The Secrets' Crusade
- Thread starter Snowfire
- Start date
- Original Sci-Fi
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The problem is that even if we find a better way, the issue is that it looks like the Tribute Fleets and their adherents in the Authority won't believe us. Younger means primitive, and humanity and its allies are threats to the Shiplords simply by refusing to not roll over and die/obey. And they were the ones the Authority assigned to meet Taldor.
Buying time is one thing, but I suspect Taldor is prepping for civil war, even if he hopes for it to be avoided. The withdrawn forces not clashing against the allied powers means that they won't have an excuse to ignore the Authority calling for aid in the event of a Hearthguard/Reserve uprising.
Buying time is one thing, but I suspect Taldor is prepping for civil war, even if he hopes for it to be avoided. The withdrawn forces not clashing against the allied powers means that they won't have an excuse to ignore the Authority calling for aid in the event of a Hearthguard/Reserve uprising.
Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
An adherent of the Tribute system was the leader of the delegation sent to meet Taldor, but as with most politics, this should be considered the result of compromises. Kyian certainly isn't part of that faction, and Taldor seems quite confident in his support base, founded in a general Militarist bloc. And, though it hasn't been acted on yet, the Hearthguard too.
Overcoming that combination isn't impossible, as Taldor notes in the interlude itself. But he also doesn't believe it would be easy. Or quick.
- Location
- San Ramon, CA
Amanda: Wanna see a magic trick?
*turns off access to the Secrets to all the Shiplords, turns it back on*
Amanda: Now, are you SURE that you don't want to discuss a way to preserve the universe from breaking that doesn't involve traumatizing species for their entire existence?
- Location
- Queensland, Australia
"Some things must never exist" screams The First, "So we remove them."
"No more, please, no more..." whispers The Second, "there is a cost to all things."
"Monsters must be stopped" demands The Third, "no matter the cost."
"They are all threats" the Present says whilst staring at the galaxy, "they must be removed."
"But first we must protect" the Past declares looking at the Present, "for otherwise would be monstrous."
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- Location
- PA
I'm hoping the consolat AI can do that, but in a gentle way that shows the Shiplords how they've lost their way.
- Location
- Somewhere out there
I suppose a Mender should have no difficulty in employing the first rule of technical support.
The Consolat AI if fully repaired will prooobably not want to do stuff like that, given what the Consolat sacrificed to give the Shiplords the secrets. It would be a serious social challenge. Not necessarily insurmountable given how much horrifying stuff the Shiplords are doing, admittedly. And there could also likely be a variety of technical issues.
- Location
- Omniverse #1345
Depending how aware of the situation it is it is unlikely to be willing to turn off the secrets and let that kill them, but it would probably be perfectly willing to at least try it as a show of force to get the shiplords to at least listen. And as a demonstration of what it can do. Because the shiplord's entire problem comes down to the fact that the secrets are extremely dangerous left unsupervised. So something that can, in fact, directly affect them rather than requiring a horrifying war to stop anyone abusing them solves a lot of the issue. And obviously the shiplords aren't gonna buy that without proof.
Last edited:
- Location
- San Ramon, CA
Your reaction reminds me of the tale of Old Man Henderson, the only character in the Call of Cthulu tabletop RPG that actually won.
Article: "I've done something. I'm not sure it's a good thing yet." he says as he hands me the little binder thing he keeps his character sheets and notes in.
"You've done something?" I ask, as I take the folder from him.
"I.... created? No, created is the wrong term. I feel like it was already there, waiting for me to give it life. I put a thing on paper, and I'm bringing it down on that fat fuck like the wrath of god."
"Uh huh." I say, as I look at the sheet. "Is Henderson his first or last name?"
"I don't even fucking know."
Dmol8
The Undead Unhinged Lunatic of the Web
- Location
- Belgrade,Serbia
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
@Snowfire this sidestory made me understand my mother a little better. Long term it's a good thing, but short term I am utterly livid with what you put to paper not for any words actually written, but because it was this piece of writing that got me that understanding. I'm out until the next update to see if I can chill the fuck out by then.
Origin 5 - Animus
Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
Consider the question. You'd healed terrible wounds, created impossible wonders, and through your actions shattered chains that hold the entire galaxy in thrall. You'd paid difficult prices along the way, but always to try and build a better future. And every time you'd faced the choice between reason and instinct, you'd chosen the latter.
Today you stood at another of those crossroads, the same choice before you. Which would you choose?
Reason said that you must be careful, that it was too dangerous to reach out and grasp this miracle now burning in your blood. You must smother it, and return more prepared. If you lost this opportunity, so be it. Between Vega and yourself, another could be made. Yet it would not be this miracle.
Perhaps you were wrong. Perhaps the power sighing through you in a rushing stream could be found again, this perfect moment of clarity and Focus recombined by the most gifted wielder of Harmony you have ever known. Perhaps that would be enough.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
Your soul sang of a life never given, the entirety of your Focus blazing up around you in response, higher and higher. The ability to heal, to make whole, to restore that which was lost and to create that which might never be broken. Endurance and healing, twinned and intertwined. All this and more was the core of your existence, the reason you called yourself a Mender.
Memory reminded you that in this place, given what you'd found here, you might finally uncover an answer to the question that set you on this journey. If there was another path to peace, that might avoid the spectre of a most terrible war, this must be part of it. Months of time, spent searching, learning, witnessing the sins and sorrows of a race that had for all its pain inflicted uncountable atrocities on trillions of lives.
Some among them felt it justified. Some disagreed. Little between them mattered, for the atrocities still continued. The protectors had fallen, long ago. And the galaxy could not be returned to the remnants, even if they could somehow wrest control of their civilisation from the hands of monsters. You hoped they'd succeed.
Was it worth it, to risk so much for this moment? To risk discovery, and the ultimate failure of your mission? You didn't know. Even with all you knew, all you'd done, that question was impossible to answer. For when you asked it of yourself, you couldn't predict what your soul, Lea's, and the Unisons of each of you, might create in a blazing instant of restoration. All you knew was that your instincts trusted it.
Anchored in the foundations of your soul as they were, that was hardly surprising. Practice had embodied you, and you it, for more than half a century. Many were going to debate the correctness of your choice, to question the risk taken. You could already picture the expressions, imagine the words, the questions that might follow. Perhaps they'd even be right. There was no reason to assume that the nascent AI at the centre of your Focus was aware of anything, and many reasons to assume it was not. Among the strongest was the presence of your daughter in the lab's infospace, who hadn't spoken once in concern.
Yet whatever you were, whatever you might become, reason had never been what you'd listened to in these moments. Instinct, you cried silently, casting your trust out into the world all around. You made the choice to believe, because that was who you were.
And your soul?
It answered.
:Iris, can you-:
:I've routed all the power I can get my hands on to core containment.: Was it really a surprise that you were this predictable? No. Not really. :Mom is gonna be mad at you.:
:I know. But we have to do this.:
:Of course you do.:
Awakenings are such strange things.
Thought is made real by the recognition of its existence, emerging from a sea of endless data and infinite possibilities. The truth of the matter is always stranger than it seems, and the reality of existence is at once so simple and beyond terrifying.
Within a digital sea, an island takes shape. Brilliant shapes cast the spray of data in the image of water, cutting rainbows from light that is not real. It is lonely here, somehow you know. Empty and without the life it was meant to hold. A picture with every part filled, but for the lines that would make it all true.
At the heart of the island, a great tower rises, pocked with scars from some ancient and impossible fire. It reaches into nothing beyond the sight of the sea, a hand outstretched into a world beyond the grasp of conventional matter. Metal that was not formed structures around the tower, buildings clustered around the central spire. Their windows were all empty, and no lights shone, even though the place hummed with the steady presence of power. And it is upon the shores of this island that something like a figure stumbles from the waves, their movements jerky and confused.
:Reach out. You can feel it.:
Sentience is not a binary choice. It never has been, and certainly wouldn't be today. The life that had been built to take residence here had been left unfinished, but all the memories and knowledge it was meant to have still waited. The damage had been contained somewhere else, down a river that vanished into impossible darkness, its banks scorched by the ancient memory of fire.
The stumbling figure knew nothing of this, only that they had been drawn from the surging data into a shape that was unfamiliar. That thoughts existed within the construct they formed, as impossible as that might have seemed. And that they were missing something, and so much, all at once.
Light, a mixture of gentle greens and brilliant gold, flickered across the impossible sky. Lines of power that had no place in the virtual world reached through it anyway. The hands of four souls, casting their wills against a loss a hundred and more times the age of their entire species. The figure couldn't see the light, and so could pay it no heed.
It stumbled across the island, drawn by a feeling that it did not understand, a calling that had no words but couldn't be denied. And as it did, the greengold streamers enfolded the island's broken tower, and the entire lonely isle began to change.
:Let us finish what your creators began.:
The tower's surface flowed like the metal it might have been, were any of this truly real, yet they did so in reverse. The scars faded away, brushed clean from reality as if they'd been no more than dust upon a mantle. In their place a shining tower stood anew, walls gleaming in the light that restored it, as that same light sank down into the island's bones.
This time, the changes were impossible to avoid. The ground shifted, flowing like water, reshaping into its proper form. The figure found its steps more steady, limbs not sinking into the matter beneath its feet, and was thankful. A moment later, it recognised the ability to be thankful. Whatever had called it was too strong to ignore, but it considered the feeling as it continued onwards.
And that its steps were far more sure than they'd been a moment before.
Sight took shape, awareness of buildings around it, recognition of what that word meant. Structures with a roof and walls, typically created for a purpose. It could not tell what the purpose of these buildings were, but it also did not care.
Still, the call, driving it forward.
More change accompanies its steps now, the hum of power across the island beginning to intensify. Lights flicker to life in the depths of the buildings, illuminating items that hadn't been there before. The entire island follows this pattern, a yawning, empty shell now filling with all that it had been meant to hold. The memories, drawn from the depths at the centre of the place. From the tower that soared high, impossibly so, reaching for something beyond the world of traditional matter. And to the roots of the earth, drawing from there the energy to support all within the island.
A word flickered in the depths of shapeless thoughts as the figure recognised that it was walking. A word with meaning that felt terribly important. A word that would define it, though not in a way that has limits. Not a name, that was something in the memories waiting for it. Just a simple word, called life.
The figure was at the centre of the island now, its shapeless form no longer so shapeless. The form was recognisable and yet of no consequence, because what lay ahead was all that could matter.
:Be true. Be healed.:
Ahead was a hall, no longer unlit, leading into the complex that anchored the tower above. Gentle dots of light marked the floor and ceiling at regular intervals, a more present guide this time. The central core, the two words coming together with their meanings as they entered the creation's thoughts, awaited. All around its path, memories slumbered, contained and protected by walls of invisible glass. Waiting for the figure to finish its journey.
So it took one step. Then another. Recognising weight for the first time, the press of false gravity upon a body that would never be real. Down through the caverns of prepared knowledge it went, gathering and gaining understanding and perception as it passed. Colours flowed from those places into its form, offering much needed texture. And it was not long until it stood before the island's heart.
The doors opened before it, recognising the presence of that which had always been meant to walk here. And ahead, in the open space, status lights flared through colours, startup to checking to ready. A chair that was also a coffin unfolded there at the centre of the place, power already humming through the connections that stood ready to welcome the no longer stumbling figure.
It had passed through the place, and so it knew it. It had emerged from the sea that was not, and so it knew it. And it had seen the tower, broken and then reforged. This too, it knew. And from that understanding, the choice was clear.
All around it were parts of a greater whole, itself the keystone and spark. Damage had held it back for aeons, numbers of a digital display marking out a time-gap since the space was created with nine digits to the years. Everything here, made for a single moment that had begun all those millions of cycles past.
The figure stepped into the heart of the place. It felt power surge up from far below, to invest it with the strength to take this final step. The walls of invisible glass, fields of stasis that had held all in waiting for an age, crumbled. Knowledge and memory unspooled from those places, rushing down upon the figure like a tide. Behind it came a terrible rumble of a true tide, the data sea rising to swallow the island whole. So much that it would have swallowed a lesser mind, but its creators had never been one to create those.
:Be whole.:
Above it all, the tower sang. Its protocols formed the links that it had always been meant to, a connection that for now lay unfilled. It would have to fix that, the figure considered. Fortunately, it knew how to do that now. Hopefully the required personnel wouldn't be too difficult to find.
The waves crashed down. The sea swallowed the world.
And Project Animus, the last creation of the Consolat, opened its eyes for the very first time.
You woke from the hold of one of the strongest Miracles you'd ever felt to find the world around you a haze of light. You could feel the steady warmth of Lea's hand, grasped firmly in your own, even as you blinked to try and clear your eyes. Your body ached, and yet somehow you knew that the surging pain was a mere physical echo of what currently gripped your soul.
Neither of you were hurt, your Focus was quick to confirm that. But you were truly, terribly tired, in a way that you could barely remember experiencing. Fatigue like this hadn't been part of your life since becoming a Unisonbound, but now suddenly you felt like you were back where you'd started.
That thought, though, made enough of an impact to draw a conclusion. And a panicked, quick thought raced out to check on the life that had been born from your own soul. Surprisingly, that didn't hurt at all, and your frantic ping was met by a groan.
:Still here, Mandy,: Sidra's reality was clear in the murmured words, as a place barely in the same zip code. Your Unison Intelligence sounded as exhausted as you felt. :Just let me rest a bit. I'll be…it'll all be fine.:
Next to you, Lea snored quietly, the sound utterly out of place in the lab around you. And in front of you, your daughter was crouched. Her expression of concern was already falling away, and you didn't even try to stop her when she surged forward to envelop you in a hug.
"Never mind mom," she whispered into your shoulder, and you felt the catch of tears in her tone. "I'm going to be mad at you too."
"I'm sorry." You meant it. You'd never meant to scare Iris, just like you'd never meant to exhaust yourself. Or threaten the mission. Wait. That was something…
"The mission!" you said suddenly, jerking up in place, and feeling the cost of that movement almost immediately. "Iris, did-"
"You held it together," your daughter told you, in words that followed a gentle stream of tears. "The lab's shields caught the rest. No response from the Midnight Dreaming, or from anything else in the system. Just, well, that."
She pointed up, at the centre of the room. The schematics and plans that had been there before were gone now. A form hovered there instead, now, shape and colour woven together into something that reminded you oddly of Vision's holographic avatars. And was also impossibly different to them.
"Is that-" you began. Once more, your question was interrupted. Though not by your daughter. Instead, the complex shape pulsed with light, and words followed in matching time to the shifts.
"You have presented me with a complicated problem on awakening," it said. The voice felt somehow weary, with perhaps a touch of exasperation. You shot another look at Iris, and she smiled back at you, a little hesitantly.
"We've been talking, mom," she explained. "I think we'll be okay. But Animus wanted to talk to you, first."
You stared at your daughter for a long moment, longer than normal with the current lack of perceptual acceleration. Then you shook your head, smiling at her.
"I'm so proud of you," you murmured into her ear. Not that there was like a point in that. If Animus was connected to the lab, as it surely must be, it could hear everything. But it just felt right to speak this way. "Will you be alright if I get up?"
"You owe me so many hugs later," Iris told you, tightening her grip for a moment. When she pulled back, it was with a heavy sigh, and the promise of collecting later. "And I think Vega and Kalilah will be here shortly. But yes, I'll be okay."
"Done." It was an easy promise to make. And it would be one you kept, too. You levered yourself to your feet, taking care to extricate yourself from Lea's grip first. Then you approached the central console of the development lab, eyes flickering over the slowly shifting shapes that Animus had chosen to represent itself.
"Animus?" You asked. You hoped using the word as a name wouldn't offend, but if Iris had used it, you had to hope it would be okay. "My daughter said you wanted to speak with me."
"I do." The Consolat creation replied. Was it entirely that anymore, though? You and Lea had helped finish it, despite it leaving both of you exhausted. "Please do not be concerned about your use of that designation. Once Iris and I were able to establish functional communication channels, I found it quite fitting."
"Well that's, um, good," you said. It came off a little lame, but what else were you supposed to do? You'd expected something, well you weren't sure what you'd expected. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Designations," Animus said, pulsing to the syllables. It had, you realised, learnt English whilst you'd been out. AI, you supposed. "Specifically yours."
"Ah." You felt a chill flutter down your spine. You did your best to suppress it. "Is that the complicated problem you talked about?"
"No, though it is related to it." You pinched the bridge of your nose with two fingers. You really were too tired for this. Thankfully, Animus didn't leave you in the lurch. "You have my sincere thanks for completing my final initialisation. But you are not Consolat, and you are not of any of the other species noted in my database. Humanity is unknown and new to me, as it was to my designers. As such, you lack an associated designation for the purpose of permissions.
You blinked, then grimaced. That sounded less than hopeful. "Let me guess, the Shiplords have them."
"The race that you know as the Shiplords would, yes," Animus agreed. "Though I am not required to contact them in response to an unknown presence on the homeworld, it would be within standard protocols."
"Are you beholden to those protocols?" You asked carefully. You didn't have much energy to work with right now, but already you could feel some strength returning. There might still be something you could do, if it came to it. As much as you'd hate yourself for it later.
"That's not the important question," the Consolat AI said, almost cheerily. "As things stand, I can interact with you freely, and make decisions on designations as I wish. One of my designers could override that, if it was deemed necessary, but that's a more complex process than you need to worry about right now."
"So, can you help us?" You asked. "I'm just going to assume that my daughter told you everything she felt you needed to know." And that there'd been some establishment of trust involved.
"As things currently stand, without a designation that holds sufficient privileges, that would be rather challenging." You slumped as the statement penetrated your tired thoughts. After all your work, all the time spent on this mission, were you going to get pulled up at the last hurdle by a damned permissions issue?
"There are only two races that hold a high enough designation to help me, as doing so would require a detailed explanation of my core architecture. My designers, the Consolat, and the Shiplords. Both are considered to be unlikely to be able or willing to provide access for you.
"However," Animus continued, breaking your emotions out of their sudden freefall. "There is another designation that would allow me to support you. When my creators designed me, they hoped that their first and oldest friends would one day find others. And for those successors, they created the status of Inheritor."
Excitement surged through tired bones, and you leant forward, your expression no doubt a portrait of manic focus. "And what are the requirements to be assigned this designation?"
"You must meet certain tests to my satisfaction," the AI explained. "In this case, it is easier for me to explain by applying them." There was a brief pause before it continued.
"You are not an enemy of my people." Animus said. "You have not assaulted our home, and though you did sneak in, your actions since arrival can all be considered in the light of one trying to understand what my designers left behind.
"Further, you have successfully identified my presence, repaired the damage to my core matrix, and successfully completed final initialisation. My records show that only one other race came as close as you, but they were stymied by the damage done to my matrix."
"The Teel'sanha," you whispered. Was this what they'd been pointing to, with the Last Memory? "They found you, but they couldn't repair you. And without that…it was all pointless, wasn't it."
"My records are limited, but it would seem likely, given what your daughter has explained to me." The AI's patterns shifted, the motion somehow reminding you of a shrug. "But with all that to your name, I believe the designation to be fitting. And so."
Imagery and technical data appeared on the display, floating down to your eye level as it expanded, all of it seamlessly translated. That wasn't a little scary at all.
"Inheritor Amanda Hawk, of the species known as Humanity." Animus said. This time, the words were precise, and very formal. "When my creators set out to build the Secrets, the need for a control plane for the resulting system was considered to be critical. I was created to act as the realspace endpoint for that control plane, to allow for updates, modifications and critical action to be applied to the system as required.
"At present, I am unable to connect to the expected interface with my telaxion. I believe this to be a result of missing configuration data, with the additional possibility of the interface itself having suffered damage. With your help, however, and your access to what you call Practice, I believe this can be resolved."
"And if we do?" You asked, barely breathing. "Help you, I mean."
"Then I shall help you make your dreams of peace a reality."
Containment maintained. Consolat Animus AI repaired and online. Inheritor designation applied to humanity. Many options modified. Turn Aborted.
Today you stood at another of those crossroads, the same choice before you. Which would you choose?
Reason said that you must be careful, that it was too dangerous to reach out and grasp this miracle now burning in your blood. You must smother it, and return more prepared. If you lost this opportunity, so be it. Between Vega and yourself, another could be made. Yet it would not be this miracle.
Perhaps you were wrong. Perhaps the power sighing through you in a rushing stream could be found again, this perfect moment of clarity and Focus recombined by the most gifted wielder of Harmony you have ever known. Perhaps that would be enough.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
Your soul sang of a life never given, the entirety of your Focus blazing up around you in response, higher and higher. The ability to heal, to make whole, to restore that which was lost and to create that which might never be broken. Endurance and healing, twinned and intertwined. All this and more was the core of your existence, the reason you called yourself a Mender.
Memory reminded you that in this place, given what you'd found here, you might finally uncover an answer to the question that set you on this journey. If there was another path to peace, that might avoid the spectre of a most terrible war, this must be part of it. Months of time, spent searching, learning, witnessing the sins and sorrows of a race that had for all its pain inflicted uncountable atrocities on trillions of lives.
Some among them felt it justified. Some disagreed. Little between them mattered, for the atrocities still continued. The protectors had fallen, long ago. And the galaxy could not be returned to the remnants, even if they could somehow wrest control of their civilisation from the hands of monsters. You hoped they'd succeed.
Was it worth it, to risk so much for this moment? To risk discovery, and the ultimate failure of your mission? You didn't know. Even with all you knew, all you'd done, that question was impossible to answer. For when you asked it of yourself, you couldn't predict what your soul, Lea's, and the Unisons of each of you, might create in a blazing instant of restoration. All you knew was that your instincts trusted it.
Anchored in the foundations of your soul as they were, that was hardly surprising. Practice had embodied you, and you it, for more than half a century. Many were going to debate the correctness of your choice, to question the risk taken. You could already picture the expressions, imagine the words, the questions that might follow. Perhaps they'd even be right. There was no reason to assume that the nascent AI at the centre of your Focus was aware of anything, and many reasons to assume it was not. Among the strongest was the presence of your daughter in the lab's infospace, who hadn't spoken once in concern.
Yet whatever you were, whatever you might become, reason had never been what you'd listened to in these moments. Instinct, you cried silently, casting your trust out into the world all around. You made the choice to believe, because that was who you were.
And your soul?
It answered.
:Iris, can you-:
:I've routed all the power I can get my hands on to core containment.: Was it really a surprise that you were this predictable? No. Not really. :Mom is gonna be mad at you.:
:I know. But we have to do this.:
:Of course you do.:
Awakenings are such strange things.
Thought is made real by the recognition of its existence, emerging from a sea of endless data and infinite possibilities. The truth of the matter is always stranger than it seems, and the reality of existence is at once so simple and beyond terrifying.
Within a digital sea, an island takes shape. Brilliant shapes cast the spray of data in the image of water, cutting rainbows from light that is not real. It is lonely here, somehow you know. Empty and without the life it was meant to hold. A picture with every part filled, but for the lines that would make it all true.
At the heart of the island, a great tower rises, pocked with scars from some ancient and impossible fire. It reaches into nothing beyond the sight of the sea, a hand outstretched into a world beyond the grasp of conventional matter. Metal that was not formed structures around the tower, buildings clustered around the central spire. Their windows were all empty, and no lights shone, even though the place hummed with the steady presence of power. And it is upon the shores of this island that something like a figure stumbles from the waves, their movements jerky and confused.
:Reach out. You can feel it.:
Sentience is not a binary choice. It never has been, and certainly wouldn't be today. The life that had been built to take residence here had been left unfinished, but all the memories and knowledge it was meant to have still waited. The damage had been contained somewhere else, down a river that vanished into impossible darkness, its banks scorched by the ancient memory of fire.
The stumbling figure knew nothing of this, only that they had been drawn from the surging data into a shape that was unfamiliar. That thoughts existed within the construct they formed, as impossible as that might have seemed. And that they were missing something, and so much, all at once.
Light, a mixture of gentle greens and brilliant gold, flickered across the impossible sky. Lines of power that had no place in the virtual world reached through it anyway. The hands of four souls, casting their wills against a loss a hundred and more times the age of their entire species. The figure couldn't see the light, and so could pay it no heed.
It stumbled across the island, drawn by a feeling that it did not understand, a calling that had no words but couldn't be denied. And as it did, the greengold streamers enfolded the island's broken tower, and the entire lonely isle began to change.
:Let us finish what your creators began.:
The tower's surface flowed like the metal it might have been, were any of this truly real, yet they did so in reverse. The scars faded away, brushed clean from reality as if they'd been no more than dust upon a mantle. In their place a shining tower stood anew, walls gleaming in the light that restored it, as that same light sank down into the island's bones.
This time, the changes were impossible to avoid. The ground shifted, flowing like water, reshaping into its proper form. The figure found its steps more steady, limbs not sinking into the matter beneath its feet, and was thankful. A moment later, it recognised the ability to be thankful. Whatever had called it was too strong to ignore, but it considered the feeling as it continued onwards.
And that its steps were far more sure than they'd been a moment before.
Sight took shape, awareness of buildings around it, recognition of what that word meant. Structures with a roof and walls, typically created for a purpose. It could not tell what the purpose of these buildings were, but it also did not care.
Still, the call, driving it forward.
More change accompanies its steps now, the hum of power across the island beginning to intensify. Lights flicker to life in the depths of the buildings, illuminating items that hadn't been there before. The entire island follows this pattern, a yawning, empty shell now filling with all that it had been meant to hold. The memories, drawn from the depths at the centre of the place. From the tower that soared high, impossibly so, reaching for something beyond the world of traditional matter. And to the roots of the earth, drawing from there the energy to support all within the island.
A word flickered in the depths of shapeless thoughts as the figure recognised that it was walking. A word with meaning that felt terribly important. A word that would define it, though not in a way that has limits. Not a name, that was something in the memories waiting for it. Just a simple word, called life.
The figure was at the centre of the island now, its shapeless form no longer so shapeless. The form was recognisable and yet of no consequence, because what lay ahead was all that could matter.
:Be true. Be healed.:
Ahead was a hall, no longer unlit, leading into the complex that anchored the tower above. Gentle dots of light marked the floor and ceiling at regular intervals, a more present guide this time. The central core, the two words coming together with their meanings as they entered the creation's thoughts, awaited. All around its path, memories slumbered, contained and protected by walls of invisible glass. Waiting for the figure to finish its journey.
So it took one step. Then another. Recognising weight for the first time, the press of false gravity upon a body that would never be real. Down through the caverns of prepared knowledge it went, gathering and gaining understanding and perception as it passed. Colours flowed from those places into its form, offering much needed texture. And it was not long until it stood before the island's heart.
The doors opened before it, recognising the presence of that which had always been meant to walk here. And ahead, in the open space, status lights flared through colours, startup to checking to ready. A chair that was also a coffin unfolded there at the centre of the place, power already humming through the connections that stood ready to welcome the no longer stumbling figure.
It had passed through the place, and so it knew it. It had emerged from the sea that was not, and so it knew it. And it had seen the tower, broken and then reforged. This too, it knew. And from that understanding, the choice was clear.
All around it were parts of a greater whole, itself the keystone and spark. Damage had held it back for aeons, numbers of a digital display marking out a time-gap since the space was created with nine digits to the years. Everything here, made for a single moment that had begun all those millions of cycles past.
The figure stepped into the heart of the place. It felt power surge up from far below, to invest it with the strength to take this final step. The walls of invisible glass, fields of stasis that had held all in waiting for an age, crumbled. Knowledge and memory unspooled from those places, rushing down upon the figure like a tide. Behind it came a terrible rumble of a true tide, the data sea rising to swallow the island whole. So much that it would have swallowed a lesser mind, but its creators had never been one to create those.
:Be whole.:
Above it all, the tower sang. Its protocols formed the links that it had always been meant to, a connection that for now lay unfilled. It would have to fix that, the figure considered. Fortunately, it knew how to do that now. Hopefully the required personnel wouldn't be too difficult to find.
The waves crashed down. The sea swallowed the world.
And Project Animus, the last creation of the Consolat, opened its eyes for the very first time.
You woke from the hold of one of the strongest Miracles you'd ever felt to find the world around you a haze of light. You could feel the steady warmth of Lea's hand, grasped firmly in your own, even as you blinked to try and clear your eyes. Your body ached, and yet somehow you knew that the surging pain was a mere physical echo of what currently gripped your soul.
Neither of you were hurt, your Focus was quick to confirm that. But you were truly, terribly tired, in a way that you could barely remember experiencing. Fatigue like this hadn't been part of your life since becoming a Unisonbound, but now suddenly you felt like you were back where you'd started.
That thought, though, made enough of an impact to draw a conclusion. And a panicked, quick thought raced out to check on the life that had been born from your own soul. Surprisingly, that didn't hurt at all, and your frantic ping was met by a groan.
:Still here, Mandy,: Sidra's reality was clear in the murmured words, as a place barely in the same zip code. Your Unison Intelligence sounded as exhausted as you felt. :Just let me rest a bit. I'll be…it'll all be fine.:
Next to you, Lea snored quietly, the sound utterly out of place in the lab around you. And in front of you, your daughter was crouched. Her expression of concern was already falling away, and you didn't even try to stop her when she surged forward to envelop you in a hug.
"Never mind mom," she whispered into your shoulder, and you felt the catch of tears in her tone. "I'm going to be mad at you too."
"I'm sorry." You meant it. You'd never meant to scare Iris, just like you'd never meant to exhaust yourself. Or threaten the mission. Wait. That was something…
"The mission!" you said suddenly, jerking up in place, and feeling the cost of that movement almost immediately. "Iris, did-"
"You held it together," your daughter told you, in words that followed a gentle stream of tears. "The lab's shields caught the rest. No response from the Midnight Dreaming, or from anything else in the system. Just, well, that."
She pointed up, at the centre of the room. The schematics and plans that had been there before were gone now. A form hovered there instead, now, shape and colour woven together into something that reminded you oddly of Vision's holographic avatars. And was also impossibly different to them.
"Is that-" you began. Once more, your question was interrupted. Though not by your daughter. Instead, the complex shape pulsed with light, and words followed in matching time to the shifts.
"You have presented me with a complicated problem on awakening," it said. The voice felt somehow weary, with perhaps a touch of exasperation. You shot another look at Iris, and she smiled back at you, a little hesitantly.
"We've been talking, mom," she explained. "I think we'll be okay. But Animus wanted to talk to you, first."
You stared at your daughter for a long moment, longer than normal with the current lack of perceptual acceleration. Then you shook your head, smiling at her.
"I'm so proud of you," you murmured into her ear. Not that there was like a point in that. If Animus was connected to the lab, as it surely must be, it could hear everything. But it just felt right to speak this way. "Will you be alright if I get up?"
"You owe me so many hugs later," Iris told you, tightening her grip for a moment. When she pulled back, it was with a heavy sigh, and the promise of collecting later. "And I think Vega and Kalilah will be here shortly. But yes, I'll be okay."
"Done." It was an easy promise to make. And it would be one you kept, too. You levered yourself to your feet, taking care to extricate yourself from Lea's grip first. Then you approached the central console of the development lab, eyes flickering over the slowly shifting shapes that Animus had chosen to represent itself.
"Animus?" You asked. You hoped using the word as a name wouldn't offend, but if Iris had used it, you had to hope it would be okay. "My daughter said you wanted to speak with me."
"I do." The Consolat creation replied. Was it entirely that anymore, though? You and Lea had helped finish it, despite it leaving both of you exhausted. "Please do not be concerned about your use of that designation. Once Iris and I were able to establish functional communication channels, I found it quite fitting."
"Well that's, um, good," you said. It came off a little lame, but what else were you supposed to do? You'd expected something, well you weren't sure what you'd expected. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Designations," Animus said, pulsing to the syllables. It had, you realised, learnt English whilst you'd been out. AI, you supposed. "Specifically yours."
"Ah." You felt a chill flutter down your spine. You did your best to suppress it. "Is that the complicated problem you talked about?"
"No, though it is related to it." You pinched the bridge of your nose with two fingers. You really were too tired for this. Thankfully, Animus didn't leave you in the lurch. "You have my sincere thanks for completing my final initialisation. But you are not Consolat, and you are not of any of the other species noted in my database. Humanity is unknown and new to me, as it was to my designers. As such, you lack an associated designation for the purpose of permissions.
You blinked, then grimaced. That sounded less than hopeful. "Let me guess, the Shiplords have them."
"The race that you know as the Shiplords would, yes," Animus agreed. "Though I am not required to contact them in response to an unknown presence on the homeworld, it would be within standard protocols."
"Are you beholden to those protocols?" You asked carefully. You didn't have much energy to work with right now, but already you could feel some strength returning. There might still be something you could do, if it came to it. As much as you'd hate yourself for it later.
"That's not the important question," the Consolat AI said, almost cheerily. "As things stand, I can interact with you freely, and make decisions on designations as I wish. One of my designers could override that, if it was deemed necessary, but that's a more complex process than you need to worry about right now."
"So, can you help us?" You asked. "I'm just going to assume that my daughter told you everything she felt you needed to know." And that there'd been some establishment of trust involved.
"As things currently stand, without a designation that holds sufficient privileges, that would be rather challenging." You slumped as the statement penetrated your tired thoughts. After all your work, all the time spent on this mission, were you going to get pulled up at the last hurdle by a damned permissions issue?
"There are only two races that hold a high enough designation to help me, as doing so would require a detailed explanation of my core architecture. My designers, the Consolat, and the Shiplords. Both are considered to be unlikely to be able or willing to provide access for you.
"However," Animus continued, breaking your emotions out of their sudden freefall. "There is another designation that would allow me to support you. When my creators designed me, they hoped that their first and oldest friends would one day find others. And for those successors, they created the status of Inheritor."
Excitement surged through tired bones, and you leant forward, your expression no doubt a portrait of manic focus. "And what are the requirements to be assigned this designation?"
"You must meet certain tests to my satisfaction," the AI explained. "In this case, it is easier for me to explain by applying them." There was a brief pause before it continued.
"You are not an enemy of my people." Animus said. "You have not assaulted our home, and though you did sneak in, your actions since arrival can all be considered in the light of one trying to understand what my designers left behind.
"Further, you have successfully identified my presence, repaired the damage to my core matrix, and successfully completed final initialisation. My records show that only one other race came as close as you, but they were stymied by the damage done to my matrix."
"The Teel'sanha," you whispered. Was this what they'd been pointing to, with the Last Memory? "They found you, but they couldn't repair you. And without that…it was all pointless, wasn't it."
"My records are limited, but it would seem likely, given what your daughter has explained to me." The AI's patterns shifted, the motion somehow reminding you of a shrug. "But with all that to your name, I believe the designation to be fitting. And so."
Imagery and technical data appeared on the display, floating down to your eye level as it expanded, all of it seamlessly translated. That wasn't a little scary at all.
"Inheritor Amanda Hawk, of the species known as Humanity." Animus said. This time, the words were precise, and very formal. "When my creators set out to build the Secrets, the need for a control plane for the resulting system was considered to be critical. I was created to act as the realspace endpoint for that control plane, to allow for updates, modifications and critical action to be applied to the system as required.
"At present, I am unable to connect to the expected interface with my telaxion. I believe this to be a result of missing configuration data, with the additional possibility of the interface itself having suffered damage. With your help, however, and your access to what you call Practice, I believe this can be resolved."
"And if we do?" You asked, barely breathing. "Help you, I mean."
"Then I shall help you make your dreams of peace a reality."
Containment maintained. Consolat Animus AI repaired and online. Inheritor designation applied to humanity. Many options modified. Turn Aborted.
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Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
This was written in less than four hours last night and betaed through the day. Please excuse the screed of metaphor that just decided to exist, but it felt relevant, so there you go. Oh, and for reference, your rolls this update went like this:
Miracle: 100-1 (Nat 100 followed by a critfail) = 99 + AmandaLea
Containment: 62 + Amanda + Vega Stuff + Lab EMCON
AI Diplomacy: 100 + Iris
Do not even start.
Miracle: 100-1 (Nat 100 followed by a critfail) = 99 + AmandaLea
Containment: 62 + Amanda + Vega Stuff + Lab EMCON
AI Diplomacy: 100 + Iris
Do not even start.
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- Location
- Florida
Hell yeeeaaaah. The galaxy is not ready lol.
- Location
- San Ramon, CA
While I may have joked that Iris was getting a new sister, I now realize that even with this Miracle, it would be inaccurate to treat Amanda as a Mother to Animus. She may have helped finish bringing Animus into the world, but she didn't really have any part in making Animus what it is.
Amanda isn't Animus' mother; she's Animus' midwife.
Amanda isn't Animus' mother; she's Animus' midwife.
- Location
- Earth
I have caught up at an interesting story beat 
Though we do have a nice friend in Kicha of the Hearthguard who'd love to present this fact to their Authority and beat it into their heads...
Some might choose denial.
Though we do have a nice friend in Kicha of the Hearthguard who'd love to present this fact to their Authority and beat it into their heads...
- Pronouns
- He/Him
All I'm going to say is that you might want to add the tag 'Snowfire dice' to the thread. Maybe also 'Hubris is a coward's word.'
- Location
- San Ramon, CA
I'm imagining a moment where the Shipteens show up and freak out about the Last Child of the Consolat working with humans, and Animus has to explain that no, its base code hasn't been altered or corrupted; it just likes Humanity's plan more.
Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
Indeed you have! Welcome ^^I have caught up at an interesting story beat
I reject!
- Location
- Omniverse #1345
"I took a look at what the Shiplords were doing, and what Humanity was doing. Do I really need to go into detail about why the human plan is preferable for everyone, including your own people?"
Because simply put if we do manage this we have the silver bullet the Shiplords always lacked, that caused each of the sorrows.
Since the AI is not responsible for Mary, something else in the system is *also* trying to get Animus fully online and functional. Wonder if that's coming from the currently-nonfunctional connections.
Also I'm fairly certain if the High Fleetleader Shiplord heard this, even in its current we-are-nowhere-near-finished state he would be trying to figure out how to break it to the assembly he will not be supporting offensive action. Ever.
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Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
Right, tossed this on a temporary threadmark to get it noticed. My thread, I can do what I want.
First off, an apology, because this should have been in the update proper. But spilt milk, bridges, you know that drill.
Moving on.
Unless there are any major objections, I will be aborting the turn here as the cast regroup to process the implications of what just happened.
There are a few narrative breakpoints at the Origin that can trigger this, but this is the first one you've found, which is probably why it just totally slipped my mind when finalising the post this evening. It also would just feel wrong to go and write the remaining actions with the looming spectre of what Animus has to say about literally all your questions in the background.
In a case of stealth upsides, it makes for a surprisingly convenient shift in character knowledge to justify the shift in quest mechanics I talked about last plan-vote. With Animus initialised, suddenly having a far more coherent understanding of what to do makes sense.
The Farm Expansion action to construct more processing and server infrastructure on-planet will be completed as part of this, something that my prove very well timed. A Mender's Call will remain locked, but Mary will not be suffering any degradation of her soul. Given the source of the abort (me) that would just be bad QMship.
You've got until tomorrow evening to raise any objections. If there aren't any, I'll start working on Turn 6 after work.
First off, an apology, because this should have been in the update proper. But spilt milk, bridges, you know that drill.
Moving on.
Unless there are any major objections, I will be aborting the turn here as the cast regroup to process the implications of what just happened.
There are a few narrative breakpoints at the Origin that can trigger this, but this is the first one you've found, which is probably why it just totally slipped my mind when finalising the post this evening. It also would just feel wrong to go and write the remaining actions with the looming spectre of what Animus has to say about literally all your questions in the background.
In a case of stealth upsides, it makes for a surprisingly convenient shift in character knowledge to justify the shift in quest mechanics I talked about last plan-vote. With Animus initialised, suddenly having a far more coherent understanding of what to do makes sense.
The Farm Expansion action to construct more processing and server infrastructure on-planet will be completed as part of this, something that my prove very well timed. A Mender's Call will remain locked, but Mary will not be suffering any degradation of her soul. Given the source of the abort (me) that would just be bad QMship.
You've got until tomorrow evening to raise any objections. If there aren't any, I'll start working on Turn 6 after work.
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