑ͩ̌ͭ̂͌͒́́̕͜ͅͅ0̷̭͍͎̤̦̠̳̫̮̼̗͚͇̺ͣ̈̇̎ͤ̏͂ͪͨͬ̍̇ͭ̚ͅ ͈̖̱̩̻̠̝͖̠ͯ͋ͤͭ̐ͫͪ̃̿̉͊̅̔͘͞ͅ0̢̩͕̬̺͎͙̭̮͚̯͚̏͂ͨ̍̄̅ͮ̎̐͒́̆ͥ͜1̷͈̜̮̩͉̫̥̲͍͎̮͉̦̈̃̅ͮ̓͜ͅͅ0̶͔̳̜̝̰̝̳͈̣̺̥͇͚͙̘̦͂̈́͊ͥͫ͝͞1̨̢̡̝̟̫̖͔̜̱̫̟̖̹̱̫͖̫̙̮͍͍̏̒͊̿̑̉͐̊́0̪̣̯̗̖͖̩̗̠͇̩̆̿̾̈ͮ̑͊ͧ͊̿̿ͥ͌̑ͪ̅̚͟͟0̷͔̘̣̘͈̙̗̳̞̫̪̣̲̥̪ͮ͊̔͊̆ͪ̽1̡̩̱͙̣̠̠̖͚̐̄͗̋̄͛ͧ́͠͝1̧̡̦͙̼͙̖͎̞̰̺̞̹̬͕̯̅̇͆͑̾͊͊ͮͮ̎̀̈͂̄ͭͮ̐̚͟ ̴̢̟̺̠̺̘̠̘̞͓͓̮̗͇̝̲̼͆͒͐ͧ̈ͯ̚͜͝0̨̩̱̹̳͑ͬͫ͌ͭ̂̈́͆͘͠ͅͅ0̸̪̯̞͇̘̻͎̦̣̪̼́̿͗͐͑͋͋͒̅͂̒͡ͅ1̵̛̤͈̘͉̭̹̾̈́̑ͩ̍̒̓͂͂̔̌̎͂́͡͝0̷̬̠̦̱̦̦̥̙̉͌ͭ̌̏ͧ̓̈̚͟͢ͅ0̷̵̻̭̪̫̗̻̲ͬ̊̏̌̑ͣ̇ͨͧ̍ͭͥ̊̅ͥͦ̈́͛̆̀́͢0̸͔̙͚̉ͪͯ͛͊̂̿̓͝0̵͆͊ͤ̌̾̌ͦ͒̋̉͒̀̽̌̀͘҉̝̳̳͚̤̲0̷̵͉͉͉͈̹͈̠͉̟̳̻̺̅̏͒͆ͯ̃͂̾̒̅̏ͮͣ̌ͭ̚ ̶̨̛̺̖̬̟̘͖̪͚͓͇̱͉̪̪̘̩̗̐ͭ̿ͥ̓ͬͤ͗̔̋ͭͫ̑̋̚0̨̗̙̻͚̫̫̱̰͔̭̜͍̬̒͌̇̓̂̊ͧ̋̑͒̉ͨͣͪ͑͆́̚1̫̫̻̪ͩ̃̊ͪ̉̔̈́͘0̷̡̜̣̗͚͙͐̂̐ͪͯͧͩͣͯ̈́́͘̕1̝͉̺̪̘͇͍̮͉̫̉̃̂͛̓̃̏̽͊ͦ͋̓̄̆̋̍ͧ́̀͘͘͠0̴̡̧̢͎̺̳͍͙̹͖̯̲͈͎ͧ͂͌ͨ̉́ͥ͗͗̌͜1̶̡̡̛̰̦͉͕͚̗̱̪̱̬͖̳͙̼͍̮͈ͪ̒͐ͭͦ̌̅͂̍ͯ̊ͬ̚͝0̷̥̺̰̞͇̬͙̣̼͈͉̩̝͈̻͉̖ͤͦ͒̈́̉͗͘͝0͉̖̳͔͇̟͈͙͇̜̠ͪ̑̈̅͑̊ͣ̑̃̑́̀͢͡͞ ̯̼̼̦̲̼͇͎̟̼̹̟̺ͧͯ̒̐̀0̡̨̧̖͕̱̗͕̦̣̤͎̉̆́͒͒̾̑͊ͩ͌͗ͧ̚̕1̡̿ͯ͆ͫͯ̊̿ͥ̿̓̅͢͜͏̪̤͇͇̬̞̝̲̣̯̰͉0̏͐̓̿͏̵̣͙͇͎̙͚̙̮̩̫̺͙̠͍̠͙͠0̷̸̢̨̫̻͕̦̟͉̖͊̇͌ͭ̒̍ͬ͆̓̌̕ͅ0̷̵̶̛͚̜͖̠̗̣̦̖̍͌͊ͮ̔ͦ̍̽̇̃1̾̌̎̒̔̄̏̓͂̇ͣ͏̶͢͏̳͇̯͕͇͓0̛̯̼̥̞͔͍͈̥̞͙̰̩̼͉͖̠͈̞̤ͤ̅ͣ̀ͬ̈́̉ͮ́ͣ̐̃̓͆̀͜͠1̰̪̝̥̪͓̘̰̭̤͗̔̆̋ͫͬͩ̋̈́̊͘ ̢̨̡̤̗̹̹̮̪̘̗̣̬ͭ̆̄̂͊̍ͯͬ̃ͬ͑͘0̦̟̤̳̈́́ͮͥ̅ͩ̃͗͋̑̽̉́̚̚͘͡0͙̜̣̤̮̣̗̯̲̳̜̓͒͂͊̓ͦ̐̃͊͆͊͋ͧͦͯͥ̀ͨ̀̚͜1̢̛̖͔̰͓͎͚̳̤͈̤̠̥̞̗̺̳͎ͪ̓̓̓̂ͦ̓ͫ͒͊̎̔ͫ̀͊̚͜͠0̡̰͇̺̼̝͕̖̖͇̌̌̔ͭ̍̀ͅ0̵̰̣͓͍̹̠̏̇̎ͨ̊ͨ̀̀͆̅̔ͫͫͭ͆̎̌̕͡0̉ͮ͌͂ͥͦ͋̊̑͊̓ͣ̀̐̔҉҉̵̤͇͓̕͢ͅ0̵̧̖̩̦̫̣̟̤̤̱͉̮͎͈͖̩̳͉̆͐̋̈́̎ͣ̓ͮ̂͛͗́̃̍͋̀͢ͅ0̛̱̮̖͙̬̯͕̘̳̫̖̼͖͗̓̉͑̋̕ͅͅ ̢͇͙̮̭̪̯̐ͭ̈́̒̊̒̓ͅ0̧̫͈̟̖͎́ͥ͗͂͟͠1̧̛̺̱̭͕̦͖̮͙̩͙͚̞ͣ̐̈̆̅̓̃̀ͅ0͈͍̖̺̜̺͓̰̦̲̦ͧ́͛ͯ̆͂̋ͦ̚͢0͕̜̟̳͚͕͙̮̣̭ͪ̑ͪ̿̊́1̸̵̮̺̱͖̪̻͋ͩ͛̓ͨ͠0̐̔͌ͣ͢͡҉̧͎̗̱̦̼̘̘̕0̷̡̮̭̝̻̙͕̳ͬ̽̅ͩͯͥͪͥ̊̈́͒ͬ̀ͩ̌̄ͣ̕1̡̼̺͍̻̬̬̟͓͚̠͔̉̏ͭ̒̊̇̌̅͐̀ͪ͆̾̓̽̽ͨͬ̚͠ͅ ̎͌ͩͮ͑ͣ̔̅̾̃̈ͥͬͩͨ́́҉͙̳̙͚͍̲̟̰̼̝͈͉̯͘͝0̧̧̮̲̻̪̳̙̹̩̪̳͎͖͎̹̾̿̽̈́̿ͯ̈́ͪ͆̆͜ͅͅ1̻̠̳̠̤̲̝ͥ̍̈͒ͫ͗ͫͥ͋̑̏͒̇̄̑̈͢͡0͓͓͉̻̳͎̻̩̬̰̥̝̟͓͈̫̱͗ͪ̍̿̓̏́͞͞ͅ0̱͔̩̱̼͍͖̻͇͈̬͉̼̼͙̠̦̥̳ͧ͂̂̋ͬ͐͗͑ͩ͂́̃̇̾͛̈̑ͯ̕͡1̧ͯ̄̃̀̑ͬ̿ͧ̌̔ͦ̓̒̒̓ͦ̃ͬ͐͏̴̱͍̬͕͙͜͡0̧̤͙͉͕̠͈͓̪̜̗̥̋̑ͣ̉̅́̇ͭ̇͞0ͪ̓ͬͥ͐͗̀ͪ̃ͫ́҉̷̢̫͈͎̗͓̟̫̥̩̟̥̳1̴̺̺̣̝̳̺̣̗̱̮̙̑ͪ̋̐ͦ̀̄ͪ́͘͢͝ ͛̋ͩͦ̒́̆́̂̃̅̀҉̥̩̟̳̮͓͕̪0̤̙͇̲ͧͧ̌̎̑̑ͯ̽ͬ̆͌̇ͮ̾͂̆͑ͦ͟͢1ͮ̏̎̇͊̒̓͑ͪ̂̃̈̍̃ͣ҉̸̝̲͈̯̘͈̱̺̩̫̘͖̬͠͡ͅ0̵̡͈̗̼̭͊̎ͯͯ͗͆͆̈́ͩ͌̓ͪ̓0̛͖͕̝̜̪̂̃ͭ̂̃̾͐̅͆ͭͭ͟͝ͅ1̴ͪ̌ͦ̈ͧͨ͐͝҉̹͖̼̰͓̝͎͎͔͘1̶̷̡̟̺̻̱͚̤̙̰̟̦̭ͤ̇̈̈́͂ͫ̓͌̀ͨ̀̚͞0̷̢̨̑ͯ̊̊ͯͬ́̀ͫ̏̃͛͏͙̗̫̮̼̲̥͚̞͖̳̳͓̘̘̹͢0̨ͦ̓̓̔ͦ͞҉̡̱̻̤͈̪̟͔͎ ̶̸̢̛̻̝̮̪͉̩͚̺̗ͣ̍̓́͗̽̆́ͦ̅̏ͫͦ0̵̧̨̛̥̹̝̙̤̩̭̲̩̘͎͉̬̝͙͐ͨ̊ͫ̄̈́̃̎͗͝1̨̛̤͎͎̟̺̻̠̱̫͗ͧ̉ͭ͋ͯ0̵͇͉̻͚͔̦̬̭̭̺͔͉̻͍̮͊̄̆ͨ͆ͭ̓͌͑̍́̀́ͅͅ0̐̂̿ͬ̄͌̾̎ͦ̈ͥͤ͗̐͏̧҉͏̖͓̮̟̖͍͔͚̱͡ͅ1̛̮͍̹̪̗͖̠̩͕͚̭̹̱̗͕̈ͣ̍̃͌ͭ͗̊́ͨ̂ͩͣ͡0̸̩̖̪̖̞̙̰̼̝̞̜̹̺̟̈́̂͂̆͊ͪ̋͂ͣͬ̈́ͪ̿ͪ͋ͤ͋͒̚0̨̻̠̟̪̥͖̱̪̼̟̩̭̹̙͙̘̞̟̯̃̔̊̾̑͆ͨ̀̚̚1̶̜͈͇̪̜̜̪̹̗͖̮̣̔͗̉̈̎̎͗̀ͣ̽͝ ̡̟͈̝̲͕͉̯̩̻̬͕̩̦͔ͬͧ͛̎͐̍ͥ̔͑̏̀̔̽̌̌̅̚͜͞0̸̶̰͎̰̫̯͈̣ͬ͒ͭ̒ͧ1̶̶̭̜͉̙̬̪̯̳̩̘̳̺̰̯ͨ̒͆͐ͨ̈ͤ͌̈͊̓͋̌ͮ̈͌̔ͫ͡0̶̝͉͈̺̮͈̤̩͗̃̉̒̌̈́̿͑̏ͫ͂̋͗̊̍͋͗͘͟ͅ0̡̛̽̓̂ͦ͠͏̢̲͖̤͉̜̹͕̣͕͉̻̫͚̪̺͉͖ͅͅ0̷̧̢̡̟̰̣̼̥̯̹̟ͫ̒͑͋͛̐̉͛ͭ͊̓̏̍̊ͅ1͔̗̣̭̗͖̟̦̲̝̤̝̱͔͈̗̯̜̲̽̈́̈̌ͧͫ͆͡1̶͓̦̼̣͍ͨ̀͛̀0̨͓̘͚̠̱̞͉̮̖̣̬̻̗͕̮͆̑͋ͩ͗̾̊̓̂̋͟͞͠ ̡̥͎̥̩̋̔̅ͥͨ̀̇ͤͩ̏̃ͬ̔̊̽ͣͯͦ0̶̡̛̮̝̻̪͕͆ͬ̈͂͆̔͆ͫͫ͂ͫ͆̀̓ͯͬ͜0ͮ̾̊̋͛̓̂ͩ҉̧̻̻̠̠̫͔̬̹́͘͠1̶̸͚̺̯̬̝̼̲̺̱̮̉͗ͭ̒̈́͛ͣ̉͆͐͊̑ͤ̓͂̂̆̾̂́ͅ0̸ͮͭ̓̾͐ͧ͋̐̐̍ͭ͋̌̚̚҉̣̱͖̰͚̘̼0̴͎̲̲̱̥̤͎͇̺̥̙͔̬͖̪͑̿̑̌̊ͯͤ͂ͥ̊̒̉͂ͥ̚͟͟͞0̸̛̗͚̙̻̰̤͂͆̇̉̽̑̀͜ͅ0̸̮̟̟̭͚̰̞́̅̓ͮͫ͒̄̔̍̑ͦ̾͛̀͊̉̚̕͡0̘̬͔̫͍̪̗̝̹͚̬̱̯̳̼̣̟̇̃ͫ̿͠ͅͅ ̴͕̘̦̟͍͊͐͛̈́̈́̀ͫ̅͗̃̃͞͞0̽͛ͪͮͭͪͩ́ͯͥͩ̄͝҉̮̗̮͙̗͈͇̪͎̥̦̹̱ͅ1ͮ̋̆̇ͭ̃̇̒͆̋ͯ̈́̉̔̏̿͗͑͟҉̫̮̱̮̗͓0̵̱̣͇̗̳̼̣̥͌͗̍̌ͬ̓̓̔͐ͬͮ̊͋͊̇͐͞1͊̾ͨͥ̇͊͌͌͋͛̈ͩͩ͑̌͋̕҉͍͖̫̺̝̼̜̺̱̞̘̫̜͚͚̮̰̬͘͜͡0̵̡̭̙̘̯̟ͪ̎̍ͮ͒ͣ͂ͨ̂͊ͭ͂̔ͣ̓͆͘͜͟1̨̛̫͈̬̮̼̟̮̬̜͒ͧ͒̽ͭ̋͒̈́͛ͫͭ͊̂ͭ̎͊̓͟0̶̡͓͇͇͙̆̄͛͌̂̈̂ͯ̊̂͌̅̃͌̋͘͝0͈͈̦̱̩͉̙̘͍̿ͧ̿̂̾͑̎̆̾͢͢͠ ̶̽ͮ̍̂̍ͯͭ͒̇͜͏̲̜̯̝͎͔̜0̴̓͒̄ͧ͑̃ͫ͒͑͋ͣͦ̋҉̮̯͕͎͚͙̫͈̤͘͟1̸̨̧̳̲̭͉̟͚͎̞͙̠̩̓ͨ̅͌ͤ͛͋̉ͯ̌͊̏̚͜͡0̷͕̞̲̰̜͙̯̝̯͉̦̩̘͙̅̂ͥ̽͢0̵̶͙͔͇̜̳̙̼̼̱̄̔̈́̋͛̈́ͮͯ̀͆̎ͫ̓̉̒ͦ͛̚0͖̮͚͉̭̬̪͍̞̭̟̰̘͖̯͙̈͆̽̏ͤͯ̏̆̇͊ͣ͘1̢̛̞̦͈̥̾̇ͬ̊̎̀̕͞0̴̧͕͓̪̺͉̜̦̲̒͋̑̒ͭ̈̕1͊ͭ̿ͣͭͪ̐̓̏͆͆͛͏̡̠͓͉̦̫̞͍̣̠̰̱̯̘̰͡ ̵͑͛̀̈̂͑͏͉̞͉̤̘̻͙͙͈̪̜͉̳̜̥͖͔ͅ0̸̸̡̝͓̺̰̻͍̮̹ͬ̽̄̉͊̏̀͢0̵̢̺͓͉͚͓̾̋̈͌ͦ̋ͪͬ͂̚̚̚̕͞ͅ1̴̱̹̟̝͇̰̹̠̭̞̟̽̃̿͐ͩ͋̍̔̀̚͡͝ͅ0̳͕͖͕͙͔̹̠̻̬̣͈͔̺̅͊́̌ͬͣͣ̿̃ͬ̇ͮ̓̑͑͑ͧͩ̚͡͡ͅ0̞̹̺̫̹̖̙͙͓͉̳͍̀̆̇̿̋͛̃̔͊̑ͪ̐͐͑̓̚̕͡͞0̷̧ͤͨ̓̚͜҉̯͕̙̖̖͖̘̰̳͞0̵͔̥͕̮̩́͛͛̿̍̈̈́̄̋ͯ̃ͦͮ͐̅̚0̸ͩͤͦ̔͏̻̻̮̘̪̖̼̩͚̦ ̛̪͇͇̙͚̩̖͚̻̹̭̦̘̙̋͒̆̈̎ͣͤͨ̔̂̔͞͝0̴̾ͧͮͥ̂ͯ͌̂̅ͨ҉̸̡̪̜̪̺1̉ͫͭ͋ͩ̽ͣ̽̈́̎ͩ҉̳͉̼͇͙͈̤͜0͎̼̰͖̖͔͕̹͈͈͉̱̱̰͉͉̰͒̂̓̑̆͂̅ͨ̏͌̈́͂ͬͬ͆͗̀͟͟1̧̢̧̡͔̮͎̺͓̝͚̜̫̜̗͚̩̰̪͑́̆̉̋ͥͦ͜ͅ0̽ͣͪ̀̋̿ͯ̍ͬͥ̾̍̔̃͒̈̇҉͟҉̢͇̼̥͓͈̜̫̲0̸̶̶̜̺̯͓̥͓̱͕͙͕͉͓̩̬̜ͩ̐̅́͘ͅ1̵̸͕̩̻̞̗̊͂ͧ̃̾ͯ͆ͨ̚1͕͇̘͉̼̥̼̜̯͔̻̲̦ͧ̀̽̿ͯͫ́͞ ̵̨̨͍̭̰̬̥̼̳̈́͊ͯ͆̅ͯ̒͒̓ͪ̄͌̄̄ͤ̚͡0̶̪͎̮͔̗̭̫͚͓̗͇͔̱͇̬̳̝̒̂͋̋ͪ̔ͦ̔̽͒̈́̆́͘1̡̡̣̦͈̟͍͉͍̗͙͈̳̮̳͓͔͖͖̀͐̂ͭͨ͂ͨ̄ͣͣ͜͜0̵̛̩̖̞̰͊ͣ͑ͥ͑ͦ̌̌ͣ̂͋̀͟0̶̴̥̖͕̱̱̻̭̺̺̭̯̥͚͚̲̦̩̲̇́̂͌ͣͨͨ͛ͦ͞1̑ͭ̿̾̎͂͋͏̯͕̝̰̫̀͞0̵͙̦͚͈͙̺̱̣̺̩̝̣͉̥̟̞̠̔ͮͫ̐̈̿̏̈̚͟͢0̴̄̃ͭͩ͟͏̹̘͙̺1̡̨̹̠̠̻̘̟͑̾̔ͫ̽̒͆ͭ̌̓̿̓̓ͬ̈́ͪͤ̀͘ ̶̉̎͗̚͢͞͞҉̺̙̩ͅ0̸̧̭͎͈̜̫̞̲̤̪̣̠͓̻͛̓̂͆ͭͧ̓ͥ́́1̨̯̟̳̪͓̝͆ͭͭͪͥ̎̇̔̓ͯ̚̕͜0̛̱̱̜̗̣͉̆ͭͩ̍͒̎͂̀͟͡1̷̴̛̖̠̟̱̐̎ͨͬ̽ͤ̈́̔0̡̥͖̰̳̱̩̫̱̌̈́̅ͨ̍̈́ͧ̆̎̃̀0̧̜̺̬̭̖̦͙͙͍̳̟̯̦͔̟͕̠͈ͮ͌̐̑͟͢͝1̴̵̛͇̩͈͔͎̳̥̯͔͖̖̓ͮ̓̂̎́͐̀̌̾ͮͬ͐̑̚̕͜0̓͂̂͊̍ͩͪͦ͑̆̆͋͏̧̘̼̦̱̬̞͔̬̝ͅ ̢̛͖͈̫̪̩͇̟͓̣̥͕̝͍̭̬̩̞͚̽̎ͣ̇ͣͮ̐͠͡͠0̔ͯͨ͐̿͂ͪͥ͋̐̈́̒͌̚҉̧̙͍̪̗͔͉͇̱1̷̪̣̘̤͚̖̟͉̻̳̼͔̩̆̊̂͂͐ͣ̃̆̐̀͌̄̇͑͛̎́͢ͅ0̶̿ͣ̆̀҉͕͕̠͈̮̳̹̼̟̞̣͎̩̝̯̬͙̜͜͟͡1̵͓̰̳͎͈̦͕͎͙̖̲̜̩̬̂͊͂̄͑ͧ͌̿̀̓ͩ̍ͯ͞0̵̢̛̥̲̤̙̱ͫ̏͆͌͒̓͆ͬͩ̎͗̓ͮ͂̈́ͫ̂ͧ́͠ͅ1̴̢͎̣͙̼͕͇̲͍̬͙͚͇̤͂̿͆̌ͩ͛͋̒̌̽͛̿̒̒̈̍̏̌̇͢͝0̷͒̒͐ͦ̽ͮ͂̈̅̌̔̂ͯ̋̇̽̓̔̆͏̯͙̗͓̫̦͙̦̰̀ͅ0̸̢̼̲͙̘̩͔̺̼̝̞̝͉̬̼̼͕̦̾͋͛̂̊̕ ̵̨̡̨͉͉̠̖̩͈̤͖͓̳̹̳̠̤̼̦͚̙ͩͬ̇͆͐͌̊͒̈̉ͣ̍ͩ̈̍́́̄͡0̂͐͑ͮ̋̔͏͏̥̣̠͖͕͍͍̱͓̘̣̝̘̙͈ͅ1̍̽̏ͯ͋ͥͯͨ̌ͥ͊͘҉̷̫͇͖̹̗͈͉͡0̱̫̫̺̖̫̭͖̤͈̩͕̲̙̙̜̮̦ͬ̄̑͋͋̉͐̑̌̊͑͑͛ͫͨ̀̚͢͝0̶̛͚̦͙̜̩̞̼̠̔̅͊̓̒̔ͭͫ̓̉͐̾̂́͝0̵̸̡̻͙͇̬̪̑͑ͯ̿ͪ̄̒̄̾͊̓͑̍̋ͅ0̴̫͙͖̦͙̰͖͈̰̦̘̤͍͓͍̲̞͑̑ͪ͐̑̌̌̋͆͂ͬ̐̚͘͞͝0̢̝͈̹̠̠̥͍̫̙͕̰̟͉̦̘͕̝ͣ̒ͤ͂̃̏̋̅͆̈́ͨ̾ͫ̏̽͟1̭̞̬̺̄̄̅̏͋̃̆ͪ̀͝͝ ̴̢̡̦̹͓̺̻̯͐ͭ̅̆0̨̉̓͆̈̉̎̏͝͞͏͏̤͚̻͖ͅ1͈̗̠̪̑̍͌̉ͧͣ͋ͬ͜ͅ0̴͉̥̝͓̤̖͚̲̺͙̹̝͕͈̮͇͐̓̆̆ͬͣͯ̆́͘ͅ1̛̬̲͚̲͔̻͕̝̳̲̱͊ͯ͆̓̊̎̎̏̽̀ͥ̒̋ͫ͛͠ͅͅ0̸̢͚̰͓̟̳̘̘̺͙ͧ̎ͥͯ̆̆̽͑̋̏ͧͩ͂̾̉̒̀͜͝0̷̏̎ͪ̔̆ͦ̆ͭ̉̒̀͏̘̣̱͙̩0̶̛͕̬̦̞͎̻̹̦̓̑͊͒̄̎̾̒ͭ̀͑ͣͨ̌͑̈̚ͅ0̸̨̛̬̘͖͎͙̾ͮ̊̄̔̅̾̉̽̓͐̆̄ͫͭ͐͋̈́̋́͟ ̨̧̙̻̙̣̼̱̙͓͈̪̠̣̻̖̍ͬ̑̔̀͊̄̍̀̒̂̊ͪ̕͟͡ͅ0̸̶̛̒ͩ̾ͦͥ̓̋̽̏҉̛̦͓͙̮̜0̸̡͚̟͖̫̰̣̝̱̞̹̪̓̈͆̃̂̓ͧ͌̈ͣ̄̽ͧͪ̃͑ͧ̎͘͢͠ͅ1̷̡̢͎̻̩̬̝̣̯̙̭̹͔̳͓̱̦ͣͣ͑̆̓̿ͪ̋͆̄͂ͨ0̥̜͉̟̜̗̥̳͖̣͆̃̓͛͠͡0̶̨͎̺̮̯̮̺̾͑̈́̾͋͛͋ͣ̃͂̆͗̑̂̊ͦ0̸ͣ̈́̌ͭ̈ͮ҉̴͙͈͙͍͎̘͔̟̭̗̬͙̘̯0̘͈͔̝̖̮͗͊̃ͪ͌ͤ͋ͮ̀ͨ̄̀̚͡0̵̡̩̫͎̪̥͍̫̱̫͇̦̞̙͔̜̓̊͆̿̇͐ͨͧ̍̄̋̅̅̓̔́͢͟ ̶͇̯̤̬̳̳̯ͣ͒ͫͬ̏ͦ̍̾ͬ̆͗̑̅̐̚̕͟͞0̯̭̟͔͎͕͔̜̬̼̅̒ͤ̃̓̂̒ͮͣ̂̈͆͂̈́͛͐͞͡1̛̤͚̼̫͔̪̺͔͇ͬ̌ͭ͂̅̌̒ͧ̋ͪ̏̎ͣ̾̐̿̃͢͠͞͠0̶͗ͯ͋͗̓ͨ̅̎́̊̀҉̵̯͚̭̤͉̥0̵̧͉̟̬͇̜̝͙̼̝̟͙̳̥̳̳͖̲̰̮ͣͤͮ͂̆ͥ̕0̷̪̣̫̯̞̹͚̹͚ͯ̾̈̕1̢̢̬̳͕̹̳̋̔ͪ̾ͤ̈́͜0̵̤̯̜̙̯̦̲̭̱͇̫͇̻̫͓̦͌̄ͣ̎̎̿̓̒̽̌͋̋ͣ͗̋̐͂̊̀͠1ͬͭ̓̾͛ͥ͐͏̶͈̮̗̙̪͔͈̮͘͘͟ͅ ̸̷̢̟͚͉͇̙̣̯̼̼͉̥͉̭̏̏ͨ̔̍͋̑͗̄ͧͤ̓̚͘0̯̙̠̟͇̼͎̩̫̳͕̮̙͉̠̪̟ͦͯ͑̈̿̓ͤͯ̕ͅ1̑̉̑̅̒ͭͣ̇̉̌̓̇̓̄̌͏̵̵̡̬̖̜̙̱̘̻̭̖́ͅ0̢̢̞̰͙̯̮̲̙̣̺̆͂͋̎̉͜͢͡0̶̵̷̛̣͕̰̼̞͉ͭ̇͆̃͒̎͠1̴̴̮̤͍̪̯͓̻̯̼̙̠̤͕͉̗̪̤̠̣̔̓̀̉̊̔̈̇̋̏1̡ͨ̀̓͌̈́̽͆͂̏҉̢̠͈͓̺ͅͅ1̴̛͖̪̹̲͋ͦ̅ͩ̄̂̃ͣ͒̒͒͗͐̚0̸̧͎͈͙̠͖̲͙̩̣͓̮ͮ͂̃ͥ̉ͦ̍ͅ ̴̡̨̢̻͉̝̞̱͉̞͉̞̬͓̝͕͒̈̂̋0̸̯͇̼͓̱̐̊̅̅͂̇ͬ̚1̴̸̖̳͔̦͈̥̂̆͛͑̓́͢͟0̵̰̯͇̼̜̰̫̤̺̼͚͓̙ͬ̓̓̽̆ͦ͂̈́ͫ͒́̾͂ͮ̚͘͝͠ͅ0̶̧̨̤̩̞̻ͥ͐̐̃̀ͪ̄ͧ̐̓̉́́1̷̶͛͂̃͒̿͑̋̂͝͏̰̻͇̰͔̠́0̡̨̧̘̣͎̤͙̦͚̟̮̟̦̂͛̒́͑̈́͗ͦ̄́͂͜͠0̎ͫ̂̋̅͋̈́ͭ͊̒͏̯̰̖̜̹̘̟́͝1̞͖͈͓̠̠̝̯̙̟͓̲͕̹̗̲͇ͤ͋̈́̉̊͐̉͟ ̡̪̩̜̳̞̳̦̬͈̓̉͒̾ͫͣ́͟0̵̧̛̦̣̯̭̗̝̣̦̹͕͈̙̪̝̼͔̒ͥ̀̑ͭ̈ͯ̂̓ͯ̒̒̉̊̄ͭ1̋̃̐̍͌͑͊ͤ̈́͊ͬͬ̎͟͏̬̣̤͎̩͟͝͞0̡͕͎̩͓̗͓̝͚͕͉̹̺͔̜͈̭̲̗͋͐̾̃ͥ̒ͧ͐͛ͩ̓̌͐͛͘͜0̸̸̛̩̼͚͙̠̲̦͍̗̙̥̖̈͆̋ͩͯ̍͆̏ͭ̅̔1̡̛̭̙͇̩̥̥̫͕̞͚̓ͭ̐̾̊̾͗̄ͥͪ̽̈́̿̐͟͢͡1̸̨̨͈͈̪͇̫̟̱̠͎͙̹̋̽ͭ̆ͧ̄ͬ̒̈ͫ̿͌ͩ̽̉̄͘͝ͅ0̏ͪ̿̌͏̢̦͓̝͙̠͎͙̦̰͈͎͇͖ͅ1͖͎̫̳̥͈͍͚̻̹͓̱̱͐ͩ̑̎ͯ̕͠ ̴̜̩͓͎̘̍ͧ̐̋ͩ̃͌̍̃͐͑ͩͥ̋̽̔̾̿ͨ͢͡͡0̵̧̞͕͎͔͇̪̱̭̩̻̎ͪ̌͗̆̍ͬͣ̾̐ͥ͊ͭ̑̃ͦ͂̀̕1̎̃͆̾͐̐ͭͫ͆̿͑̚͟͞͡҉͏̭̤͕̮̻̬͓̟͍͖͕̝̙̫͖0̴̳̖̼͕̖̹͕̼̹̰͉̮̦̼̤̃̾͐ͨ̿͗ͤ̀̍̾͗̊͐ͫ͂̀͘0̌͂͌́̚͟҉̨̥̝̞̮̙̤̗ͅ1̵̢̥̟͓̦̗̜̘̭̮͙͇̰̹̳̬́͆ͤ̌̅͐͗ͨ̋̐̀́͌ͯ̂̀̕͜1̵̤̺͚̜͍̫̜͎͓̖̟͔̈́̉ͭͩ͒̎ͮͥ͜1̢̗̹̹͆̇̃͛ͣ́ͯͦͯͪ̌̈́̄̂ͨͮ͐̽͝ͅ1̷̷͍̪̤̦̲͚̳͊͒͊̔̇̽̂̄̓̚͘ ̷̛̥͙̟̬̜ͩͪ͛̐̈͋͆͊͋̐͟0̸̸̷͍̦̦̠̥͔̲̟̬̤̻̰̳̘̆͌̄͗̋́̚͞1̹̣̻̣̞̰̭̠̃ͪ̄̈́ͣͣ̓̒́͢͢0̡̛̯͖̩̼̰̱̒̂ͬ̎́́ͅ0̵̡̺͕̤͔͓̼̠͇̪̙̦ͪͧ̓̀͐͒̎ͥͩ̿ͭͭͩͧ̊͑̚̚1̺͈̩̣̖͇͉̠͚̈́ͯ̍ͫ̔ͯ̔͐̒̋̉̌ͩ͑͛̋̍̌ͬ͡1̧̡̹̟̜̟̪̬̠͓͉͕̥̪̺̄̎̉ͣ͐́ͫ̄̀1̈̑̈́ͣ҉̨̨̡̫̜̖̥̬̙̟͖̜̮̮̦̼̥̺͞0̷̪̖̳̲̟̺̘͎̝̟̹̻̥͎̙̗̬͊ͥ̂̓́̉͛ͤ͐̂͒̕͟͡ ̸̮͍̜̞̪͎̣̪͚̩̍͂̊̄͗ͧ̊̓̿̍ͤ̓͂̀̕͟͝0̷̛͚͙͕̩̜͎̼̤̝͈͓̳̀̈́̔̍̄̄͘̕͝0̸̮͇͎͔͑̈̍ͨ̐̓͒ͦ͌̔ͩ̚͜͡͡1͗̋̈́̋̓ͫ̒͑̾͗҉̭̗̖̘̭̲̭͔̦͖͓͎̗̩͞0ͫ̒ͨ̋̂̄̐̓ͥ̎̅̌̑ͥͬͤ҉̴̳̗̗̻̹̗͍̭͍̱̣̗̜͓͉̪̤̠̮̀0̱̮̬͖̭̬̖̝̖̹̄͗̒̑́̓̀̚̕0̬̠͕̳̗̬̺͔̗̝̙̟͚̙̫͑ͤͤͥ̀̍̏ͤ͢ͅ0̺͔͓̫̱̼̠̦̥̖͇̳̬͖̣̮̊͂̋͂̃͑͛͟͜ͅ0͎̮̼̟͓̟̫͉̻̹́ͨ͂̎̎ͪ́̕͢͡͝ ̵̵̧̡̫̦͓̪͖̣̖̻͈̳̘̤͈͉̯̘͒̓ͧ̂͋ͭ͒̈̑̅̒̓̀̆ͅ0̨̨̭̻̩̖̫̳̪͂͐ͣ̕͞1̴̧̗̩͔̲͙̯͉̼̣̤͙̗̺̹̩̐ͦ̔̃ͩ̆̒͟0̷̼̝̥̹̮̽̔̌̾̋̾ͬͭ̿͐͊̐̿͢͢͢͝ͅ0̸̸̥̦̱̥̰͉̞ͯ͐̾̕͝1̈́̇ͬ̉̀ͪͯ͡҉̲̰͇̬͍͙̞̹̳̪1̵̼̮̭̯̪͙̺̳̬͚͓̥̝̳̈̎ͮ̓ͯ͒ͦͤͦͩ͊̐̐́͢1̸̨̞͎̺̟̤̬̬̘͙̯̳͍̍ͨ̑̅̆͂̓̃̆͌͝0̵̴̛̛̲̩̝̩͍̲͔͉̗̲̮͓͈̟̳͙ͤͣ̏̎̓̒ͨ̋̓͛͢ ̢̥̙͚̭̺̱͓͔̲̦̾͛̃̏̍́ͯ̄́͊ͤ͟͢͠0͊̃̈͆ͪ͏̶̙͖͚̙̙̣̗̱̺̝̲̣̹͍̭̳̬ͅ1̥͍̫̠̬̘͉̫͂̍͗̅͢͜͝͞͡0̂̂̐̔̅ͧ͂̐ͪͥ͂ͣͦ̿͊̓̚͏̥̪̹͎͇̀͢0͌͛̏̽̀ͭͪ̇͞͏҉̡̹̫̱̺̗1̦̱͍̬̝̳͉ͯͪ̀̇́̚̕0̡͍̗͔̹̟̼͆͌ͬ̌͑ͣ̂ͤ̾̎̈́ͧ̊̊̐ͤ͐ͣͦ͞0̡̮̥̪̣̮̥͕͕̯̠͙̝̥̲͊ͭ̊͛͋͘1̴͙̩̼͙̣̪̖̖̜̄̍̏̆̌̓̌̆̐ͥ̅͒ͮ̏̈́́̀̚͢͢ͅ
Out of nowhere and without the slightest warning – except to The Shadow Over Himself, and even he couldn’t have anticipated what was actually happening – all of the infected human scientists spontaneously exploded into white-hot masses of fiery entrails and appendages.
It was familiar, but aside from those unlucky Dendril, unobtrusive.
Aboard the Kingsbane, this Second Signal would do nothing at all – nothing except appear mysteriously on a few screens or monitors for a few seconds, then disappearing completely.
Aboard the Stella, it would have an entirely more subtle, if more potent effect.
It was those poor semi-sentient scientists, whos' subetheric cries of agony went utterly ignored by their captain, who would serve as the catalysts for the largest data transfer ever undergone in BrainPal™ history. It was not actually BrainPal™ technology initiating the transfer, however. Rather, it was something else – that Second Signal. It was as if a cosmic command prompt had been brought up on the screen of spacetime, and the ‘send’ command issued. It was the simultaneous, vastly faster-than-light transfer of all the last vestiges of the First People from the Isandril ‘databanks’ to the Stella Mainframe.
Due to the heavily isolated nature of BrainPal™ technology, the Dendril spawn wouldn’t get so much of a hint as to what was pulsing through their (and their hosts) brains for that infinitesimal moment preceding their individual dooms. But due to the curious nature of the Dendril themselves, a vastly greater amount of conceptual data could be transferred in an instant – so much that it still overwhelmed them and caused them to explode within the merest fraction of a nanosecond. In fact, a great deal of the information would be lost forever now, unable to be transferred without the BrainPal™ ‘infected’ Dendril spawn and hosts to aid it, destroyed when the bulk of the force proceeded with tearing the entrails out of the city innards and ravishing the helpless databanks to bits of useless scrap. BrainPal™ alone would not have served to transfer even the merest fraction of that gargantuan sum of First People information. It was necessary to integrate the BrainPal™ tech with the Dendril spawn physiology. It was curious how compatible they were.
Outwardly, the only thing that happened was a number of walking-corpse scientists suddenly exploding, some numbers - garbled zeroes and ones - appearing on a pair of computerized goggles aboard the Kingsbane, and a previously dormant BrainPal™ coming online aboard the Stella. Nothing else.
Aelyn-Paeryc and Alexa Petrovalyc were vaguely aware that something strange had happened over their Brainpal™s. They were more keenly aware of the one or two Dendrils who spontaneously exploded as they were going about and tearing the control center to bits. The couple watched with mild distaste for some time, just standing there, with bio-mechanical alien doom prancing rabidly in every direction as the most precious and ancient technology in all the universe was ripped out of existence.
They turned to watch the pillar of ‘light’ as it began to sputter and flicker, and finally disappear forever – but seemingly expending the Notspace ‘energy’ performing one last miracle of Notspace science.
Just as Aelyn-Paeryc was subtly waving goodbye, as if bidding a final farewell to the last vestige of a long-dead memory, the light flickered dead – and Aelyn-Paeryc and Alexa Petrovalyc were suddenly in a cozy office, with wood paneled walls and a plush crimson carpet, with carved mahogany furniture and some pictures on the wall. They were back aboard the Stella Viventium, in the inconspicuous little room that Aelyn considered to be his ‘office’.
If there had been a window, they might have been able to watch from above as the remnants of the city fell into useless, abject ruin. But then, they were too high up to see anything anyway.
”…Things have been pretty hectic around here lately. You wouldn’t believe the trouble those new I-7s have been giving me. See the manufacturer decided to implant this stupid new pneumatic doohickey which would be fine if they didn’t have a ninety-nine spontaneous combustion rate in practice! So I tried to get a hold of….
“…I can’t tell you how tired I am of these kind of people. I mean I’m no stuckupper but once you get down past the Arentino corner it’s like the Ebonic Plague hit the place. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t care how someone talks but don’t go getting mad at me if…
“…And even after all these years, I’m still impressed with how well the Dubstep Revolution is coming along. I thought the counter-terrorists would be all over the poor bastards like white on rice, but they’re holdin’ out somethin’ fierce! Y’know I actually joined up with them for a while, believe it or…
“…I keep telling them that the auto-hauling system we’ve got up in the rafters just isn’t cutting it, but noooooooooo, they don’t believe old Drakis. Well I can promise you one thing, that back in my day the whole transportation industry was just booming. Not that it’s any of my business but whe….
“…Pirates! Real, honest-to-Space pirates. Big funny hats and all. What I can’t fathom is…
“…Eighteen blue humback rhinosowhales, and one Maldoonian Derpbird, would you believe it? How…
“…These two guys were fighting over a potato I guess, well long story short they both ended up dead in the snow and…
“…told them it’d be the @#$%in’ robot apocalypse if they didn’t stop @#$%in around with…
“…eels, all flailing all over like crazy, except they weren’t really…
“…know that the Lubowhanian word for ‘potato’ is the same as the word for ‘money’ and ‘happiness’? It’s…
“…blind drunk, flapping all over the place like a @#$%ing @#$% @#$%@ with a ruptured @#$hole, jackwagoning on like….
“…and I won’t believe for a second that Sheppard B is really dead. If it turned out to be true I…
“…one measily standard credit! So naturally I told him he could @#$% a @#$% in the @#$% @#$% for all I cared, and come to think of it I think he actually…
“…And that’s how I became the undisputed champion of the Sixth Realm of Darkness…
“…Really @#$% good pie. I mean, I’d never kill a man, but…
Drakis Volo was utterly oblivious to the sudden, excruciating agony that was piercing through his new friend’s skull at that very moment. He just kept talking, and talking and talking. His voice was anything but a drone – he was animated and grating, and very enthusiastic. It had gone on that way for…how long now? A few millennia, it seemed. It had definitely been at least ten thousand years by now. Probably more like twenty. They were clearly traveling very fast though, as could be determined by the featureless walls speeding by beyond the windows of the magrail pod they were seated in. So then, how big was this supposed ‘ship’ really?
Then again, they had said that the Stella Viventium would be the largest artificial structure ever created. Maybe those rumors hadn’t been exaggerated? Maybe it really was the size of a city?
Or maybe, as she had begun to expect, Rya was just in some land-bound place, and being told that she was on the famous Stella. But then, why would they lie to her like that? What purpose would it serve?
The old man was equally unaware that he was apparently being gauged as to whether or not he could be taken down in a fight. He was unaware of the inner turmoil his friend was facing, mounting question upon question and threatening to devolve into a spiral of madness induced by the gross and arguably despicable lack of information.
But presently, the old man was looking at her expectantly – or, at least, one would assume it was an expectant expression, since he had actually stopped talking for a moment. Assuming that she hadn’t heard him, he’d repeat himself, but patiently and without annoyance.
”I said, that you never introduced yourself.”
At just that moment, the pod finally slowed, and slid to an easy halt. The door opened automatically upward, and there was a soft little ’ding’.
”And I gotta’ say,” He added, getting to his feet and making for an identical terminal to the last one, without any differentiating signs or markings, but with a different arrangement of miscellaneous back-room detritus to imply that they were indeed in a different place. ”I’m bettin’ there’s a great story behind how a gal like yourself ended up lost in the Medical Ward an’ wearing a hospital gown.” He concluded expectantly, stepping out of the now unmoving pod and into the terminal. She had little choice but to follow, and clearly he was prompting her for some kind of explanation.
Of course, there was always the possibility of attacking him – but Rya would have to rely on instinct whether or not she should do so. He’d claimed to be the chief of the mechanics and robotics division, right? The implications might have involved tricks up metaphorical sleeves…
Then, something unexpected happened.
There was another little ’ding’, though if Drakis Volo heard it, he hadn’t reacted. Was it the pod about to automatically start moving again? It seemed a real possibility. Then some clear, easy-on-the-eyes text appeared unobtrusively in her field of vision.
[Initializing...]
[100%]
[BrainPal™ Startup protocols complete!]
[Linking to Other Components…]
[Link Complete!]
[Setting Up External Blocks…]
[Unauthorized Activity Successfully Quarantined!]
BrainPal™
Your Best Friend…Is In Your Head.
Your Best Friend…Is In Your Head.
Then the text would disappear, but Rya would discover that a whole new avenue of cybernetic goodness had been abruptly opened up to her! Neural pathways emerged from the woodworks of her mind, a whole host of different functions manifested in her memory. It was a smart-phone in her head. With some practice, she would be communicating with others via technological ‘telepathy’ in no time. Already, words had appeared on the wall where none had been before. ’Central Station Maintenance Terminal’.
Though, of course, not all was well…Since whatever this handy new toy in her head was, it was effectively blocking the usage of all other cybernetic implants for the time being. At least the process was painless now – trying to access ‘restricted’ cybernetics would just result in an infuriating ‘right-on-the-tip-of-the-tongue’ sensation, rather than drilling pain. So that was something…right?
Drakis Volo turned back to her, still friendly and good-naturedly awaiting the story of how she ended up so lost.
In one of the many large hangar bays situated around the mass of the Stella, an insignificant little Bullet craft landed and belched out, among a couple others who had been lucky, Aleessa Rivierre and Dorin Harkahn - the ladder of whom was still rather dazed from the sudden calamity.
In the back of his head, some little-used BrainPal™ plugin alerted him that a very large, unexpected transfer of data had just occurred between an external source and the Stella Mainframe, but he ignored it entirely.
What mattered now, he realized, was getting in touch with the Kingsbane. Severin had been trying to contact him. He liked Severin - hardly knew the man, had never even seen him, but admired him nonetheless. He got the feeling that the old man's talents were being, if not squandered, at least hindered. After all, the Kingsbane was clearly a formidable death machine, but it was also low-tech in comparison with the inconceivably older, but considerably more advanced Stella.
But none of that mattered now.
The majority of the science department had just been wiped out of existence, he remembered with a returning dread in the pit of his stomach.
And who...or what had that terrible...man down there been?
Another contact attempt by Severin brought him back to reality. Having stepped away from the still fuming Rivierre and others, he spoke aloud so that his voice would be transmitted via BrainPal™ to be translated into audio by Severin's compatible respective tech.
"Severin, this is Harkahn." He sounded winded and drained, with a hint of residual dismay. Clearly something bad either had happened, or was happening. He heard the old man out without interruption, and there was an uncomfortably long pause as he considered it. The younger man was leaning into a wall and sliding to sit down, and stare at the hangar floor. It was all too much.
"Professor, things are...really bad." He said, at last. "There's been a Dendril attack on our science team planetside..." Then, fervently he added, mostly to himself with serious bitterness "@#$%, it was a Spacebedamned massacre down there!...We weren't able to find the Captain."
But, having gotten some of his tension out with his brief outburst, he had calmed slightly and spoke again in subdued, exhausted tones. "Though...Given his 'condition' I imagine he and Alexa will be just fine...But we're still without a definite leader for the time being."
It was a clumsy setup, really. A.P. was such an ever-present entity aboard the ship that one could hardly conceive of a Stella without him on and in control. There was the whole civilian governmental body, sure - but they didn't handle Notspace, and they certainly didn't handle things like this. The only 'second in command' was Alexa, and that was redundant since the two of them had never been seen apart.
There was another pause, Dorin gathering himself again. Part of him wanted to explode and proclaim that 'he just didn't know what to do, why ask him?!' But that would have been immature, and he knew it.
Finally he continued, getting to his feet again "I'm on my way to the drive controls right now. I'll be there in...ten minutes." Another downside to an unnecessarily colossal vessel. "I'll see if I can't get your boat into the Drive range and bring...No, no wait - I'll get with Yascra and see about...Agh! @#$% I don't know if that'll work either, we've never tried the guns in Notspace before. Never been a need. Dammit. This whole thing's too unexpected. Too many unknowns...You said all your systems are paralyzed, right? Propulsion too? Ok that makes sense, no entropy means no energy transfer means no kinetic energy...The ship as a while constitutes a single conceptual entity allowing others to move around inside, but... Dammit. We just don't actually know enough about Notspace itself to go about this right. Even after all this time. The laws aren't always consistent, either. Need more controlled experiments..." He felt as though it were him alone standing between the Kingsbane and Dendril-induced doom, and he did not like the pressure of it.
"Okay, just hold out a little longer. Once I'm in the Drive controls I'll see what I can..." He got word at that point from Isha that the Dendril ships had halted their approach, but it was suspected that they might be set to attack automatically on timers. He then relayed this information to Severin right away. He was on one of the speeding magrails now, headed for that most forbidden of zones, and leaning heavily into the plush seating.
"Hey, what about that anomaly we detected earlier? Did you ever figure that out?" He added suddenly, as though it had been a ray of hope in the seemingly unfathomable depths of lurking doom.
N O T S P A C E – The Fall of Isandril
The Shadow Over Himself was still amidst the surrounding destruction. The alien tide swept over the city and was devouring it – his power allowing them to do the impossible – to bend and break the previously indestructible, bronzy metal known as petrostanium. It was actually an unexpected effect to him – he had anticipated that not even his tenuous grasp of Notspace would be able to crack and warp a material so sturdy that it would stave off planet-busters. It was an amusing fact. It brought to mind that the Stella Viventium now had a real, tangible weakness – him.
But, he considered, there was no telling what effect their proximity to the city, plus their immersion into Notspace was having on all of it. He knew he was more powerful in Notspace, more powerful still when in the immediate vicinity of the gigantic Drive which made up the city interior. Perhaps then, when Isandril was destroyed, he would be unable to muster the strength of consciousness to repeat the feat with the Stella? Or maybe simply being within the cold, comforting paradox of Notspace might be enough? Begrudgingly, he had to admit that even though his experience with Notspace surpassed virtually any living being’s, there was still so very much he did not know.
Dimly, he recalled the image of a warm, muggy place – and an intense feeling of loathing for fools who dared to toy with forces they did not comprehend. But the warm, muggy place was not some location in his distant past, and the sensation seemed to be from the mind of someone who died long ago. Long before he had even undergone the Quantum Process which would backfire and detonate his skull from the inside out. Long before awakening to the presence of that dreaded Ova.
But it did not matter – for he was the most prime example of that exact feeling he had just briefly noted. He had done what none of his kind had ever undergone before in an effort to…to…to what? He never could remember the reason why he had undergone the process…
Presently, the great towers in his immediate vicinity began to bend at the bases and snap, and fall into each other with deafening sounds of screaming metal on metal. Here and there, a Dendril who happened to exist a little too much would be crushed. Indeed, by the time the city itself had begun to collapse, there were only a very scant few of the Stella’s scientific team remaining, huddling in corners waiting for one wretched monster or another to pluck them out of existence for good.
There was no need for The Shadow to be concerned, of course. He was quite incorporeal. As one of the slabs of rubble came crashing down atop his head, he flitted to the side in order that he might not spend any longer than he had to focusing his being inside the machinery, where things tended to get fuzzy. His vision after all, was for the moment centralized about the general area of where his eyes should have been.
The dissonant smile had not returned to his face. Still, that most fleeting sensation from the ship above stayed with him.
It was entropy incarnate, or so it seemed. It was dread unlike any he could have possibly conceived.
His mind, though fractured throughout time and space, was unfortunately limited to certain senses. He did not ‘see’ as an organic humanoid might conceive of it, but there was a similar, comparable sense to fill that need. He existed not ‘everywhere and nowhere’, but instead ‘had an equal chance of a given theoretical percentage of himself existing at any given point in space, Real or Not’. He could not be touched, nor could he touch – unless he focused his efforts. He could be in places infinitely far from where his consciousness was focused, but he was no psychic. He did not exist within minds, nor was he connected to them. He could find someone and whisper in their ear across the Universe, but reading their thoughts was quite out of the question.
It was for this reason that he was so very startled when yet another unfamiliar sensation washed over him from the general area around the city center. Unfamiliar, but unmistakably bad – for his people, at least. Worse still? He suddenly had the terrible feeling that he had been, if not tricked, manipulated. It was all he could to to try and backpedal the power he had put into his comrades – though it was useless. He had made them too powerful and it was going to mean some serious trouble. It enraged him – but in abrupt desperation he cried out to all the Dendril that he could;
”Wait – B̴rǫt͘h̀er͞s! Kill ͡the i͟nf̀e͡c̸t̕ed h-”
But he was too late.
In the dead center of the city was the tallest tower. In the days when the First People lived upon the world it had a name, but that was long gone to time. At the base of the tower there was a door, large but otherwise unmarked, and difficult to see for lack of hinges or handles, or any kind of control mechanism.
Empowered by The Shadow Over Himself, the Dendril were able to pry through the barrier, where they would find a deep, abyssal shaft descending far below the city. It was an elevator, of course – but the platform was already at the bottom. Not that this particularly mattered to the torrent of aliens crashing along – except for a few odd-outs that might have existed a little too much, and splattered at the bottom, or perhaps sliced themselves through the shaft walls in an unlucky moment of corporeality. Regardless, the losses were beyond insignificant. The main body of the force would reach the bottom of the shaft effortlessly, only to find another, but much shorter elevator downward. All around them, the interconnected, intricate patterns of glowing cyan lines would go ignored.
A short, but wide hallway and another door – more difficult to penetrate this time, more resilient so that none would be able to simply walk right through as they had done above, but not so sturdy that the hoardes couldn’t still tear them down with some effort.
Inside the great, cavernous central chamber of the city, Aelyn-Paeryc and Alexa Petrovalyc turned impassively to the door as it began to thump and bend and buckle under the assault of the enemy.
”I hadn’t expected them to make it this far.” A.P. commented, frowning thoughtfully.
Alexa, who had overcome her moment of what bordered on ‘empathy’ some time earlier gave a similarly detached ”Hmh.” of agreement.
Iria. That was their next clue. Underwhelming, even despite the significance of having surely been placed there by none other than Paeryc Petrovalyc himself, back before it all started. The implications were mind-shattering – it was a confirmation that he had anticipated his older brother following the trail back – if not to him, than to home.
But it was still only one word, and a virtually meaningless one at that.
The doors began to give, and the mass of monsters beyond could be glimpsed through the cracks.
”Really it’s a shame.” A.P. mused, turning toward his wife. ”Paeryc had actually come here, to this very place. It seems like there should have been a whole lot more we could do with it.” But Alexa did not appear now to be paying any attention to his words – rather she was looking queerly at Aelyn himself. He noticed this, and cocked a brow.
”We stopped existing again.” She said, with an undertone of mild, resigned disappointment, then added ”I’d forgotten that your eyes used to be hazel.” With a helpless half-smirk. His own dubious expression changed to mirror her own. ”I’d forgotten that we started to actually exist down here for a while. Would have been nice to figure out why. Probably the”
”Close proximity to the central point over there. But then in all honesty we”
”Can’t really pretend that we know anything at all about the true nature of Notspace.”
Though ‘bolts’ were a terribly uncommon object in First People architecture, some had been implanted into that last door for added security. Now, one went flying out, soaring through the open but stagnant air of the chamber, and passed through Alexa as though she were naught but a trick of the light.
Abruptly, the half-grin faded from Aelyn. ”The real question though is why”
”We’re suddenly going back to incorporeality. If it had just been our nearness to…whatever that is,” She nodded toward the pillar of incomprehensible light that illuminated the center of the domed room.
”Then we’d still be tangible.” Aelyn concluded. It was at that point he began to have some doubts that things might be anywhere within his league of understanding. Simultaneously, the two of them again turned to look with some anticipatory concern at the pillar of light, which seemed immeasurably, indescribably different somehow.
So what changed?
They said, in unison.
Nobody could have seen it coming – primarily for the fact that nobody could really imagine what in the name of Space was actually happening. It was quick – over in an eyeblink and a clamoring splatter…And it didn’t even have much of an effect on the attacking Dendril hoard…Save for the unlucky ones who had so happened to be too close to a human frag-bomb.
It was only natural that the Dendril would incorporate parts of their victims into themselves. How else would they function as a hive? Biological memory and other such intricacies. But it was equally natural that they would deliver a part of themselves into the body of their victim. Naturally there was, in rudimentary terms, a physiological change. Was it some kind of Dendril psychology? Or perhaps some byproduct of the means which they used to communicate? Whatever it was, the Dendril spawn had turned their human victims first into walking hosts - then into superbly, devastatingly powerful data transmitters.
It was also only natural that a piece of technology as advanced as the BrainPal™ would contain some kind of self-destruct mechanism from keeping opposing corporations from cracking them open and stealing trade secrets.
But when the Dendrils incorporated the minds, along with the BrainPal™s into themselves, the self-destruct function played no part. It was, after all, so very small that it would remain intact unless someone actually tried to take it apart - and that was not happening here. What was about to happen made very little logical sense.
0ͦ͑͗̓ͭ͢͏̶̡͓̖̫͙͓̫̯̹̯̝͇͙ͅ1̸̛͈͔̩̲̲͇̝̗̳̼͈̗̮͕̳̗͂̀͑͒ͭ̔̕͞͡ͅ0̴͙̬̱͈͙̯͖̼̙̯̣͓͔̲̣ͬ́̍ͤ͜͡ͅ0͛̽ͪ͂̐͂̎͌̏́ͦͦ̈̃̏̏̉̌͒͏̶̩̘̲̞͕͓̳̝͕̯̥̭̟̠͚̗͜͝ͅͅ1̨͍̭̭̗͔͖̥͇̫̹̜͕̬̹̘̓̆ͬ͝͞0̵̛̛̪̭͍͕̣̘̫̩͚̜̰̦̹̔ͧ́̔͊̅̓̒͊̿0̷̩̖̬̻̱̣̻̋̑̽̈́̅ͪ̀̈́ͤͯ̌ͩ̽ͦ̃̉͌̓̚͝1̸̴̴̮̺̟͍͍͇̞͚̦͕͓̭̝͉̞̯͙̠̤̈̍ͦ̾͊̏ͭ͌̆͌̂͛̚͝ ̴̻̣̲͖͖͇͉̫̻͕̞̯̱̻̑͗͆͌̅ͪ͌͑ͯ̕0̸̸̖̫͕͈͙͔ͪ͆͂͂̏̀̈̈ͯͦ̆̆ͮ̆͝͞1̉ͮͤ̃̉̄̔͗̔ͬ҉̡͈̮̖̻̻̰̭̦͕̼̯ͅ0̶͑̎̌ͬ͒̒ͤ̍͏͇̹͈̣͇̱̟̳̼̀͟͠1̶̱̙̗͙̠̱͉̺̻̝̪̤̳̘̖ͯ̾͆ͥ̀͆0ͭ̊ͥ̿ͦͪ̾ͭͨ̈̐̒͋҉̢̢̻̻̟̩͔̼̩́1̨ͮͯ̊͂ͫ̈́ͮ̋̓ͨ̍̓̆̓̌ͬ͒ͦ̚҉͎͔̳͙̳͕̦̯̬̥͚̝̗̣̖̻͚̻0͇̘̳̦͙̳̺̳͂̇̌̋͆ͣ̽͗̅͛̐̀̎̇͜͝0̢͒ͦ͂̓͗ͤ̋̌͟҉̘̝͕̺̙̪̞̼̟̖͖͓̞̰̳̻͕̟̀͟ ̷̶̨̗͚͓̮̤͊ͣͦͧͩͭͮ͑̆̈ͨ͌ͧ͒̇̕ͅ0̎̈́͌͋̉ͪ̊͌̈ͫ̀͒ͫ̐̓͂̆ͤ͒̀҉̻̙̝̭͖̬̳͚̲͈̥͖̠͢1̶̷̧̬͙̠̼̯̦̳̎̎͗̉ͦ͆̆̿ͥͪ͐͆ͦ̂͋̾͒͟͞0͑ͯ̈̃̄̍͐͋̓̔̒̏̊̓͂ͭ̚͏̷̛͏̦̪̬͚0̡͆͋͐̍̌̏̿͡͏̭̩̩̩̯̰̘͍0̵̛̣̯͈̙̗̾̍ͩͥ͐͆̊͋͂̈0̇ͦ͆̎̑́̎̈̈́͊̇̈̋͗҉̶̛̺͍͍͖̲̥̥͎͟1̵̧̹̯̥̪͖͇̞͍̘̏͗ͨ̌̿̿̌́͜1̵̸͙̬̥͎̙̘͈͎̖̪̣͕̟͚͈̭̘̃ͪͥ̉̇͂ͯ͑͗͆́͠ͅ ̾̈́ͬ̂ͧͯ͗ͦ̏͋͋̀͢͠͏͇͔̹͔̞͖̣̠̞0̴̨̧̭̝̤͕̺͓̥͙̟͔̱̣͔̈̾͐̇ͣ͆̔̎̃͝1̊̍ͥ̆̇̑̇͐ͮͣ̇̈́̉̒ͤ͏҉̶̵̟̻̩͙͍̱̯0̴̨̠̞͖͖̠̲̞̻̠͕̝̜̾̔́̾̑̍̌̒ͭ̈̎͊͗͆̎̎̎ͮ͟͟͠ͅ0̓̿̌ͥ̎̉̔ͨ͋͞͏̴͖̖̘͈͓̺̺͕̜̰̝͠ͅ1̤̥̤̯͈̱͔̰̭̂͐ͧ̐̍͢1̢͚̼̘͈̥̯̳̓ͨͪͪ̍ͦ͑ͧ͂͐̓̀̕͜1̶̷̢̹̪͚̹̠̦̫͉̞͖̬̟̹͇͙̠̹̥͂͐̅̓̑̉̿͊͡ͅ0͎̙͍̲̲̼͚͉̤͒̒̏̑͐̃͗̊̔ͤͪ͗ͮ̐͛̇̍͡͡ 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̈́̒̋̈́ͫ̃̄̔͌̋̽̇ͫ̀̿͏̴̬̳̪͉̠̻̣̠͎̤͍̞̝͘0̡̢̪̻̦̣̼̜̹̹̻̩͓̝͋̃̌̃̑̊ͯ̆̀̀̕1̷̨̮̫͉̺̱̳̲̃̉͊͆̐̎̀ͭͤ̄͛ͨ̏͒͒ͫ̇͂̋̕͡͞0̛͖͉̫͓̭͎̒ͣ̋ͮ̆̏̆ͪ̂͋̄͜͢ͅ1ͫ͐͐͐́ͬ̐ͮͤͪ̈́̚͝͏̜͙̠̣̲̖̱͇̤̞͕̼̗͈͕̤̫0̋̉̇ͯͭ̔͠͏̟͕͈̘̮̙̣̩͉͔͇̦͙͕̗̻́͡͞0̵̶̠͉̦̗͓̟͚͚͓̜̠͕͕̲̐ͣ̔͊̽̂͘1̴̧̛͓̘̺͇̯̜̮͚̪̞̲̝̠͔͓̈̄̉̑̂ͦ͌̈͊͐̈ͬͨ̇ͥ͛̃̊̈́̕̕1̶̙̤̣̘̦͕̘͔͇͍͈͉̺̠̟͓ͤ̿̾ͭ̏ͩͬͬ̿̌̀̏̒ͥ͘ ̶̷͓͔̭̻̙̙͇̜̟̩̭̖̫̲̔ͮ̿̏̋̆ͨ͘͠0̷̢͍̰̥̞̰̦̲̣̲͙͋́ͯͯͤ̐ͤ̔̾̀̓̓ͪ̅̆̌̐͟͟1̵̢̛̹̜̩̲͓̭̺͓̤͉͙̻̪͉͇̹͗ͣ̃̾̍ͭ̍̂ͬͯ̏̇ͫ͆̎ͧ͘͜0̸̢̭̹̖̺̝͔̯̠̮ͯ̃̆̑̓ͭ͐͛ͧ̏͊̐̉̌ͬ̾͂̃ͨ͜1̧̧̛̞͙͖̠̮͇̬͇͉̦͔̯̳̬͚̘͔̯͆̋ͫ͒̓̉̓́͢0̛̛̏̇ͥͭͯ͌̆̓͋҉̧͓͉̪͔̠̹̮̹̦͍͓͕̪̜̠̙͙̩̀1̛̭̥͕̦ͭͪ̅͗ͩ̃͂ͫ̂̒ͭ͌̎̀͘0̧̌͒͐͊ͨ̽ͤ̈̊̌ͫ̃ͦ̊̌͜҉̡͖̣͈̩͍͖̤͉̙͞1̰̭̠̫̥͖̜̭̲̝̘͆̾͊̍̀̉̂̄̇̿͐͌́ͧͨ̀̀̚̕͘͠ ̡̫͎͓̪̞͔̝̻̘̼̞̒̄͛͑ͫ̍ͮ͟0̱̜͈̦ͥ̒ͥ͋̌͆͋͛ͨͩ͊ͮ̑̃͑͝1̵̺̹̣͖̻͈͖̙͇̹͙̫̗̼̺ͧͥ͑ͨͯ̽̓ͬ̅͐̿̀̚͘͝0̧̪͎̤͔̬͎̞̼͔̼͙̪̐́͗̾̍͒̈́̅̃ͩ̂̚͞ͅ1͖̤̩̥̗͉͕̩͍̺̞̮ͥ̌̇ͮ͛̄̃͌̈̍́̚͘0̸̡̛̳̩̞͍̭͍̖̮͚̙͙̟̓̓̿͋̋̅̒́ͭͭ͋̎̽̀̃1̓̂͂ͨ͐̈́͡҉͖̘̠0̴͒ͦͩͮ̓̾̑͛͌ͨ̽͏̱̤͉̖͈̟͇̖͜͝0͉̩̹̪̼͔͓̥̺ͣ̔̌̃̄ͨͮ̊ͮ̕͝ͅͅ ̊̒̆͌̉̍̏̉̐̍̽̓̈́̋́͋ͫ͛̚͏͚̯̻̘̝͙̰̺͇̱̱̺͚̞͓̪0̸̵̫̹̩͇̦̪̫̮͓͍̳̜͎͇͔̗͉̎̂̋ͥ̈͌͆ͯͫ͘͢1̛̖͔̼̻̘͓͉̼͙̲̘͚̗̩̻ͦͥ͒͌̃0ͬ͛͌̅ͬ͑̃͐͒͂ͫ̈́̈́ͧ҉̵̨͍̟̩̳͔̲̩̼̲͚̯̣ͅ0̶̨̩͙̻͇͎̣͙̰̰͉̼̘͔̮̹̮͉̲̒ͫ̌ͮͦ͂ͧ̂ͣ̀1̸̐̿̏̽̐̅̆ͬ̉͑̿ͧͦ͐̿̿̚҉̞̺̜͚̱̺̬̦̖̲̳̦̳͕0̧̛̻͉̳̞͕̝̒̓͌͐ͤ̔͌̏͡0̵̢̭̩͚̙͎͎͚̜̭̜̺͇̣̤̗̫̭̺̆͌͊ͤ̔͗ͨ̕͟1̸̢̡̱̯̳̼̲̥̱̮̩̗̯͗̄ͧ̚͞ ̵̸̡̪̟̜̲͓͇ͪͮ̓̎̾̏̎̅̈́͑̀ͨ̒̚̚͢0̷̧̧̛͓̳̦͓̳͎̳̖̻͉̱̮͙̑ͧͧ͒ͫ͛̀ͨ͂̏̋̀̔ͭ͂̈́ͅ1̱̜͓͇͙̰̥̪̃͒̎̄̾̅ͬ̅̆̒ͤ̈́̚͜0̵̨̧̫̱̠͚̯̻̰ͧ͗̉͌1͔͈̙̬̩̞͕̳̦̞͛ͭͣ͗̄̌ͭͮͫ̌̔͂͂̀́͜0̸̵̹̝̟̹̭̼̫̄̈̈͛̃̓͛̊̄̋̋̋̒̅̚̚͘͢͠ͅ0̝̘̰͖̺̰͇̠̼̻̣͖̎̽͂̊͞1̛̳͖̰̳̦̪͚͈ͨ̂͑̇͊́͘͢0̹̟̪̖̖͍͔̝̮̺̲̫̝̣̹̄̃ͩ̈̈̽͜͡ ̶̨̼͖̘͇̰̠͓̮͙ͭͥ̉ͫͅ0̷͋͂̿ͩ̔̃͒̚̚͏̼̜͖͚̩͎̼̙̺̥͈͚̕͘͘1̌͛͌ͫ̄̎̋͢͠҉̫̖͉̲̙̖̹̞̬͈̘̖͓̲͉̜͕ͅ0̮͕̙̭̰̲̪̝̖̘͓̄̎̎̀̐ͧͬͬ̄̇̆ͤͧ̀̔̾̇̚͢͞0̵̥̖̻̮̦̎ͬ̌͗̓̋ͬͭ͂̉̈ͤ͟1̴̢ͪ̒̅ͣ̆͋͡͏̙̞̹̺̯̬̮̜̟͔̬0̶͌ͪͪ̐ͥ̊͐̚͏͇̮̘̣͎͓͈͇̘͇̺̩͕͍̝͕́͞0̶̫̼̲̭̖̔̏ͬ̔̇͛̋͛̋̐ͧ͜1̴̜̱͎̝̼̖̩̫̫̲̹̈̈́́̀̈̀ͪ̔̄̂̊̌̾͂̚͜͞ ̨̡̺̗̫̭̖͉͙͖̣̝͇̦͔͉̹ͭ͗ͥ̎̏̂̍́0̸͍̝͚͕̥͓ͬ͑͌͗͗̑̂͌̇̔̉̋̚͠͡1̵̦̲̞͍͂̃͂̎ͯ͒͝0̸͇̹̳͖͖̰͚̱̘̮͎͑ͬͥͤ̊ͤͫ̿ͭ̈̃ͫ̾̊ͯ̓͘͘1̴̸̢̨̡̫̥̟͈̟̇̍̓̎̇̿̿͂ͦ̔̿̀ͧ̈̉̈́̚0̴̛̛͕̤̬͚̦͙̗̥ͪ̈ͬ̅͜͞0̏̀̄͑͆͊̑ͦ͗ͨ͂̇̎͏̼͉͚̗̮̲̼̥͓̖̻͓̀̕ͅ0̷̖͖̗̫̗͇͓̠̙͔͉̤͍͍͈̮̌͂ͩ͛̇ͩ̓̓̀̑ͩ̌ͭ̂͌͒́́̕͜ͅͅ0̷̭͍͎̤̦̠̳̫̮̼̗͚͇̺ͣ̈̇̎ͤ̏͂ͪͨͬ̍̇ͭ̚ͅ ͈̖̱̩̻̠̝͖̠ͯ͋ͤͭ̐ͫͪ̃̿̉͊̅̔͘͞ͅ0̢̩͕̬̺͎͙̭̮͚̯͚̏͂ͨ̍̄̅ͮ̎̐͒́̆ͥ͜1̷͈̜̮̩͉̫̥̲͍͎̮͉̦̈̃̅ͮ̓͜ͅͅ0̶͔̳̜̝̰̝̳͈̣̺̥͇͚͙̘̦͂̈́͊ͥͫ͝͞1̨̢̡̝̟̫̖͔̜̱̫̟̖̹̱̫͖̫̙̮͍͍̏̒͊̿̑̉͐̊́0̪̣̯̗̖͖̩̗̠͇̩̆̿̾̈ͮ̑͊ͧ͊̿̿ͥ͌̑ͪ̅̚͟͟0̷͔̘̣̘͈̙̗̳̞̫̪̣̲̥̪ͮ͊̔͊̆ͪ̽1̡̩̱͙̣̠̠̖͚̐̄͗̋̄͛ͧ́͠͝1̧̡̦͙̼͙̖͎̞̰̺̞̹̬͕̯̅̇͆͑̾͊͊ͮͮ̎̀̈͂̄ͭͮ̐̚͟ ̴̢̟̺̠̺̘̠̘̞͓͓̮̗͇̝̲̼͆͒͐ͧ̈ͯ̚͜͝0̨̩̱̹̳͑ͬͫ͌ͭ̂̈́͆͘͠ͅͅ0̸̪̯̞͇̘̻͎̦̣̪̼́̿͗͐͑͋͋͒̅͂̒͡ͅ1̵̛̤͈̘͉̭̹̾̈́̑ͩ̍̒̓͂͂̔̌̎͂́͡͝0̷̬̠̦̱̦̦̥̙̉͌ͭ̌̏ͧ̓̈̚͟͢ͅ0̷̵̻̭̪̫̗̻̲ͬ̊̏̌̑ͣ̇ͨͧ̍ͭͥ̊̅ͥͦ̈́͛̆̀́͢0̸͔̙͚̉ͪͯ͛͊̂̿̓͝0̵͆͊ͤ̌̾̌ͦ͒̋̉͒̀̽̌̀͘҉̝̳̳͚̤̲0̷̵͉͉͉͈̹͈̠͉̟̳̻̺̅̏͒͆ͯ̃͂̾̒̅̏ͮͣ̌ͭ̚ ̶̨̛̺̖̬̟̘͖̪͚͓͇̱͉̪̪̘̩̗̐ͭ̿ͥ̓ͬͤ͗̔̋ͭͫ̑̋̚0̨̗̙̻͚̫̫̱̰͔̭̜͍̬̒͌̇̓̂̊ͧ̋̑͒̉ͨͣͪ͑͆́̚1̫̫̻̪ͩ̃̊ͪ̉̔̈́͘0̷̡̜̣̗͚͙͐̂̐ͪͯͧͩͣͯ̈́́͘̕1̝͉̺̪̘͇͍̮͉̫̉̃̂͛̓̃̏̽͊ͦ͋̓̄̆̋̍ͧ́̀͘͘͠0̴̡̧̢͎̺̳͍͙̹͖̯̲͈͎ͧ͂͌ͨ̉́ͥ͗͗̌͜1̶̡̡̛̰̦͉͕͚̗̱̪̱̬͖̳͙̼͍̮͈ͪ̒͐ͭͦ̌̅͂̍ͯ̊ͬ̚͝0̷̥̺̰̞͇̬͙̣̼͈͉̩̝͈̻͉̖ͤͦ͒̈́̉͗͘͝0͉̖̳͔͇̟͈͙͇̜̠ͪ̑̈̅͑̊ͣ̑̃̑́̀͢͡͞ ̯̼̼̦̲̼͇͎̟̼̹̟̺ͧͯ̒̐̀0̡̨̧̖͕̱̗͕̦̣̤͎̉̆́͒͒̾̑͊ͩ͌͗ͧ̚̕1̡̿ͯ͆ͫͯ̊̿ͥ̿̓̅͢͜͏̪̤͇͇̬̞̝̲̣̯̰͉0̏͐̓̿͏̵̣͙͇͎̙͚̙̮̩̫̺͙̠͍̠͙͠0̷̸̢̨̫̻͕̦̟͉̖͊̇͌ͭ̒̍ͬ͆̓̌̕ͅ0̷̵̶̛͚̜͖̠̗̣̦̖̍͌͊ͮ̔ͦ̍̽̇̃1̾̌̎̒̔̄̏̓͂̇ͣ͏̶͢͏̳͇̯͕͇͓0̛̯̼̥̞͔͍͈̥̞͙̰̩̼͉͖̠͈̞̤ͤ̅ͣ̀ͬ̈́̉ͮ́ͣ̐̃̓͆̀͜͠1̰̪̝̥̪͓̘̰̭̤͗̔̆̋ͫͬͩ̋̈́̊͘ ̢̨̡̤̗̹̹̮̪̘̗̣̬ͭ̆̄̂͊̍ͯͬ̃ͬ͑͘0̦̟̤̳̈́́ͮͥ̅ͩ̃͗͋̑̽̉́̚̚͘͡0͙̜̣̤̮̣̗̯̲̳̜̓͒͂͊̓ͦ̐̃͊͆͊͋ͧͦͯͥ̀ͨ̀̚͜1̢̛̖͔̰͓͎͚̳̤͈̤̠̥̞̗̺̳͎ͪ̓̓̓̂ͦ̓ͫ͒͊̎̔ͫ̀͊̚͜͠0̡̰͇̺̼̝͕̖̖͇̌̌̔ͭ̍̀ͅ0̵̰̣͓͍̹̠̏̇̎ͨ̊ͨ̀̀͆̅̔ͫͫͭ͆̎̌̕͡0̉ͮ͌͂ͥͦ͋̊̑͊̓ͣ̀̐̔҉҉̵̤͇͓̕͢ͅ0̵̧̖̩̦̫̣̟̤̤̱͉̮͎͈͖̩̳͉̆͐̋̈́̎ͣ̓ͮ̂͛͗́̃̍͋̀͢ͅ0̛̱̮̖͙̬̯͕̘̳̫̖̼͖͗̓̉͑̋̕ͅͅ ̢͇͙̮̭̪̯̐ͭ̈́̒̊̒̓ͅ0̧̫͈̟̖͎́ͥ͗͂͟͠1̧̛̺̱̭͕̦͖̮͙̩͙͚̞ͣ̐̈̆̅̓̃̀ͅ0͈͍̖̺̜̺͓̰̦̲̦ͧ́͛ͯ̆͂̋ͦ̚͢0͕̜̟̳͚͕͙̮̣̭ͪ̑ͪ̿̊́1̸̵̮̺̱͖̪̻͋ͩ͛̓ͨ͠0̐̔͌ͣ͢͡҉̧͎̗̱̦̼̘̘̕0̷̡̮̭̝̻̙͕̳ͬ̽̅ͩͯͥͪͥ̊̈́͒ͬ̀ͩ̌̄ͣ̕1̡̼̺͍̻̬̬̟͓͚̠͔̉̏ͭ̒̊̇̌̅͐̀ͪ͆̾̓̽̽ͨͬ̚͠ͅ ̎͌ͩͮ͑ͣ̔̅̾̃̈ͥͬͩͨ́́҉͙̳̙͚͍̲̟̰̼̝͈͉̯͘͝0̧̧̮̲̻̪̳̙̹̩̪̳͎͖͎̹̾̿̽̈́̿ͯ̈́ͪ͆̆͜ͅͅ1̻̠̳̠̤̲̝ͥ̍̈͒ͫ͗ͫͥ͋̑̏͒̇̄̑̈͢͡0͓͓͉̻̳͎̻̩̬̰̥̝̟͓͈̫̱͗ͪ̍̿̓̏́͞͞ͅ0̱͔̩̱̼͍͖̻͇͈̬͉̼̼͙̠̦̥̳ͧ͂̂̋ͬ͐͗͑ͩ͂́̃̇̾͛̈̑ͯ̕͡1̧ͯ̄̃̀̑ͬ̿ͧ̌̔ͦ̓̒̒̓ͦ̃ͬ͐͏̴̱͍̬͕͙͜͡0̧̤͙͉͕̠͈͓̪̜̗̥̋̑ͣ̉̅́̇ͭ̇͞0ͪ̓ͬͥ͐͗̀ͪ̃ͫ́҉̷̢̫͈͎̗͓̟̫̥̩̟̥̳1̴̺̺̣̝̳̺̣̗̱̮̙̑ͪ̋̐ͦ̀̄ͪ́͘͢͝ ͛̋ͩͦ̒́̆́̂̃̅̀҉̥̩̟̳̮͓͕̪0̤̙͇̲ͧͧ̌̎̑̑ͯ̽ͬ̆͌̇ͮ̾͂̆͑ͦ͟͢1ͮ̏̎̇͊̒̓͑ͪ̂̃̈̍̃ͣ҉̸̝̲͈̯̘͈̱̺̩̫̘͖̬͠͡ͅ0̵̡͈̗̼̭͊̎ͯͯ͗͆͆̈́ͩ͌̓ͪ̓0̛͖͕̝̜̪̂̃ͭ̂̃̾͐̅͆ͭͭ͟͝ͅ1̴ͪ̌ͦ̈ͧͨ͐͝҉̹͖̼̰͓̝͎͎͔͘1̶̷̡̟̺̻̱͚̤̙̰̟̦̭ͤ̇̈̈́͂ͫ̓͌̀ͨ̀̚͞0̷̢̨̑ͯ̊̊ͯͬ́̀ͫ̏̃͛͏͙̗̫̮̼̲̥͚̞͖̳̳͓̘̘̹͢0̨ͦ̓̓̔ͦ͞҉̡̱̻̤͈̪̟͔͎ ̶̸̢̛̻̝̮̪͉̩͚̺̗ͣ̍̓́͗̽̆́ͦ̅̏ͫͦ0̵̧̨̛̥̹̝̙̤̩̭̲̩̘͎͉̬̝͙͐ͨ̊ͫ̄̈́̃̎͗͝1̨̛̤͎͎̟̺̻̠̱̫͗ͧ̉ͭ͋ͯ0̵͇͉̻͚͔̦̬̭̭̺͔͉̻͍̮͊̄̆ͨ͆ͭ̓͌͑̍́̀́ͅͅ0̐̂̿ͬ̄͌̾̎ͦ̈ͥͤ͗̐͏̧҉͏̖͓̮̟̖͍͔͚̱͡ͅ1̛̮͍̹̪̗͖̠̩͕͚̭̹̱̗͕̈ͣ̍̃͌ͭ͗̊́ͨ̂ͩͣ͡0̸̩̖̪̖̞̙̰̼̝̞̜̹̺̟̈́̂͂̆͊ͪ̋͂ͣͬ̈́ͪ̿ͪ͋ͤ͋͒̚0̨̻̠̟̪̥͖̱̪̼̟̩̭̹̙͙̘̞̟̯̃̔̊̾̑͆ͨ̀̚̚1̶̜͈͇̪̜̜̪̹̗͖̮̣̔͗̉̈̎̎͗̀ͣ̽͝ ̡̟͈̝̲͕͉̯̩̻̬͕̩̦͔ͬͧ͛̎͐̍ͥ̔͑̏̀̔̽̌̌̅̚͜͞0̸̶̰͎̰̫̯͈̣ͬ͒ͭ̒ͧ1̶̶̭̜͉̙̬̪̯̳̩̘̳̺̰̯ͨ̒͆͐ͨ̈ͤ͌̈͊̓͋̌ͮ̈͌̔ͫ͡0̶̝͉͈̺̮͈̤̩͗̃̉̒̌̈́̿͑̏ͫ͂̋͗̊̍͋͗͘͟ͅ0̡̛̽̓̂ͦ͠͏̢̲͖̤͉̜̹͕̣͕͉̻̫͚̪̺͉͖ͅͅ0̷̧̢̡̟̰̣̼̥̯̹̟ͫ̒͑͋͛̐̉͛ͭ͊̓̏̍̊ͅ1͔̗̣̭̗͖̟̦̲̝̤̝̱͔͈̗̯̜̲̽̈́̈̌ͧͫ͆͡1̶͓̦̼̣͍ͨ̀͛̀0̨͓̘͚̠̱̞͉̮̖̣̬̻̗͕̮͆̑͋ͩ͗̾̊̓̂̋͟͞͠ ̡̥͎̥̩̋̔̅ͥͨ̀̇ͤͩ̏̃ͬ̔̊̽ͣͯͦ0̶̡̛̮̝̻̪͕͆ͬ̈͂͆̔͆ͫͫ͂ͫ͆̀̓ͯͬ͜0ͮ̾̊̋͛̓̂ͩ҉̧̻̻̠̠̫͔̬̹́͘͠1̶̸͚̺̯̬̝̼̲̺̱̮̉͗ͭ̒̈́͛ͣ̉͆͐͊̑ͤ̓͂̂̆̾̂́ͅ0̸ͮͭ̓̾͐ͧ͋̐̐̍ͭ͋̌̚̚҉̣̱͖̰͚̘̼0̴͎̲̲̱̥̤͎͇̺̥̙͔̬͖̪͑̿̑̌̊ͯͤ͂ͥ̊̒̉͂ͥ̚͟͟͞0̸̛̗͚̙̻̰̤͂͆̇̉̽̑̀͜ͅ0̸̮̟̟̭͚̰̞́̅̓ͮͫ͒̄̔̍̑ͦ̾͛̀͊̉̚̕͡0̘̬͔̫͍̪̗̝̹͚̬̱̯̳̼̣̟̇̃ͫ̿͠ͅͅ ̴͕̘̦̟͍͊͐͛̈́̈́̀ͫ̅͗̃̃͞͞0̽͛ͪͮͭͪͩ́ͯͥͩ̄͝҉̮̗̮͙̗͈͇̪͎̥̦̹̱ͅ1ͮ̋̆̇ͭ̃̇̒͆̋ͯ̈́̉̔̏̿͗͑͟҉̫̮̱̮̗͓0̵̱̣͇̗̳̼̣̥͌͗̍̌ͬ̓̓̔͐ͬͮ̊͋͊̇͐͞1͊̾ͨͥ̇͊͌͌͋͛̈ͩͩ͑̌͋̕҉͍͖̫̺̝̼̜̺̱̞̘̫̜͚͚̮̰̬͘͜͡0̵̡̭̙̘̯̟ͪ̎̍ͮ͒ͣ͂ͨ̂͊ͭ͂̔ͣ̓͆͘͜͟1̨̛̫͈̬̮̼̟̮̬̜͒ͧ͒̽ͭ̋͒̈́͛ͫͭ͊̂ͭ̎͊̓͟0̶̡͓͇͇͙̆̄͛͌̂̈̂ͯ̊̂͌̅̃͌̋͘͝0͈͈̦̱̩͉̙̘͍̿ͧ̿̂̾͑̎̆̾͢͢͠ ̶̽ͮ̍̂̍ͯͭ͒̇͜͏̲̜̯̝͎͔̜0̴̓͒̄ͧ͑̃ͫ͒͑͋ͣͦ̋҉̮̯͕͎͚͙̫͈̤͘͟1̸̨̧̳̲̭͉̟͚͎̞͙̠̩̓ͨ̅͌ͤ͛͋̉ͯ̌͊̏̚͜͡0̷͕̞̲̰̜͙̯̝̯͉̦̩̘͙̅̂ͥ̽͢0̵̶͙͔͇̜̳̙̼̼̱̄̔̈́̋͛̈́ͮͯ̀͆̎ͫ̓̉̒ͦ͛̚0͖̮͚͉̭̬̪͍̞̭̟̰̘͖̯͙̈͆̽̏ͤͯ̏̆̇͊ͣ͘1̢̛̞̦͈̥̾̇ͬ̊̎̀̕͞0̴̧͕͓̪̺͉̜̦̲̒͋̑̒ͭ̈̕1͊ͭ̿ͣͭͪ̐̓̏͆͆͛͏̡̠͓͉̦̫̞͍̣̠̰̱̯̘̰͡ ̵͑͛̀̈̂͑͏͉̞͉̤̘̻͙͙͈̪̜͉̳̜̥͖͔ͅ0̸̸̡̝͓̺̰̻͍̮̹ͬ̽̄̉͊̏̀͢0̵̢̺͓͉͚͓̾̋̈͌ͦ̋ͪͬ͂̚̚̚̕͞ͅ1̴̱̹̟̝͇̰̹̠̭̞̟̽̃̿͐ͩ͋̍̔̀̚͡͝ͅ0̳͕͖͕͙͔̹̠̻̬̣͈͔̺̅͊́̌ͬͣͣ̿̃ͬ̇ͮ̓̑͑͑ͧͩ̚͡͡ͅ0̞̹̺̫̹̖̙͙͓͉̳͍̀̆̇̿̋͛̃̔͊̑ͪ̐͐͑̓̚̕͡͞0̷̧ͤͨ̓̚͜҉̯͕̙̖̖͖̘̰̳͞0̵͔̥͕̮̩́͛͛̿̍̈̈́̄̋ͯ̃ͦͮ͐̅̚0̸ͩͤͦ̔͏̻̻̮̘̪̖̼̩͚̦ ̛̪͇͇̙͚̩̖͚̻̹̭̦̘̙̋͒̆̈̎ͣͤͨ̔̂̔͞͝0̴̾ͧͮͥ̂ͯ͌̂̅ͨ҉̸̡̪̜̪̺1̉ͫͭ͋ͩ̽ͣ̽̈́̎ͩ҉̳͉̼͇͙͈̤͜0͎̼̰͖̖͔͕̹͈͈͉̱̱̰͉͉̰͒̂̓̑̆͂̅ͨ̏͌̈́͂ͬͬ͆͗̀͟͟1̧̢̧̡͔̮͎̺͓̝͚̜̫̜̗͚̩̰̪͑́̆̉̋ͥͦ͜ͅ0̽ͣͪ̀̋̿ͯ̍ͬͥ̾̍̔̃͒̈̇҉͟҉̢͇̼̥͓͈̜̫̲0̸̶̶̜̺̯͓̥͓̱͕͙͕͉͓̩̬̜ͩ̐̅́͘ͅ1̵̸͕̩̻̞̗̊͂ͧ̃̾ͯ͆ͨ̚1͕͇̘͉̼̥̼̜̯͔̻̲̦ͧ̀̽̿ͯͫ́͞ ̵̨̨͍̭̰̬̥̼̳̈́͊ͯ͆̅ͯ̒͒̓ͪ̄͌̄̄ͤ̚͡0̶̪͎̮͔̗̭̫͚͓̗͇͔̱͇̬̳̝̒̂͋̋ͪ̔ͦ̔̽͒̈́̆́͘1̡̡̣̦͈̟͍͉͍̗͙͈̳̮̳͓͔͖͖̀͐̂ͭͨ͂ͨ̄ͣͣ͜͜0̵̛̩̖̞̰͊ͣ͑ͥ͑ͦ̌̌ͣ̂͋̀͟0̶̴̥̖͕̱̱̻̭̺̺̭̯̥͚͚̲̦̩̲̇́̂͌ͣͨͨ͛ͦ͞1̑ͭ̿̾̎͂͋͏̯͕̝̰̫̀͞0̵͙̦͚͈͙̺̱̣̺̩̝̣͉̥̟̞̠̔ͮͫ̐̈̿̏̈̚͟͢0̴̄̃ͭͩ͟͏̹̘͙̺1̡̨̹̠̠̻̘̟͑̾̔ͫ̽̒͆ͭ̌̓̿̓̓ͬ̈́ͪͤ̀͘ ̶̉̎͗̚͢͞͞҉̺̙̩ͅ0̸̧̭͎͈̜̫̞̲̤̪̣̠͓̻͛̓̂͆ͭͧ̓ͥ́́1̨̯̟̳̪͓̝͆ͭͭͪͥ̎̇̔̓ͯ̚̕͜0̛̱̱̜̗̣͉̆ͭͩ̍͒̎͂̀͟͡1̷̴̛̖̠̟̱̐̎ͨͬ̽ͤ̈́̔0̡̥͖̰̳̱̩̫̱̌̈́̅ͨ̍̈́ͧ̆̎̃̀0̧̜̺̬̭̖̦͙͙͍̳̟̯̦͔̟͕̠͈ͮ͌̐̑͟͢͝1̴̵̛͇̩͈͔͎̳̥̯͔͖̖̓ͮ̓̂̎́͐̀̌̾ͮͬ͐̑̚̕͜0̓͂̂͊̍ͩͪͦ͑̆̆͋͏̧̘̼̦̱̬̞͔̬̝ͅ ̢̛͖͈̫̪̩͇̟͓̣̥͕̝͍̭̬̩̞͚̽̎ͣ̇ͣͮ̐͠͡͠0̔ͯͨ͐̿͂ͪͥ͋̐̈́̒͌̚҉̧̙͍̪̗͔͉͇̱1̷̪̣̘̤͚̖̟͉̻̳̼͔̩̆̊̂͂͐ͣ̃̆̐̀͌̄̇͑͛̎́͢ͅ0̶̿ͣ̆̀҉͕͕̠͈̮̳̹̼̟̞̣͎̩̝̯̬͙̜͜͟͡1̵͓̰̳͎͈̦͕͎͙̖̲̜̩̬̂͊͂̄͑ͧ͌̿̀̓ͩ̍ͯ͞0̵̢̛̥̲̤̙̱ͫ̏͆͌͒̓͆ͬͩ̎͗̓ͮ͂̈́ͫ̂ͧ́͠ͅ1̴̢͎̣͙̼͕͇̲͍̬͙͚͇̤͂̿͆̌ͩ͛͋̒̌̽͛̿̒̒̈̍̏̌̇͢͝0̷͒̒͐ͦ̽ͮ͂̈̅̌̔̂ͯ̋̇̽̓̔̆͏̯͙̗͓̫̦͙̦̰̀ͅ0̸̢̼̲͙̘̩͔̺̼̝̞̝͉̬̼̼͕̦̾͋͛̂̊̕ ̵̨̡̨͉͉̠̖̩͈̤͖͓̳̹̳̠̤̼̦͚̙ͩͬ̇͆͐͌̊͒̈̉ͣ̍ͩ̈̍́́̄͡0̂͐͑ͮ̋̔͏͏̥̣̠͖͕͍͍̱͓̘̣̝̘̙͈ͅ1̍̽̏ͯ͋ͥͯͨ̌ͥ͊͘҉̷̫͇͖̹̗͈͉͡0̱̫̫̺̖̫̭͖̤͈̩͕̲̙̙̜̮̦ͬ̄̑͋͋̉͐̑̌̊͑͑͛ͫͨ̀̚͢͝0̶̛͚̦͙̜̩̞̼̠̔̅͊̓̒̔ͭͫ̓̉͐̾̂́͝0̵̸̡̻͙͇̬̪̑͑ͯ̿ͪ̄̒̄̾͊̓͑̍̋ͅ0̴̫͙͖̦͙̰͖͈̰̦̘̤͍͓͍̲̞͑̑ͪ͐̑̌̌̋͆͂ͬ̐̚͘͞͝0̢̝͈̹̠̠̥͍̫̙͕̰̟͉̦̘͕̝ͣ̒ͤ͂̃̏̋̅͆̈́ͨ̾ͫ̏̽͟1̭̞̬̺̄̄̅̏͋̃̆ͪ̀͝͝ ̴̢̡̦̹͓̺̻̯͐ͭ̅̆0̨̉̓͆̈̉̎̏͝͞͏͏̤͚̻͖ͅ1͈̗̠̪̑̍͌̉ͧͣ͋ͬ͜ͅ0̴͉̥̝͓̤̖͚̲̺͙̹̝͕͈̮͇͐̓̆̆ͬͣͯ̆́͘ͅ1̛̬̲͚̲͔̻͕̝̳̲̱͊ͯ͆̓̊̎̎̏̽̀ͥ̒̋ͫ͛͠ͅͅ0̸̢͚̰͓̟̳̘̘̺͙ͧ̎ͥͯ̆̆̽͑̋̏ͧͩ͂̾̉̒̀͜͝0̷̏̎ͪ̔̆ͦ̆ͭ̉̒̀͏̘̣̱͙̩0̶̛͕̬̦̞͎̻̹̦̓̑͊͒̄̎̾̒ͭ̀͑ͣͨ̌͑̈̚ͅ0̸̨̛̬̘͖͎͙̾ͮ̊̄̔̅̾̉̽̓͐̆̄ͫͭ͐͋̈́̋́͟ ̨̧̙̻̙̣̼̱̙͓͈̪̠̣̻̖̍ͬ̑̔̀͊̄̍̀̒̂̊ͪ̕͟͡ͅ0̸̶̛̒ͩ̾ͦͥ̓̋̽̏҉̛̦͓͙̮̜0̸̡͚̟͖̫̰̣̝̱̞̹̪̓̈͆̃̂̓ͧ͌̈ͣ̄̽ͧͪ̃͑ͧ̎͘͢͠ͅ1̷̡̢͎̻̩̬̝̣̯̙̭̹͔̳͓̱̦ͣͣ͑̆̓̿ͪ̋͆̄͂ͨ0̥̜͉̟̜̗̥̳͖̣͆̃̓͛͠͡0̶̨͎̺̮̯̮̺̾͑̈́̾͋͛͋ͣ̃͂̆͗̑̂̊ͦ0̸ͣ̈́̌ͭ̈ͮ҉̴͙͈͙͍͎̘͔̟̭̗̬͙̘̯0̘͈͔̝̖̮͗͊̃ͪ͌ͤ͋ͮ̀ͨ̄̀̚͡0̵̡̩̫͎̪̥͍̫̱̫͇̦̞̙͔̜̓̊͆̿̇͐ͨͧ̍̄̋̅̅̓̔́͢͟ ̶͇̯̤̬̳̳̯ͣ͒ͫͬ̏ͦ̍̾ͬ̆͗̑̅̐̚̕͟͞0̯̭̟͔͎͕͔̜̬̼̅̒ͤ̃̓̂̒ͮͣ̂̈͆͂̈́͛͐͞͡1̛̤͚̼̫͔̪̺͔͇ͬ̌ͭ͂̅̌̒ͧ̋ͪ̏̎ͣ̾̐̿̃͢͠͞͠0̶͗ͯ͋͗̓ͨ̅̎́̊̀҉̵̯͚̭̤͉̥0̵̧͉̟̬͇̜̝͙̼̝̟͙̳̥̳̳͖̲̰̮ͣͤͮ͂̆ͥ̕0̷̪̣̫̯̞̹͚̹͚ͯ̾̈̕1̢̢̬̳͕̹̳̋̔ͪ̾ͤ̈́͜0̵̤̯̜̙̯̦̲̭̱͇̫͇̻̫͓̦͌̄ͣ̎̎̿̓̒̽̌͋̋ͣ͗̋̐͂̊̀͠1ͬͭ̓̾͛ͥ͐͏̶͈̮̗̙̪͔͈̮͘͘͟ͅ ̸̷̢̟͚͉͇̙̣̯̼̼͉̥͉̭̏̏ͨ̔̍͋̑͗̄ͧͤ̓̚͘0̯̙̠̟͇̼͎̩̫̳͕̮̙͉̠̪̟ͦͯ͑̈̿̓ͤͯ̕ͅ1̑̉̑̅̒ͭͣ̇̉̌̓̇̓̄̌͏̵̵̡̬̖̜̙̱̘̻̭̖́ͅ0̢̢̞̰͙̯̮̲̙̣̺̆͂͋̎̉͜͢͡0̶̵̷̛̣͕̰̼̞͉ͭ̇͆̃͒̎͠1̴̴̮̤͍̪̯͓̻̯̼̙̠̤͕͉̗̪̤̠̣̔̓̀̉̊̔̈̇̋̏1̡ͨ̀̓͌̈́̽͆͂̏҉̢̠͈͓̺ͅͅ1̴̛͖̪̹̲͋ͦ̅ͩ̄̂̃ͣ͒̒͒͗͐̚0̸̧͎͈͙̠͖̲͙̩̣͓̮ͮ͂̃ͥ̉ͦ̍ͅ ̴̡̨̢̻͉̝̞̱͉̞͉̞̬͓̝͕͒̈̂̋0̸̯͇̼͓̱̐̊̅̅͂̇ͬ̚1̴̸̖̳͔̦͈̥̂̆͛͑̓́͢͟0̵̰̯͇̼̜̰̫̤̺̼͚͓̙ͬ̓̓̽̆ͦ͂̈́ͫ͒́̾͂ͮ̚͘͝͠ͅ0̶̧̨̤̩̞̻ͥ͐̐̃̀ͪ̄ͧ̐̓̉́́1̷̶͛͂̃͒̿͑̋̂͝͏̰̻͇̰͔̠́0̡̨̧̘̣͎̤͙̦͚̟̮̟̦̂͛̒́͑̈́͗ͦ̄́͂͜͠0̎ͫ̂̋̅͋̈́ͭ͊̒͏̯̰̖̜̹̘̟́͝1̞͖͈͓̠̠̝̯̙̟͓̲͕̹̗̲͇ͤ͋̈́̉̊͐̉͟ 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̵̵̧̡̫̦͓̪͖̣̖̻͈̳̘̤͈͉̯̘͒̓ͧ̂͋ͭ͒̈̑̅̒̓̀̆ͅ0̨̨̭̻̩̖̫̳̪͂͐ͣ̕͞1̴̧̗̩͔̲͙̯͉̼̣̤͙̗̺̹̩̐ͦ̔̃ͩ̆̒͟0̷̼̝̥̹̮̽̔̌̾̋̾ͬͭ̿͐͊̐̿͢͢͢͝ͅ0̸̸̥̦̱̥̰͉̞ͯ͐̾̕͝1̈́̇ͬ̉̀ͪͯ͡҉̲̰͇̬͍͙̞̹̳̪1̵̼̮̭̯̪͙̺̳̬͚͓̥̝̳̈̎ͮ̓ͯ͒ͦͤͦͩ͊̐̐́͢1̸̨̞͎̺̟̤̬̬̘͙̯̳͍̍ͨ̑̅̆͂̓̃̆͌͝0̵̴̛̛̲̩̝̩͍̲͔͉̗̲̮͓͈̟̳͙ͤͣ̏̎̓̒ͨ̋̓͛͢ ̢̥̙͚̭̺̱͓͔̲̦̾͛̃̏̍́ͯ̄́͊ͤ͟͢͠0͊̃̈͆ͪ͏̶̙͖͚̙̙̣̗̱̺̝̲̣̹͍̭̳̬ͅ1̥͍̫̠̬̘͉̫͂̍͗̅͢͜͝͞͡0̂̂̐̔̅ͧ͂̐ͪͥ͂ͣͦ̿͊̓̚͏̥̪̹͎͇̀͢0͌͛̏̽̀ͭͪ̇͞͏҉̡̹̫̱̺̗1̦̱͍̬̝̳͉ͯͪ̀̇́̚̕0̡͍̗͔̹̟̼͆͌ͬ̌͑ͣ̂ͤ̾̎̈́ͧ̊̊̐ͤ͐ͣͦ͞0̡̮̥̪̣̮̥͕͕̯̠͙̝̥̲͊ͭ̊͛͋͘1̴͙̩̼͙̣̪̖̖̜̄̍̏̆̌̓̌̆̐ͥ̅͒ͮ̏̈́́̀̚͢͢ͅ
Out of nowhere and without the slightest warning – except to The Shadow Over Himself, and even he couldn’t have anticipated what was actually happening – all of the infected human scientists spontaneously exploded into white-hot masses of fiery entrails and appendages.
It was familiar, but aside from those unlucky Dendril, unobtrusive.
Aboard the Kingsbane, this Second Signal would do nothing at all – nothing except appear mysteriously on a few screens or monitors for a few seconds, then disappearing completely.
Aboard the Stella, it would have an entirely more subtle, if more potent effect.
It was those poor semi-sentient scientists, whos' subetheric cries of agony went utterly ignored by their captain, who would serve as the catalysts for the largest data transfer ever undergone in BrainPal™ history. It was not actually BrainPal™ technology initiating the transfer, however. Rather, it was something else – that Second Signal. It was as if a cosmic command prompt had been brought up on the screen of spacetime, and the ‘send’ command issued. It was the simultaneous, vastly faster-than-light transfer of all the last vestiges of the First People from the Isandril ‘databanks’ to the Stella Mainframe.
Due to the heavily isolated nature of BrainPal™ technology, the Dendril spawn wouldn’t get so much of a hint as to what was pulsing through their (and their hosts) brains for that infinitesimal moment preceding their individual dooms. But due to the curious nature of the Dendril themselves, a vastly greater amount of conceptual data could be transferred in an instant – so much that it still overwhelmed them and caused them to explode within the merest fraction of a nanosecond. In fact, a great deal of the information would be lost forever now, unable to be transferred without the BrainPal™ ‘infected’ Dendril spawn and hosts to aid it, destroyed when the bulk of the force proceeded with tearing the entrails out of the city innards and ravishing the helpless databanks to bits of useless scrap. BrainPal™ alone would not have served to transfer even the merest fraction of that gargantuan sum of First People information. It was necessary to integrate the BrainPal™ tech with the Dendril spawn physiology. It was curious how compatible they were.
Outwardly, the only thing that happened was a number of walking-corpse scientists suddenly exploding, some numbers - garbled zeroes and ones - appearing on a pair of computerized goggles aboard the Kingsbane, and a previously dormant BrainPal™ coming online aboard the Stella. Nothing else.
Aelyn-Paeryc and Alexa Petrovalyc were vaguely aware that something strange had happened over their Brainpal™s. They were more keenly aware of the one or two Dendrils who spontaneously exploded as they were going about and tearing the control center to bits. The couple watched with mild distaste for some time, just standing there, with bio-mechanical alien doom prancing rabidly in every direction as the most precious and ancient technology in all the universe was ripped out of existence.
They turned to watch the pillar of ‘light’ as it began to sputter and flicker, and finally disappear forever – but seemingly expending the Notspace ‘energy’ performing one last miracle of Notspace science.
Just as Aelyn-Paeryc was subtly waving goodbye, as if bidding a final farewell to the last vestige of a long-dead memory, the light flickered dead – and Aelyn-Paeryc and Alexa Petrovalyc were suddenly in a cozy office, with wood paneled walls and a plush crimson carpet, with carved mahogany furniture and some pictures on the wall. They were back aboard the Stella Viventium, in the inconspicuous little room that Aelyn considered to be his ‘office’.
If there had been a window, they might have been able to watch from above as the remnants of the city fell into useless, abject ruin. But then, they were too high up to see anything anyway.
Excerpt from ”MindPal – The True History of BrainPal™”
by Doctor Delbert Harkahn Jr.
,
“It is well documented that the earliest versions of the BrainPal™ operating system were patented by BioDyne Cybernetics, the company which would later be renamed to BrainPal Industries along with the success of their most influential production. However, records documenting the process by which the BioDyne researchers were able to come to the conclusions which would inevitably lead to a revolutionary new form of intercommunication are scant and imprecise. During my time with BrainPal Industries, I attempted persistently to gain access to the records, intending to study the earliest breakthroughs and possibly build off the fundamental framework. The company seemed to go out of their way to keep them from me. Every time I tried there was always some minor transmission error, or clearance issue that would require copious effort or tedious busywork to get through.
But with the help of a friend who has requested to remain anonymous, I was at last able to obtain what remained of the earliest reports – it was through these that it ultimately came to my attention – the research and development which gave birth to the BrainPal™ had been a personal side project by none other than the famous super-scientist Paeryc Petrovalyc.
Details as to how I was able to confirm this discovery are presented in Chapter VII. It was a tedious and, at times, positively dubious project. After all, to this day records documenting whether or not Paeryc Petrovalyc actually existed at all can be brought into question. Assuming that he did really live, it would have been over 452,642,559 Standard years before the date of this publishing – and that number is only applicable because it is the farthest back in the Stella Viventium’s records still able to be accessed. Details and introspection into the reason for this limit, including the ‘great data crash’ theory, are presented in Chapter XI.
It is from this discovery that the title of my book stems – because research leads me to believe that a project loosely referred to as ’MindPal’ was in fact the earliest, prototype stage of the BrainPal™ groundwork. It is presumed that the research was either given to BioDyne by Paeryc Petrovalyc himself, but the possibility of corporate espionage cannot be ruled out.
It begs the question, however, as to exactly what the earliest technology entailed. After all, it is well known to those who believe that Paeryc Petrovalyc actually existed, that the finer points of what made the man ‘tick’ are long gone. There were conceptual elements present in all the inventions credited to him – including the Stella Viventium itself – which remain enigmatic to this day. Subtleties so easily overlooked or taken for granted that one might assume with good reason the elements to be purely scientific fundamentals.
Of course, all of that has been long lost to time and, possibly, to myth and legend. Whatever technological magic that Paeryc Petrovalyc might have infused into the early ‘MindPal’ designs is long lost with it – but needless to say, even so familiar an aspect of our everyday lives such as the common, handy BrainPal™ are infused with the same wonder and mystery that our uncertain history and far-reaching ancestors have pondered for generations.
[End of excerpt.]
“It is well documented that the earliest versions of the BrainPal™ operating system were patented by BioDyne Cybernetics, the company which would later be renamed to BrainPal Industries along with the success of their most influential production. However, records documenting the process by which the BioDyne researchers were able to come to the conclusions which would inevitably lead to a revolutionary new form of intercommunication are scant and imprecise. During my time with BrainPal Industries, I attempted persistently to gain access to the records, intending to study the earliest breakthroughs and possibly build off the fundamental framework. The company seemed to go out of their way to keep them from me. Every time I tried there was always some minor transmission error, or clearance issue that would require copious effort or tedious busywork to get through.
But with the help of a friend who has requested to remain anonymous, I was at last able to obtain what remained of the earliest reports – it was through these that it ultimately came to my attention – the research and development which gave birth to the BrainPal™ had been a personal side project by none other than the famous super-scientist Paeryc Petrovalyc.
Details as to how I was able to confirm this discovery are presented in Chapter VII. It was a tedious and, at times, positively dubious project. After all, to this day records documenting whether or not Paeryc Petrovalyc actually existed at all can be brought into question. Assuming that he did really live, it would have been over 452,642,559 Standard years before the date of this publishing – and that number is only applicable because it is the farthest back in the Stella Viventium’s records still able to be accessed. Details and introspection into the reason for this limit, including the ‘great data crash’ theory, are presented in Chapter XI.
It is from this discovery that the title of my book stems – because research leads me to believe that a project loosely referred to as ’MindPal’ was in fact the earliest, prototype stage of the BrainPal™ groundwork. It is presumed that the research was either given to BioDyne by Paeryc Petrovalyc himself, but the possibility of corporate espionage cannot be ruled out.
It begs the question, however, as to exactly what the earliest technology entailed. After all, it is well known to those who believe that Paeryc Petrovalyc actually existed, that the finer points of what made the man ‘tick’ are long gone. There were conceptual elements present in all the inventions credited to him – including the Stella Viventium itself – which remain enigmatic to this day. Subtleties so easily overlooked or taken for granted that one might assume with good reason the elements to be purely scientific fundamentals.
Of course, all of that has been long lost to time and, possibly, to myth and legend. Whatever technological magic that Paeryc Petrovalyc might have infused into the early ‘MindPal’ designs is long lost with it – but needless to say, even so familiar an aspect of our everyday lives such as the common, handy BrainPal™ are infused with the same wonder and mystery that our uncertain history and far-reaching ancestors have pondered for generations.
[End of excerpt.]
She was trying desperately not to laugh by the time he'd asked about her name. She, of course, said nothing, as she was busy reading the words that seemed to just fade into her vision from nowhere. As they faded once again, she sighed inwardly, and immediately ordered the other of her implants to turn off.
She'd known, really, what was happening. They were attempting to search for the signal from home, but there apparently was no signal. A clear sign she was either in very, very urgent danger, or was very far from home. Both of which unnerved her to the core. She blinked at the final question from Drakis.
Her tongue went numb. A lie. She needed a-
"Well, you see, I came from the Re-Sleeving RoomIwasdeadfifteenminutesago..." She paused, her eyes widening. A nervous laugh escaped her.
You're digging your own grave, Valheimer, she warned. Save it!
She couldn't run. Where would she go? She got up, and gave him a brisk salute, the one she had given the man from the Re-Sleeving Room upon waking up.
When in doubt, back to basics..
She pursed her lips. "I know this is hard to understand but I need you to cooperate with me if I'm to get home. First of all, I need a few things from you. Consider yourself lucky you're so charismatic or I would've done something we'd both not be happy about."
She began looking around as she named things that were of definite necessity.
Full access to the machinery attached to her brain. Especially the log. The log was where all her memories would be, no matter how obscure they were. Behold the power of Martian tech. She would then need something more suitable for a five star official than a hospital gown. As she said this her hands ran over the strange material. It was obvious the feeling of it on her skin made her nervous.
"And then I'm going to need you to tell me exactly where I am in space and time. What is this facility we are currently in? When was it built, and how big is it? What year is it according to the time that I am familiar with? We will discuss that in a moment.. And then, as I said, I'm going to absolutely need personal contact with the highest ranking official you can get me to. Waiting is an option if it means I get higher contacts. Now that I have all that out, I must tell you that the last person I came into contact is probably still recovering, so I might suggest reconsidering if you're thinking of a fight, as I did. Allow me the courtesy of introducing myself as 4851-O1 of the Martian facility known as A.P.O." She wouldn't use her given name until she was certain he would help her.
She named several more things but explicitly stated that they were of less importance.
She took a deep breath, and relaxed against the wall beside her. She hadn't meant to tell him everything.. But, then again, she would've had to eventually. So.. that was who she was. Wasn't much of an explanation without the log.
She'd known, really, what was happening. They were attempting to search for the signal from home, but there apparently was no signal. A clear sign she was either in very, very urgent danger, or was very far from home. Both of which unnerved her to the core. She blinked at the final question from Drakis.
Her tongue went numb. A lie. She needed a-
"Well, you see, I came from the Re-Sleeving RoomIwasdeadfifteenminutesago..." She paused, her eyes widening. A nervous laugh escaped her.
You're digging your own grave, Valheimer, she warned. Save it!
She couldn't run. Where would she go? She got up, and gave him a brisk salute, the one she had given the man from the Re-Sleeving Room upon waking up.
When in doubt, back to basics..
She pursed her lips. "I know this is hard to understand but I need you to cooperate with me if I'm to get home. First of all, I need a few things from you. Consider yourself lucky you're so charismatic or I would've done something we'd both not be happy about."
She began looking around as she named things that were of definite necessity.
Full access to the machinery attached to her brain. Especially the log. The log was where all her memories would be, no matter how obscure they were. Behold the power of Martian tech. She would then need something more suitable for a five star official than a hospital gown. As she said this her hands ran over the strange material. It was obvious the feeling of it on her skin made her nervous.
"And then I'm going to need you to tell me exactly where I am in space and time. What is this facility we are currently in? When was it built, and how big is it? What year is it according to the time that I am familiar with? We will discuss that in a moment.. And then, as I said, I'm going to absolutely need personal contact with the highest ranking official you can get me to. Waiting is an option if it means I get higher contacts. Now that I have all that out, I must tell you that the last person I came into contact is probably still recovering, so I might suggest reconsidering if you're thinking of a fight, as I did. Allow me the courtesy of introducing myself as 4851-O1 of the Martian facility known as A.P.O." She wouldn't use her given name until she was certain he would help her.
She named several more things but explicitly stated that they were of less importance.
She took a deep breath, and relaxed against the wall beside her. She hadn't meant to tell him everything.. But, then again, she would've had to eventually. So.. that was who she was. Wasn't much of an explanation without the log.
Objective #1: Speak to an official.
Objective #2: Access the final log in the database.
Objective #3: Find a way back to Mars. Whatever it takes.
Objective #2: Access the final log in the database.
Objective #3: Find a way back to Mars. Whatever it takes.
N O T S P A C E – Stella Viventium
The general awkwardness of her reply caused Drakis to turn and look at her directly – through the goggles, of course. Again, that raised brow.
”W-well yeah,” He said, uncertainly – ”Everyone’s technically dead right before they get re-sleeved.” He was obviously very confused as to why this girl was suddenly acting even stranger than she had been when they first met a few hundred bazillion years ago at the other maintenance terminal.
He was about to add something else, but she interrupted him by suddenly standing and giving him some kind of weird, three-finger salute. Even from behind the goggles, he looked more and more confused. A slight notion of distaste came over him at the prospect of ’something they would both regret’, but he heard the girl out patiently.
”So, lemme get this straight.” He puffed, scratching at his bushy goatee and failing entirely to address any of her questions. The idea of being attacked seemed not to threaten him terribly, though he’d have certainly preferred to avoid that kind of trouble. Though he had not tensed, it appeared vaguely that he had now put himself on guard…in some way or another. ”Clearly you’ve just been re-sleeved. You obviously have absolutely no idea where you are. You’ve got cybernetics in your head that you can’t get to, you need some new duds, and you want to talk to the Captain because you’re from Mars.” He waited a brief second for affirmation that his summary had been generally correct.
He regarded her for a moment. Sizing her up? No, probably not. Probably. Trying to decide if she was out of her mind? More likely.
At last, he spoke again – but in the meandering sort of way that an old guy might take on while still trying to think something over. This first question, he knew, would sound utterly ridiculous to anyone from which the answer would be a ‘no’. ”When you say Martian…Are you talkin’ about THE Mars? Like the one that orbited Sol?” It would have to be a yes. He nodded thoughtfully. "Tell me a little more about your dating system.” Assuming she explained it, he would shake his head and mutter ”Not familiar with it.”
If, at any point, she tried to rush him, he’d swat a hand dismissively and remark irritably ”Look kid I’m your best shot at getting your @#$% together right now so just gimme a damned minute will ya?” He might have actually been aware of her underlying nervousness, though he did little to show it if it were the case at all.
”Well, even if I can get you to believe me, I don’t think you’re gonna’ be all that happy with the truth.” He said at last, still frowning dubiously. ”If you’re really from where you say you’re from, then you-“ He pointed a finger at the girl. ”Are something out of a storybook. Most folks don’t even believe that Earth or Mars ever really existed at all. @#$%, even I couldn’t tell ya’ that I was a true believer, and I’m supposedly one of the descendants of the original colonists.”
Obviously this wasn’t getting anywhere, he realized. Resignedly, he decided to answer her questions in a more straightforward manner – though not in order, of course.
”I’m not so good with numbers and the like, but the history buffs tell me it’s been at least a few million years since the Sol system even existed. Sol is a myth. A legend. Aside from the real religious folks, nobody really believes the stories save for the Captain and his wife. If you’re really from Mars, then you’re very, very, very far in the ‘future’ now. Been out for a while. As for where we are, this is the great Stella Viventium. If what I remember is right, you should probably have heard of the Stella, yeah? Captain claims it was finished right before…Ugh. I’d better let him tell you the story. Forget it. Point is, you’re on a gigantic starship and…Well as for our exact location? That’s…” He gave a helpless huff, shook his head and rubbed at his forehead some. ”That’s a very long story. What I’m trying to say here is that we’ve been searching for Sol for a very long time.” It was best to leave out the parts about Notspace for now – until the Captain could get things straightened out. He was blissfully unaware of the massacre that had gone down on the surface.
”As for the gizmos in your head…Well, I guess I’d better let the Captain figure that out. If you turn out to be some Hyper-Nazi super-spy I don’t wanna’ be the one responsible for reactivating your eye-lasers…Alright, let’s get you in some proper duds. I’ll figure out where the Cap’n is. You got a BrainPal™?”
She did, of course – but presently the only purpose it was serving was blocking out all her other implants with ruthless efficiency. Drakis tried to instruct her on how to access the Stella’s private Aethernet connection, but gave up early on and took it upon himself to order whatever kind of clothing she asked for, right down to details – of course, if she asked for anything particularly outlandish there would be waiting times, and anything pertaining to her original institution would be long gone by now…Or at very least it would take tedious digging through ancient files to find emblems or insignias. It wasn’t worth the trouble.
Once he had called in the order for clothing to whoever could provide what she requested, it was on to finding out what was going on outside the isolated little world of the Stella – or at least figuring out where Aelyn-Paeryc was.
Nobody seemed to know, at first.
”The problem is…” He said after a long moment of silence, ”Captain’s down planetside. I…I think something really bad happened.” He let it hang there, having sounded almost startlingly grave considering his typically boisterous behavior. ”But nobody seems to know anything. Not sure if that’s better or worse.”
He was clearly concerned about the state of affairs now. He dwelled on the uncertainty of it all for a few long, heavy moments, then perked out of it when it occurred to him to ask about some detail pertaining to the clothing she had requested, which was subsequently relayed to the appropriate post.
”We’ll wait here for the clothes, so y’don’t have to go walking around Central Terminal lookin’ right off lickin’ windows on the short-bus.” Charming.
For the next few minutes, he talked a great deal less than he had been before. Clearly he was either very concerned about whatever was going on beyond his sphere of knowledge, or he was contemplating the implications and general seriousness of this girl’s presence…Or both. But he did talk – mostly trying to glean more information about the girl who claimed to be from a mythical planet which existed before recorded history.
The general awkwardness of her reply caused Drakis to turn and look at her directly – through the goggles, of course. Again, that raised brow.
”W-well yeah,” He said, uncertainly – ”Everyone’s technically dead right before they get re-sleeved.” He was obviously very confused as to why this girl was suddenly acting even stranger than she had been when they first met a few hundred bazillion years ago at the other maintenance terminal.
He was about to add something else, but she interrupted him by suddenly standing and giving him some kind of weird, three-finger salute. Even from behind the goggles, he looked more and more confused. A slight notion of distaste came over him at the prospect of ’something they would both regret’, but he heard the girl out patiently.
”So, lemme get this straight.” He puffed, scratching at his bushy goatee and failing entirely to address any of her questions. The idea of being attacked seemed not to threaten him terribly, though he’d have certainly preferred to avoid that kind of trouble. Though he had not tensed, it appeared vaguely that he had now put himself on guard…in some way or another. ”Clearly you’ve just been re-sleeved. You obviously have absolutely no idea where you are. You’ve got cybernetics in your head that you can’t get to, you need some new duds, and you want to talk to the Captain because you’re from Mars.” He waited a brief second for affirmation that his summary had been generally correct.
He regarded her for a moment. Sizing her up? No, probably not. Probably. Trying to decide if she was out of her mind? More likely.
At last, he spoke again – but in the meandering sort of way that an old guy might take on while still trying to think something over. This first question, he knew, would sound utterly ridiculous to anyone from which the answer would be a ‘no’. ”When you say Martian…Are you talkin’ about THE Mars? Like the one that orbited Sol?” It would have to be a yes. He nodded thoughtfully. "Tell me a little more about your dating system.” Assuming she explained it, he would shake his head and mutter ”Not familiar with it.”
If, at any point, she tried to rush him, he’d swat a hand dismissively and remark irritably ”Look kid I’m your best shot at getting your @#$% together right now so just gimme a damned minute will ya?” He might have actually been aware of her underlying nervousness, though he did little to show it if it were the case at all.
”Well, even if I can get you to believe me, I don’t think you’re gonna’ be all that happy with the truth.” He said at last, still frowning dubiously. ”If you’re really from where you say you’re from, then you-“ He pointed a finger at the girl. ”Are something out of a storybook. Most folks don’t even believe that Earth or Mars ever really existed at all. @#$%, even I couldn’t tell ya’ that I was a true believer, and I’m supposedly one of the descendants of the original colonists.”
Obviously this wasn’t getting anywhere, he realized. Resignedly, he decided to answer her questions in a more straightforward manner – though not in order, of course.
”I’m not so good with numbers and the like, but the history buffs tell me it’s been at least a few million years since the Sol system even existed. Sol is a myth. A legend. Aside from the real religious folks, nobody really believes the stories save for the Captain and his wife. If you’re really from Mars, then you’re very, very, very far in the ‘future’ now. Been out for a while. As for where we are, this is the great Stella Viventium. If what I remember is right, you should probably have heard of the Stella, yeah? Captain claims it was finished right before…Ugh. I’d better let him tell you the story. Forget it. Point is, you’re on a gigantic starship and…Well as for our exact location? That’s…” He gave a helpless huff, shook his head and rubbed at his forehead some. ”That’s a very long story. What I’m trying to say here is that we’ve been searching for Sol for a very long time.” It was best to leave out the parts about Notspace for now – until the Captain could get things straightened out. He was blissfully unaware of the massacre that had gone down on the surface.
”As for the gizmos in your head…Well, I guess I’d better let the Captain figure that out. If you turn out to be some Hyper-Nazi super-spy I don’t wanna’ be the one responsible for reactivating your eye-lasers…Alright, let’s get you in some proper duds. I’ll figure out where the Cap’n is. You got a BrainPal™?”
She did, of course – but presently the only purpose it was serving was blocking out all her other implants with ruthless efficiency. Drakis tried to instruct her on how to access the Stella’s private Aethernet connection, but gave up early on and took it upon himself to order whatever kind of clothing she asked for, right down to details – of course, if she asked for anything particularly outlandish there would be waiting times, and anything pertaining to her original institution would be long gone by now…Or at very least it would take tedious digging through ancient files to find emblems or insignias. It wasn’t worth the trouble.
Once he had called in the order for clothing to whoever could provide what she requested, it was on to finding out what was going on outside the isolated little world of the Stella – or at least figuring out where Aelyn-Paeryc was.
Nobody seemed to know, at first.
”The problem is…” He said after a long moment of silence, ”Captain’s down planetside. I…I think something really bad happened.” He let it hang there, having sounded almost startlingly grave considering his typically boisterous behavior. ”But nobody seems to know anything. Not sure if that’s better or worse.”
He was clearly concerned about the state of affairs now. He dwelled on the uncertainty of it all for a few long, heavy moments, then perked out of it when it occurred to him to ask about some detail pertaining to the clothing she had requested, which was subsequently relayed to the appropriate post.
”We’ll wait here for the clothes, so y’don’t have to go walking around Central Terminal lookin’ right off lickin’ windows on the short-bus.” Charming.
For the next few minutes, he talked a great deal less than he had been before. Clearly he was either very concerned about whatever was going on beyond his sphere of knowledge, or he was contemplating the implications and general seriousness of this girl’s presence…Or both. But he did talk – mostly trying to glean more information about the girl who claimed to be from a mythical planet which existed before recorded history.
The one thing that seemed to get a reaction from her were the words "You, are something out of a storybook," and all that, as he explained that nobody even thought her home existed anymore. By the very end of the conversation, after clothes and times and dates and locations had all been said, she sat back down, rested her elbow on her knee, and covered most of her face with her hand. She brushed obsessively at her hair with the other.
No.. No.. She thought, staring him in the face, searching desperately for some sign that this was a bluff. It was all a lie! It had to be. There was no way she was even alive! Was this Hell? She'd never been a firm believer in the religious beliefs of the humans, nor the martians, but she supposed they could've been right. Was Hell just this big jumble of confusion and lost documents, terrifying implications and all that those things entailed?
She brought herself back with a painful biting on her lip, which was a common way of her doing it. She leaned back in the seat, staring up at the ceiling. Looking back to him, she had become resolute.
As fond as she was of him, when he was no longer of use to her, she'd have to leave him behind.
After most things had been taken care of, clothing and locations, her telling him just a bit more about Mars to help secure his belief that she really was a native became a necessity, as well.
Though she appeared to be having a hard time remembering most things, which would make sense as she.. She sighed, and dropped that part of the plan for now.
"Now, to help make sure you believe me, and aren't going to do anything that could get me farther from where I want to be, I will now tell you everything I remember about my home."
"At the time of my recruitment into A.P.O -- I had been born to a separate, more Northern colony -- Earth was mostly desolate, after a --" She blathered on about her crash into the planet, and the later return to her home, how people began to settle the planet again, and then she looked to him. "Thing is, my friend... I don't really have much incentive to get home after what you just told me.. It would appear that everyone I'd ever known would be dead by now, and maybe there is nothing on my home planet anymore." She drew in a soft breath. "Thank you, though, for telling me of this. Is there anything more that I need to know?"
She'd been having a strange feeling he was leaving things out. Important things. Things that would make her return all the more difficult, time-consuming, and somewhat painful to deal with. She'd taken the whole thing rather well so far, but never before had she been so distressed.
It would seem her original assumptions were both true. She was very.. very.. very.. far from home. But, hey, these little mental notes, numbered objectives and such were helping tremendously.
No.. No.. She thought, staring him in the face, searching desperately for some sign that this was a bluff. It was all a lie! It had to be. There was no way she was even alive! Was this Hell? She'd never been a firm believer in the religious beliefs of the humans, nor the martians, but she supposed they could've been right. Was Hell just this big jumble of confusion and lost documents, terrifying implications and all that those things entailed?
She brought herself back with a painful biting on her lip, which was a common way of her doing it. She leaned back in the seat, staring up at the ceiling. Looking back to him, she had become resolute.
As fond as she was of him, when he was no longer of use to her, she'd have to leave him behind.
After most things had been taken care of, clothing and locations, her telling him just a bit more about Mars to help secure his belief that she really was a native became a necessity, as well.
Though she appeared to be having a hard time remembering most things, which would make sense as she.. She sighed, and dropped that part of the plan for now.
"Now, to help make sure you believe me, and aren't going to do anything that could get me farther from where I want to be, I will now tell you everything I remember about my home."
"At the time of my recruitment into A.P.O -- I had been born to a separate, more Northern colony -- Earth was mostly desolate, after a --" She blathered on about her crash into the planet, and the later return to her home, how people began to settle the planet again, and then she looked to him. "Thing is, my friend... I don't really have much incentive to get home after what you just told me.. It would appear that everyone I'd ever known would be dead by now, and maybe there is nothing on my home planet anymore." She drew in a soft breath. "Thank you, though, for telling me of this. Is there anything more that I need to know?"
She'd been having a strange feeling he was leaving things out. Important things. Things that would make her return all the more difficult, time-consuming, and somewhat painful to deal with. She'd taken the whole thing rather well so far, but never before had she been so distressed.
It would seem her original assumptions were both true. She was very.. very.. very.. far from home. But, hey, these little mental notes, numbered objectives and such were helping tremendously.
Objective #1: Locate the Captain.
Objective #2: Gain use of the log.
Objective #3: Find what could make return difficult.
Objective #2: Gain use of the log.
Objective #3: Find what could make return difficult.
"Well I am much older than these younger Lords that are running about Q" he says to her with a jolly smile. Once on the ship, Arthur went work getting it soon airborne and then spaceborne. Kilwen took his seat and says "The people who created you i think were not the first civilization but they were pretty early on civ though" he explains to her with his hands on his lap and with prefect posture, not being bother with jolts and suddenness of the craft as they made it into space. "I had a few dealings but it was very minor things, but what happen to them, I don't really remember" he says to her finishing up her question as they warp into hyperspace.
It didn't take them long to return to the Gas giant of Inaros where the new headquarters of Kampfer's forces are now, with multiple fleets stationed here busy as they moved from the planet's orbiting station to space and back to the planet's orbiting station again, usually different version combat ships. Of course, there little crafts destination wasn't the orbital station but actually the within the planet itself. As they flew into the gas giant the base appeared floating within the planet, the harsh stormy like atmosphere of the planet gave the space some well needed defense and coverage from the outside. "Well here we, one of many of Kampfer's bases" Kilwen says as he gets up from his seat, cracking his back and joints. "Yup, we are going to stop by my master's personal armory" Arthur said with gleam as lands in the hanger bay. The rampart from the ship opens and Arthur looks around to see if the hanger is clear in which it is for know and so he gestured the two to come over and once over he whispers "Okay so just stay with me and we will be okay, no one will bat an eye" as he turns around and takes the lead. If Q was nervous at any point Kilwen would gently tap on her back and whisper polity "Don't worry I'll be next to you" somehow sensing her nervousness.
They would go through the nice white and sterile hallways and some of the passing Z-bots gave puzzling looks but they kept on there way. It didn't take long for Arthur to find the door that says "Personal Armory" and so he opens it and array of advance weaponry and devices were presented to the Lord and Q and on the other side of this large room leads to the base's library(Yes, I know weird configuration). Kilwen smiled and looked around and found what he was looking for. Without his sword, he found the sword the Kampfer made that would go against him, the Zentuim based sword known as the Murakumo, a curved sword with saw like teeth at the inner curve of the blade and on the out part with a laced plasma sharpen blade, giving a small light blue on the outer part of the blade while the handle was one of Japanese style and furnished in black, same with its sheath that he attached to his waist.
Arthur soon went ahead and opened the door and there stood the man of the hour, Kampfer with a rather displeasing look on his face as he looks at everyone in the room.
It didn't take them long to return to the Gas giant of Inaros where the new headquarters of Kampfer's forces are now, with multiple fleets stationed here busy as they moved from the planet's orbiting station to space and back to the planet's orbiting station again, usually different version combat ships. Of course, there little crafts destination wasn't the orbital station but actually the within the planet itself. As they flew into the gas giant the base appeared floating within the planet, the harsh stormy like atmosphere of the planet gave the space some well needed defense and coverage from the outside. "Well here we, one of many of Kampfer's bases" Kilwen says as he gets up from his seat, cracking his back and joints. "Yup, we are going to stop by my master's personal armory" Arthur said with gleam as lands in the hanger bay. The rampart from the ship opens and Arthur looks around to see if the hanger is clear in which it is for know and so he gestured the two to come over and once over he whispers "Okay so just stay with me and we will be okay, no one will bat an eye" as he turns around and takes the lead. If Q was nervous at any point Kilwen would gently tap on her back and whisper polity "Don't worry I'll be next to you" somehow sensing her nervousness.
They would go through the nice white and sterile hallways and some of the passing Z-bots gave puzzling looks but they kept on there way. It didn't take long for Arthur to find the door that says "Personal Armory" and so he opens it and array of advance weaponry and devices were presented to the Lord and Q and on the other side of this large room leads to the base's library(Yes, I know weird configuration). Kilwen smiled and looked around and found what he was looking for. Without his sword, he found the sword the Kampfer made that would go against him, the Zentuim based sword known as the Murakumo, a curved sword with saw like teeth at the inner curve of the blade and on the out part with a laced plasma sharpen blade, giving a small light blue on the outer part of the blade while the handle was one of Japanese style and furnished in black, same with its sheath that he attached to his waist.
Arthur soon went ahead and opened the door and there stood the man of the hour, Kampfer with a rather displeasing look on his face as he looks at everyone in the room.
ARDELLA
Iril was grateful that she hadn't needed to forcefully move Kallenger and Toffi, that Kallenger had willingly decided to not kill herself in the end.
Now as the rail transport sped onward through the reserve as the blast doors shut behind them, Iril was overjoyed. A bit cramped, but overjoyed that she hadn't been blown to smithereens.
"Well. That was impressive." Iril said, hoping to rally the exhausted group. "Where to now?"
Iril was ready for just about anything. Hold another door shut? No problem. Fight some bad guys? No problem! Lose her other arm? Okay, maybe she wasn't ready for that.
KAMPFER BASE ???
Q? Worry? Why would Q have ANY reason to worry?
Maybe it was the sudden shock of going from a tribal civilization to a high-tech empire base, the strange looks that the Z-Bots gave her, the ominous pearly white hallways, or the fact that she was an eight foot tall, bright orange robot that stuck out like a tiger in a dentists office.
Q wasn't worried at all. She was BEYOND nervous and worried. The reassuring taps from Kilwen helped a tiny bit, but she couldn't help but feel that this was a bad place. Like this was part of some terrifying, intergalactic horror.
"This is... not like anything I'm used to, Kilwen. Not even Iridiite bases had this aura to them. There was always a cozy... home like feeling about them. This place... it's almost cold... and I don't mean temperature wise."
Arthur led the group to the "Personal Armory", Q was hesitant to enter such a room that would be labeled as "Personal" for a man of power. She entered anyways, mostly due to the fact that she didn't wish to be left alone in the cold corridors.
"There's... so many." Q gasped at the collection of weaponry. Whoever it was collecting these things... they had quite the collection. She quickly glanced over all of them, trying to observe all the possible ways this one man could kill somebody.
Some were quite sickening... but none of them looked too threatening to herself. Even the Murakumo, though threatening, presumably wouldn't do much in a fair fight against Q.
She wasn't so sure as to what made her feel so confident about her armor against these weapons that she had never even seen before... but then again, she had survived a fall from space.
Nonetheless, this sudden confidence did not damper her stress levels. She didn't like this at all. Who would collect such a large amount of weapons? Who was... this important?
Q's question was answered as Kampfer suddenly appeared on the other end of the door into the armory. Q froze. The leader of the Kampferian empire was in front of her, an ancient and out-of-place machine.
How would she make it out of this one?
Z
Two against one? Was this the trick that this stranger wanted to play? Against HER?! Clearly, this trespasser did not understand what kind of business Z had with her sister. Yes, they were made by the same people, but that didn't mean anything to Z. They could be duplicates of each other, and if B was to be against her... Z would have none of it. Her raging God complex could only be satisfied once she had eliminated everything that wasn't herself.
An unusual situation. Z's hard-light arms failed to function as this attacker utilized her strange powers. Arena's grip was tight enough to keep Z from getting any lift with her wings as well. Z was grounded and without arms. A look of confused fury grew over her face as she did her best to make SOMETHING work.
B didn't need more of a cue. With a ground-shattering force, she propelled herself forward towards her sister. Her maw-hand opened to it's maximum height, ready to clamp down on her sister's outer shell. If she could at least take off a bit of Z's protective armor, the rest would be easy.
The hard part would be striking in the right place. Her maw was made to scrap lesser robots, but nothing of her sister's caliber. There were, however. Plenty of openings.
Hundreds of thoughts raced through Z's system at once. Playing a game of hyperspeed chess, where she was the Queen of the board, an insignificant pawn of a piece was behind her, and the enemy Bishop was advancing in it's straight line.
The risk of losing the game was quite real. There were no pieces to block with, no adjacent spaces to move to.
And yet this pawn gripped to her back annoyingly. If it were out of the way, she would have options. She could make a brutal play.
And in this game of hyperspeed chess, she saw the demise of this rudely attacking bishop. She knew exactly how it would plan out already, turns before it happened. Everything became clear.
All Z needed to do was twist the rules in the favor of the queen.
As the bishop moved in to claim her piece... the maw hand mere feet from seizing the torso...
... The Queen swiveled. The pawn that had been gripping her back so annoyingly was now the target for the attack.
Iril was grateful that she hadn't needed to forcefully move Kallenger and Toffi, that Kallenger had willingly decided to not kill herself in the end.
Now as the rail transport sped onward through the reserve as the blast doors shut behind them, Iril was overjoyed. A bit cramped, but overjoyed that she hadn't been blown to smithereens.
"Well. That was impressive." Iril said, hoping to rally the exhausted group. "Where to now?"
Iril was ready for just about anything. Hold another door shut? No problem. Fight some bad guys? No problem! Lose her other arm? Okay, maybe she wasn't ready for that.
KAMPFER BASE ???
Q? Worry? Why would Q have ANY reason to worry?
Maybe it was the sudden shock of going from a tribal civilization to a high-tech empire base, the strange looks that the Z-Bots gave her, the ominous pearly white hallways, or the fact that she was an eight foot tall, bright orange robot that stuck out like a tiger in a dentists office.
Q wasn't worried at all. She was BEYOND nervous and worried. The reassuring taps from Kilwen helped a tiny bit, but she couldn't help but feel that this was a bad place. Like this was part of some terrifying, intergalactic horror.
"This is... not like anything I'm used to, Kilwen. Not even Iridiite bases had this aura to them. There was always a cozy... home like feeling about them. This place... it's almost cold... and I don't mean temperature wise."
Arthur led the group to the "Personal Armory", Q was hesitant to enter such a room that would be labeled as "Personal" for a man of power. She entered anyways, mostly due to the fact that she didn't wish to be left alone in the cold corridors.
"There's... so many." Q gasped at the collection of weaponry. Whoever it was collecting these things... they had quite the collection. She quickly glanced over all of them, trying to observe all the possible ways this one man could kill somebody.
Some were quite sickening... but none of them looked too threatening to herself. Even the Murakumo, though threatening, presumably wouldn't do much in a fair fight against Q.
She wasn't so sure as to what made her feel so confident about her armor against these weapons that she had never even seen before... but then again, she had survived a fall from space.
Nonetheless, this sudden confidence did not damper her stress levels. She didn't like this at all. Who would collect such a large amount of weapons? Who was... this important?
Q's question was answered as Kampfer suddenly appeared on the other end of the door into the armory. Q froze. The leader of the Kampferian empire was in front of her, an ancient and out-of-place machine.
How would she make it out of this one?
Z
Two against one? Was this the trick that this stranger wanted to play? Against HER?! Clearly, this trespasser did not understand what kind of business Z had with her sister. Yes, they were made by the same people, but that didn't mean anything to Z. They could be duplicates of each other, and if B was to be against her... Z would have none of it. Her raging God complex could only be satisfied once she had eliminated everything that wasn't herself.
An unusual situation. Z's hard-light arms failed to function as this attacker utilized her strange powers. Arena's grip was tight enough to keep Z from getting any lift with her wings as well. Z was grounded and without arms. A look of confused fury grew over her face as she did her best to make SOMETHING work.
B didn't need more of a cue. With a ground-shattering force, she propelled herself forward towards her sister. Her maw-hand opened to it's maximum height, ready to clamp down on her sister's outer shell. If she could at least take off a bit of Z's protective armor, the rest would be easy.
The hard part would be striking in the right place. Her maw was made to scrap lesser robots, but nothing of her sister's caliber. There were, however. Plenty of openings.
Hundreds of thoughts raced through Z's system at once. Playing a game of hyperspeed chess, where she was the Queen of the board, an insignificant pawn of a piece was behind her, and the enemy Bishop was advancing in it's straight line.
The risk of losing the game was quite real. There were no pieces to block with, no adjacent spaces to move to.
And yet this pawn gripped to her back annoyingly. If it were out of the way, she would have options. She could make a brutal play.
And in this game of hyperspeed chess, she saw the demise of this rudely attacking bishop. She knew exactly how it would plan out already, turns before it happened. Everything became clear.
All Z needed to do was twist the rules in the favor of the queen.
As the bishop moved in to claim her piece... the maw hand mere feet from seizing the torso...
... The Queen swiveled. The pawn that had been gripping her back so annoyingly was now the target for the attack.
Of course, the Queen can easily beat anyone in chest, but in reality, the rules on a chest don't really imply because of RNG on the battlefield that no one can control nor predict unless with previous knowledge. Of course that maw was going to chop on Arena's backside and embraced for impact. Once took a grip on her back, it hurt...a LOT. With a large metal clap on her back she was definitly in pain, but thanks to her cuirass it wasn't deadly, but the pressure was almost unbearable to feel. Arena screamed in pain and in so much it caused her eyes to turn white while her hair turned ice blonde with flames and her skin was scorched in Chaotic fire as her armor turned bright red from the heat. In this "berserker" mode, an incredible amount of strength was produced and she began to dig fiery hand into the back of Z's head, clawing at the armor to get the nice juice soft parts on Z. With her other hand she tighten her grip on Z's wing making sure she was still grounded. Of course this bereseker mode will only last for so long....
She says to B angrily "Get this ****, please!" as she glances angrily at her, teeth clenched hard, both in anger and pain as so much chaos's energy flowing through her
She says to B angrily "Get this ****, please!" as she glances angrily at her, teeth clenched hard, both in anger and pain as so much chaos's energy flowing through her
Kilwen stares at Kampfer and glances at Q and says "The reason why this place isn't very cozy is because of the mad scientist that stands before" he shifted his had to the sheath blade as he looks at the Lord of technology. Kampfer stern look broke as he gave a crazed smile and says "Oh Lord Kilwen, former Elder councilmen and former Lord of ze dragon dimension vhat a pleasure to see you again" Arthur stood in front of Kampfer looking at him, mostly in fear and not saying a word. Kampfer then looks down at Arthur and says "Hm it seems you vere exploring and made new friends, anyway go to my main office ve have much to discuss, Arthur" as he waves him away with his giant metal claw. "But what about-" Enough! I said go!" Kampfer snapped at him and Arthur regrettably went to were he was told down and mopey waving Q and Kilwen goodbye.
With Arthur out of the way, the white haired scientist looked at Kilwen and then at Q. Because of her appearance, Kamfper turned his attention towards her, but before he could say anything he was interrupted by Kilwen and says "Alright Kampfer, you got us. What do the hell are you going to do" Kampfer gave the man in bone armor a raised eyebrow and says "Vell an important task really, maybe zat both of you can do" as he eyes Q. "What is it, madman?" Kilwen says with his arms crossed. With a smile on his face says "Lets just say zat zis is usually best suited for Erica, but since someone accessed some info on my ship..." as he gives a glance towards Q and then back to Kilwen "...I need someone to investigate some ancient temples and ruins throughout the galaxy, most to curl tail Ova's influence and possibly some other zings like NotSpace, but I doubt zose kind of places exist anymore"
Kilwen thought about the his purposal, he looks at Q and asks "So Q, what do say? Travel around the Galaxy and explore ancient ruins and temples?"
With Arthur out of the way, the white haired scientist looked at Kilwen and then at Q. Because of her appearance, Kamfper turned his attention towards her, but before he could say anything he was interrupted by Kilwen and says "Alright Kampfer, you got us. What do the hell are you going to do" Kampfer gave the man in bone armor a raised eyebrow and says "Vell an important task really, maybe zat both of you can do" as he eyes Q. "What is it, madman?" Kilwen says with his arms crossed. With a smile on his face says "Lets just say zat zis is usually best suited for Erica, but since someone accessed some info on my ship..." as he gives a glance towards Q and then back to Kilwen "...I need someone to investigate some ancient temples and ruins throughout the galaxy, most to curl tail Ova's influence and possibly some other zings like NotSpace, but I doubt zose kind of places exist anymore"
Kilwen thought about the his purposal, he looks at Q and asks "So Q, what do say? Travel around the Galaxy and explore ancient ruins and temples?"
The situation was a bit of a troubling one. Really, had they gotten more time to deal with the whole thing - or to really get to know each other and the like - most of the things would be quite different. For one thing, Sergei himself had made absolutely zero plans on taking Connell and Victor aboard with him. And he for sure would not have seen to it that they bring him along. That corpse. Should have stayed burried underground and forgotten, just like any other body without a lable to tell who it was.
But no, here they were, somehow allowed on board, starting up this whole mess and making things just that much worse. The man would have had nerves to shoot all of them, but at this point in time he was rather burned out. He did not want to deal with this as the first thing he did after getting away from the cantonment. He was going to address the issue, but not now. Not this soon, or simply at this very moment.
All of that effort, and he still couldn't beat the specifics of those nosy creatures. All these darn years.
He'd not want to deal with it, exhaling a breath through his nose and just leaning against a wall to wait that the two people he wasn't absolutely done with would come and follow up.
Sergei wasn't the type to make allies with friendship and rainbows, his mere picture on paper wouldn't be fitting of such. But the man knew not to be distant and cold to just about everyone - in theory at least. His greetings or actions weren't the warmest, and the man would surely be capable of dismissing anyone. Not the type to let and tell out more than what was necessary, he just never got close to anyone.
Though... He would have at least greeted and verbally stated out a word of gratitude upon stepping on board - had it not been for the last bit of canids that made their way on it as well.
He'd not agree to deal with those that caused trouble or acted like a bunch of fools, yet he was supposed to deal with this? Utter roasted pile of papers. No deal.
Really, what hindered them all the most was the fact that there were some unexplained grudges between the two sides. That's at least how it would appear to outsiders, if they realized that there were two groups, along with a corpse and some old wounds they had ripped open again.
While Sergei took his time waiting for the Ranger and Canary, slipping down the wall, thinking to himself "(This is such a mess)...", he'd have his own canid companion still mostly on full alert-mode, ears perked up, standing and keeping his sharp attention focused on the other group, still tending to their wounds, trying to see what the damage was and stop the bleeding of their arms and sides and where ever else.
The next action that came to happen happened rather quickly, not giving any of them much time to react. With the movement from Canary, Dim could be sensing that something was up, but instead of a smart move of running away or alike, possibly covering another person, he'd be taking the rather personalized agressive method on dealing with the situation: leaping at the strange armor clad duo instead, snarling on his wake. That would probably make him one of the first to be shot down via the NATr rounds though. Being a moving target, coming right at you, one would come to prioritize him over the other unmoving 3 and a half.
The albino wasn't going to make it far, falling oh so gracefully face first over Sergei's feet, body unsure on whether it was laying on its side or on its stomach. How could one even turn like that? Was the spine broken? Probably not, but dang if I don't question it.
He was down and out.
The snarl would have easily reached at least Sergei, alarming him of some thread in the situation, but instead of going onto hiding or even attempting to retaliate, the human did not do as much as budge from his place. He knew when he had lost and could already suspect that the 'hosts' were just about as done with the situation as he was. There wouldn't be much changing in his expression as he had already closed his eyes and accepted that this was the situation. They'd have to check twice to see that they had already hit him and he was indeedly out.
The other group had partly similar reactions in that one of them did little to nothing and the other would end up on being a moving target.
Victor was much more focused on checking the wound at Connell's neck and seeing if there were any other wounds, so he wouldn't even notice the movement and loading of one's weapon. That man was taken completely by surprise.
Connell, while in the progress of checking for Victor's wounded arm, in the other hand, had caught some of Dim's snarling with his ears and as instincts would call it, he was much more awake and aware of what was going around him. Indeed, he let out a scream upon seeing Victor being hit and going limb. But even at him being more aware of the situation, he couldn't do much and so clutching it and holding onto the corpse tightly was about the only thing he could muster before being hit himself. Canids had only so much better senses than humans, and even then could not beat the speed of a bullet being shot.
But at least he had managed to hold Victor close and the blonde held onto the surprisingly non-decaying corpse with such strength one would be surprised. The person must have meant a lot to him if he held them so close. So much so that his arms would probably break if an attempt of separation was made.
Or perhaps those were just some extra terms used, who knew.
But no, here they were, somehow allowed on board, starting up this whole mess and making things just that much worse. The man would have had nerves to shoot all of them, but at this point in time he was rather burned out. He did not want to deal with this as the first thing he did after getting away from the cantonment. He was going to address the issue, but not now. Not this soon, or simply at this very moment.
All of that effort, and he still couldn't beat the specifics of those nosy creatures. All these darn years.
He'd not want to deal with it, exhaling a breath through his nose and just leaning against a wall to wait that the two people he wasn't absolutely done with would come and follow up.
Sergei wasn't the type to make allies with friendship and rainbows, his mere picture on paper wouldn't be fitting of such. But the man knew not to be distant and cold to just about everyone - in theory at least. His greetings or actions weren't the warmest, and the man would surely be capable of dismissing anyone. Not the type to let and tell out more than what was necessary, he just never got close to anyone.
Though... He would have at least greeted and verbally stated out a word of gratitude upon stepping on board - had it not been for the last bit of canids that made their way on it as well.
He'd not agree to deal with those that caused trouble or acted like a bunch of fools, yet he was supposed to deal with this? Utter roasted pile of papers. No deal.
Really, what hindered them all the most was the fact that there were some unexplained grudges between the two sides. That's at least how it would appear to outsiders, if they realized that there were two groups, along with a corpse and some old wounds they had ripped open again.
While Sergei took his time waiting for the Ranger and Canary, slipping down the wall, thinking to himself "(This is such a mess)...", he'd have his own canid companion still mostly on full alert-mode, ears perked up, standing and keeping his sharp attention focused on the other group, still tending to their wounds, trying to see what the damage was and stop the bleeding of their arms and sides and where ever else.
The next action that came to happen happened rather quickly, not giving any of them much time to react. With the movement from Canary, Dim could be sensing that something was up, but instead of a smart move of running away or alike, possibly covering another person, he'd be taking the rather personalized agressive method on dealing with the situation: leaping at the strange armor clad duo instead, snarling on his wake. That would probably make him one of the first to be shot down via the NATr rounds though. Being a moving target, coming right at you, one would come to prioritize him over the other unmoving 3 and a half.
The albino wasn't going to make it far, falling oh so gracefully face first over Sergei's feet, body unsure on whether it was laying on its side or on its stomach. How could one even turn like that? Was the spine broken? Probably not, but dang if I don't question it.
He was down and out.
The snarl would have easily reached at least Sergei, alarming him of some thread in the situation, but instead of going onto hiding or even attempting to retaliate, the human did not do as much as budge from his place. He knew when he had lost and could already suspect that the 'hosts' were just about as done with the situation as he was. There wouldn't be much changing in his expression as he had already closed his eyes and accepted that this was the situation. They'd have to check twice to see that they had already hit him and he was indeedly out.
The other group had partly similar reactions in that one of them did little to nothing and the other would end up on being a moving target.
Victor was much more focused on checking the wound at Connell's neck and seeing if there were any other wounds, so he wouldn't even notice the movement and loading of one's weapon. That man was taken completely by surprise.
Connell, while in the progress of checking for Victor's wounded arm, in the other hand, had caught some of Dim's snarling with his ears and as instincts would call it, he was much more awake and aware of what was going around him. Indeed, he let out a scream upon seeing Victor being hit and going limb. But even at him being more aware of the situation, he couldn't do much and so clutching it and holding onto the corpse tightly was about the only thing he could muster before being hit himself. Canids had only so much better senses than humans, and even then could not beat the speed of a bullet being shot.
But at least he had managed to hold Victor close and the blonde held onto the surprisingly non-decaying corpse with such strength one would be surprised. The person must have meant a lot to him if he held them so close. So much so that his arms would probably break if an attempt of separation was made.
Or perhaps those were just some extra terms used, who knew.
Their coupling bred in her a growing sense of elation, and were it not for the oversight of the Devil's Eye it might have bled more into their mannerisms as they moved. «Life is precious. Let us not waste time.» But what was she to do with it? Who is this young man she shares this space with? Why had he protected her from the Martians?
0x5820692027 1x204b204520
Everything that he was and is: so she is now, too. Or, at least, that seems to be the nature of their togetherness, for now. Each is the other as much as the first. Their memories and thoughts and emotions are one. Only the Devil's Eye protects them from dissociative hysteria. Or, perhaps, there's something more to this Ketin than she realizes — than even he realizes — but the thought is fleeting.
0x2052206920 1x4320742063
She recedes into the depths of his subconscience, advantaged in that she was up until now a being of pure thought, adept at navigating the landscape of the mind as were it a tangible plane. His body is young, but his brain hardly seems to notice. Whether by weathering of stress or time, the thing has suffered the exhaustion of centuries.
0x6e20a02042 1x206f206820
But she finds a kernel —
Her mind is cast out, the Devil's Eye rejecting her meddling in its most precious of assets: Memory. Deeply-ingrained triggers, emotional calibration, behavioral reassignment training; it's all there. Every bit is a memory, or at least the whiff of one; however well-suppressed, it's all there.
0x206c206f20 1x78202b2039
She reigns herself in, finding a corner of thought to reside in, likely causing a headache for where she doesn't belong. A neuroscientist might be alarmed by the amount of electrical activity cycling in Ketin's central nervous system, the Devil Eye host to both his own mind and the titular machine, and contained within the cognition patterning of his own brain, the simulation of a woman whose star was legend.
0x7720662069 1x2063204f20
Her memories could not possibly be contained on this simple organ, however. There was a fusion of the Devil's Eye and her own deterministic repetition: She had a heartbeat of sorts, only aware of a fraction of herself in any given instant, but over the course of minutes able to see everything behind and afore her. Ketin's brain provided the hardware, the Devil's Eye a processor, and her own digital interface the virtual simulacrum of a human brain.
0x2073206820 1x692046204e
And so she could not act with such velocity as the young man she inhabited. What took him seconds to realize could take her minutes.
0x4320422043 1x206e204420
She spent so long only contemplating this new state of being that she had hardly considered what came before, or what was to come. Éva lived in the moment, and for her that was enough. But a new cycle came, and with the help of the Devil's Eye she briefly saw herself through a lens of Zen-like clarity.
0x20a0202f20 1x4f20612057
She's meditating. Everything that matters is at the forefront of her mind. Right, priorities. The Martians, Stella, Ketin, Nirix — that's not for her. Still working on that part.
0x4820702066 1x206a206f20
A wave of amusement comes, but is quickly replaced by something darker than the starless void she'd made her home over the course of millennia. Even with a biological brain supporting her, she is little more than information. The very fact that she exists is only even made possible by the fact that the Devil's Eye allows her to. Her mind is pure mathematical coincidence. She has no material with which to protect herself from annihilation.
0x2057207420 1x502062206a
That kernel.
0x52204e2042 1x2032206a20
She only saw glimpses before being shut out. Perhaps there is a sense of fear, but he reached out to her out of all the blips in the dark beyond. Trust is the only reasonable reply.
0x204f204220 1x2b20642065
So she will say so.
0x4e20672041 1x2076206320
"Thank you, Ketin."
0x2052205820 1x3520552041
Only now it was clear as day: a distinct voice, hallucinated with the help of the Devil's Eye. It was not in his head, but beside him. There stood a visage of Éva that only Ketin could see, scattered by whatever effects the Not had had on her so very long ago, and she looked at him with a growing expression of worry as she contemplated the presence of others.
0x7920432039 1x203d203d00
She moves slowly and with great labor, it seems, as if her ghost was as much subject to her heartbeat as her mind. This might take a while, after all.
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Christofer spared a brief smile when Royanna gave up and left the spot on the door. As mentioned though, it was very brief, lessening more and more towards a frown with each backing away and doubling back attempt Kallenger took. There wasn't much time for him to tell her to just up and leave whatever she was doing. They'd have to have a talk about this later. Some scolding.
But for now, the most important factor was that the woman make it on their escape method in time and he would indeedly be holding out an arm for her to take a hold of but really, most things after that ended up on becoming just a black mush. From the shock of them leaving with such a high speed and the wave felt afterwards, it'd be no wonder that a commoner who was not used to it would have his mind blurred because of it. The inquisitor's body would be eyed with very much some confusion on his part. Who was That? He'd be oblivious of a few things, for now it was just their escape and the speed of it that he had to deal with in his head.
Things would start clearing themselves up slowly, light coming into view as he sat crouching on the floor, looking over Royanna and making sure she wouldn't slip on off the ride. Ears were folded back, the wind not feeling too nice on them, eyes squinted because of that specific reason, eventually shut and an arm held up to cover them as the light took over the dark. One of the arms was left holding onto the floor or safety rails, which ever provided the better support, and he'd not be opening his eyes or getting up until they had stopped all together.
When they did finally stop and the speedy trip came to a halt, ears lifted slowly to point upwards, eyes opening carefully too. Hopefully it was safe, where ever they had landed at the end of the track.
The canid had barely got a hold of the situation, the fact that they were chased but possibly so was he case no-more, and all the other things. However, the group was already moving.
"I guess I can't request for us to take a break or get some rest then..." Admitting his defeat, if others had the strength to move forth he'd not want to slow them down. Even still, he was mostly in a good shape, considering that he had never gone through these kinds of things, right? Right?
Either way, eyes would keenly be following what the others chose to do, but as it appeared, the one that had gotten them out of the situation was still laying on the floor, almost dead tired.
"Iril... Help me a little here..." His tone was rather calm, though there was some exhaustion to it. Lungs still gathering themselves from the velocity felt a moment ago.
The robot shaped like a friend might have been exited and eager for more action, but Christofer's only request for now was just to get Royanna off their little escape platform and to the higher floor with others. Jumping up or down as is would have been bad.
Royanna would be helped on her feet, possibly even carried if her legs weren't up to supporting her just yet. Or, well, most likely carried either way, her arms held over the canid's shoulders and held there. Iril would get to be the one to give the two a little bit more support while Papyus would help hoist them onto the platform above. Christofer's fingers would be interlocking with Kallenger's so that he'd have a tighter hold. He'd not want for her to fall.
The masked one was right. They've got this far, no use dying now.
But for now, the most important factor was that the woman make it on their escape method in time and he would indeedly be holding out an arm for her to take a hold of but really, most things after that ended up on becoming just a black mush. From the shock of them leaving with such a high speed and the wave felt afterwards, it'd be no wonder that a commoner who was not used to it would have his mind blurred because of it. The inquisitor's body would be eyed with very much some confusion on his part. Who was That? He'd be oblivious of a few things, for now it was just their escape and the speed of it that he had to deal with in his head.
Things would start clearing themselves up slowly, light coming into view as he sat crouching on the floor, looking over Royanna and making sure she wouldn't slip on off the ride. Ears were folded back, the wind not feeling too nice on them, eyes squinted because of that specific reason, eventually shut and an arm held up to cover them as the light took over the dark. One of the arms was left holding onto the floor or safety rails, which ever provided the better support, and he'd not be opening his eyes or getting up until they had stopped all together.
When they did finally stop and the speedy trip came to a halt, ears lifted slowly to point upwards, eyes opening carefully too. Hopefully it was safe, where ever they had landed at the end of the track.
The canid had barely got a hold of the situation, the fact that they were chased but possibly so was he case no-more, and all the other things. However, the group was already moving.
"I guess I can't request for us to take a break or get some rest then..." Admitting his defeat, if others had the strength to move forth he'd not want to slow them down. Even still, he was mostly in a good shape, considering that he had never gone through these kinds of things, right? Right?
Either way, eyes would keenly be following what the others chose to do, but as it appeared, the one that had gotten them out of the situation was still laying on the floor, almost dead tired.
"Iril... Help me a little here..." His tone was rather calm, though there was some exhaustion to it. Lungs still gathering themselves from the velocity felt a moment ago.
The robot shaped like a friend might have been exited and eager for more action, but Christofer's only request for now was just to get Royanna off their little escape platform and to the higher floor with others. Jumping up or down as is would have been bad.
Royanna would be helped on her feet, possibly even carried if her legs weren't up to supporting her just yet. Or, well, most likely carried either way, her arms held over the canid's shoulders and held there. Iril would get to be the one to give the two a little bit more support while Papyus would help hoist them onto the platform above. Christofer's fingers would be interlocking with Kallenger's so that he'd have a tighter hold. He'd not want for her to fall.
The masked one was right. They've got this far, no use dying now.
A R D E L L A – Abandoned Imperial Bunker
The final blast door was slow to closing behind them, though the danger had finally been surpressed three or four doors prior. By the time Royanna realized her present status, a balmy wave of hot air was passing over them, to dissipate in the large, open and well-lit cargo bay. It was eerily silent now, only the faint hum of florescent-atomic lighting high above to keep tinnitus from setting in.
The woman was face-down, having been clinging for dear life to both the platform floor and one of Christofer’s appendages for the duration of the ride. Now, she perceived, they had stopped, and she should probably be standing up again. Well, she’d get to it eventually – but no, someone had taken it upon themselves to expedite the process. Fine. As if snapping out of a light trance, Roy gave a start, then hastily, but unsteadily got to her feet again, leaning heavily on the railing. Someone had helped her up – Christofer, no doubt – and she had promptly swatted him away with indignation. Sweat – and, as it happened, a little bit of blood – had matted down her black hair so that it partially obscured her uppermost features. The hair had grown in the past two weeks since she had met Christofer, and it was getting in her eyes and irritating her – though it was presently the uttermost least of her concerns.
No words yet, eyes seemed to be locked in the downward position, as if she might lose track of the floor at any minute and float away…Or go tumbling. When she again refused to be helped in the endeavor of disembarking from the platform, it was a miracle that she managed to land on her feet at all – even if it was the sort of hard, clumsy landing one might have expected from a leap ten or twelve times higher than the meager one she had just taken.
The crispy body of the ‘Inquisitor’ flopped to the floor also, as the platform rocked some from her departure. Clinging now to the lower part of it for support, she looked down at the remains. Through the crackling, crusty black of fire she could just barely make out the shape of an elementary, but familiar symbol. She had seen it before, somewhere – but it was best to let that thought rest.
Speaking of rest…
No, not yet. It took her longer than she would have liked to realize that another set of fingers had interlocked with her own. Habitually she snatched her hand away (Though, if his own grip was tight enough, Christofer might have been able to keep her hand trapped in his own, for she was far from peak-strength at the moment) and looked up for the first time, glaring at him with a strange, perplexing expression. It was as if she didn’t even know how she was feeling. It was a glare primarily, but also a wide-eyed horror at something unseen – and yet it was buried white-anger and bitter resentment, clearly directed somewhere other than the boy she was looking at.
But the expression made one thing very clear – Royanna Kallenger was in a very bad way.
At some point along the way, she had earned herself two deep gashes up along the left cheekbone, almost as if a wildcat had gotten at her. There was a small trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth, too – where she had bitten down on her lip with the impact of landing on the platform. But the damage itself was nothing compared to the haunted look in her eyes. The breathing was irregular now, intermittent shallow gasps between ragged breaths. Clearly she was trying to let nothing show, and failing miserably.
The chief issue had been the sudden realization of a terrible fact about the drug B-2. Not only did it have uncertain side-effects and an extreme risk of addiction to counter all those benefits that had been keeping her going. One of the reasons it was so effective on both levels was because the substance interacted directly with muscle and nerve tissue to better deliver the effects. Shortly after the initial injection, none would actually be left in the bloodstream, having been absorbed into the relevant parts of the body. That meant that, unlike most drugs, where time would eventually flush them out of the body, B-2 was exhausted not by time or rest, but by physical exertion. The more active someone was, the more B-2 they’d need to take. It was one of the reasons why it was so strictly controlled, and why patients under the effects were too.
Roy had taken the stuff for all the wrong reasons. A part of her had known from the start, but failed to realize the full implications of her actions at the time. As long as she was remaining exceptionally active, she was going to have to keep shooting up. Eventually…Eventually what? She didn’t want to think about that.
So she didn’t.
Back to the job, Kallenger. Focus.
The terrible, glazed look in her eyes wavered finally, and she looked away. If Christofer had refused to let her snatch her hand away, she would only try it once – then just deal with having it held as if it were no comfort at all.
”If we ca-“ She started, but the words were interrupted by a sputtering cough. Grimacing, she turned and spat an unpleasant bit of blood onto the grayish floor, then tried again. ”If we can get to central control, I can plug in and check the base integrity.” The implications of this were clear, so she decided not to waste more precious breath on unnecessary words. The point was that if they could get to the control center, she would be able to confirm that they were alone in the base. More importantly, she would be able to monitor the base so that if (And probably when) more baddies showed up, they would have an early warning. That would allow them to get some much needed rest.
Cox, of course, would be the most certain of how to navigate the place, and Roy would give her a nod to indicate that she should lead the way.
From there on it would be brightly lit corridors, motifs of sleek whites and greys. Lots of white. Lots of closed doors – the place had, like most of the Old Imperial bunkers, been shut down nice and tidy. This one, unlike the air reserve they had just detonated, had not been apparently compromised. There were machines around of unknown purpose, but none were rusty as the aircraft in the hangar had been. It looked like everyone had left no more than a few days earlier.
Compared to the previous moments, the journey would be incredibly quiet. Royanna did seem to have a hard time keeping her balance though. She did not seem openly hostile to any of her companions, but she did seem very distant, distracted and detached – and she was by far the most jumpy of all of them – starting and whipping her head around to glare wide-eyed at the sources of sounds that nobody could hear but herself.
The final blast door was slow to closing behind them, though the danger had finally been surpressed three or four doors prior. By the time Royanna realized her present status, a balmy wave of hot air was passing over them, to dissipate in the large, open and well-lit cargo bay. It was eerily silent now, only the faint hum of florescent-atomic lighting high above to keep tinnitus from setting in.
The woman was face-down, having been clinging for dear life to both the platform floor and one of Christofer’s appendages for the duration of the ride. Now, she perceived, they had stopped, and she should probably be standing up again. Well, she’d get to it eventually – but no, someone had taken it upon themselves to expedite the process. Fine. As if snapping out of a light trance, Roy gave a start, then hastily, but unsteadily got to her feet again, leaning heavily on the railing. Someone had helped her up – Christofer, no doubt – and she had promptly swatted him away with indignation. Sweat – and, as it happened, a little bit of blood – had matted down her black hair so that it partially obscured her uppermost features. The hair had grown in the past two weeks since she had met Christofer, and it was getting in her eyes and irritating her – though it was presently the uttermost least of her concerns.
No words yet, eyes seemed to be locked in the downward position, as if she might lose track of the floor at any minute and float away…Or go tumbling. When she again refused to be helped in the endeavor of disembarking from the platform, it was a miracle that she managed to land on her feet at all – even if it was the sort of hard, clumsy landing one might have expected from a leap ten or twelve times higher than the meager one she had just taken.
The crispy body of the ‘Inquisitor’ flopped to the floor also, as the platform rocked some from her departure. Clinging now to the lower part of it for support, she looked down at the remains. Through the crackling, crusty black of fire she could just barely make out the shape of an elementary, but familiar symbol. She had seen it before, somewhere – but it was best to let that thought rest.
Speaking of rest…
No, not yet. It took her longer than she would have liked to realize that another set of fingers had interlocked with her own. Habitually she snatched her hand away (Though, if his own grip was tight enough, Christofer might have been able to keep her hand trapped in his own, for she was far from peak-strength at the moment) and looked up for the first time, glaring at him with a strange, perplexing expression. It was as if she didn’t even know how she was feeling. It was a glare primarily, but also a wide-eyed horror at something unseen – and yet it was buried white-anger and bitter resentment, clearly directed somewhere other than the boy she was looking at.But the expression made one thing very clear – Royanna Kallenger was in a very bad way.
At some point along the way, she had earned herself two deep gashes up along the left cheekbone, almost as if a wildcat had gotten at her. There was a small trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth, too – where she had bitten down on her lip with the impact of landing on the platform. But the damage itself was nothing compared to the haunted look in her eyes. The breathing was irregular now, intermittent shallow gasps between ragged breaths. Clearly she was trying to let nothing show, and failing miserably.
The chief issue had been the sudden realization of a terrible fact about the drug B-2. Not only did it have uncertain side-effects and an extreme risk of addiction to counter all those benefits that had been keeping her going. One of the reasons it was so effective on both levels was because the substance interacted directly with muscle and nerve tissue to better deliver the effects. Shortly after the initial injection, none would actually be left in the bloodstream, having been absorbed into the relevant parts of the body. That meant that, unlike most drugs, where time would eventually flush them out of the body, B-2 was exhausted not by time or rest, but by physical exertion. The more active someone was, the more B-2 they’d need to take. It was one of the reasons why it was so strictly controlled, and why patients under the effects were too.
Roy had taken the stuff for all the wrong reasons. A part of her had known from the start, but failed to realize the full implications of her actions at the time. As long as she was remaining exceptionally active, she was going to have to keep shooting up. Eventually…Eventually what? She didn’t want to think about that.
So she didn’t.
Back to the job, Kallenger. Focus.
The terrible, glazed look in her eyes wavered finally, and she looked away. If Christofer had refused to let her snatch her hand away, she would only try it once – then just deal with having it held as if it were no comfort at all.
”If we ca-“ She started, but the words were interrupted by a sputtering cough. Grimacing, she turned and spat an unpleasant bit of blood onto the grayish floor, then tried again. ”If we can get to central control, I can plug in and check the base integrity.” The implications of this were clear, so she decided not to waste more precious breath on unnecessary words. The point was that if they could get to the control center, she would be able to confirm that they were alone in the base. More importantly, she would be able to monitor the base so that if (And probably when) more baddies showed up, they would have an early warning. That would allow them to get some much needed rest.
Cox, of course, would be the most certain of how to navigate the place, and Roy would give her a nod to indicate that she should lead the way.
From there on it would be brightly lit corridors, motifs of sleek whites and greys. Lots of white. Lots of closed doors – the place had, like most of the Old Imperial bunkers, been shut down nice and tidy. This one, unlike the air reserve they had just detonated, had not been apparently compromised. There were machines around of unknown purpose, but none were rusty as the aircraft in the hangar had been. It looked like everyone had left no more than a few days earlier.
Compared to the previous moments, the journey would be incredibly quiet. Royanna did seem to have a hard time keeping her balance though. She did not seem openly hostile to any of her companions, but she did seem very distant, distracted and detached – and she was by far the most jumpy of all of them – starting and whipping her head around to glare wide-eyed at the sources of sounds that nobody could hear but herself.
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