I don’t understand the reason for the broadcast. The Sol system is fifty thousand lightyears away. They cannot be calling for help. This is a setback for us, not a defeat. Our gallant Resolution ships will return to the humans’ pitiful homeworld and settled planets within thirty years. All remaining humans will be liberated from their wasted lives so we may carry them to embrace the glory of the God at the End of Time. There will be no ‘rescue’ for those we already hold.
So . . . why? Why this? Why expend this effort, surely every resource they possess, just to bring those radio transmitters here? Humans will never receive their broadcast. Ah. They won’t . . .
I opened myself fully to the onemind. ‘It is the Neána,’ I declared. ‘They are behind this.’
‘Your reason for deciding this?’ the onemind asks benignly.
‘That broadcast is extremely unlikely to be detected by any human group that eludes our kindness. However, we know the Neána are spread wide across this galaxy in their treacherous nests. They listen as we do for transmissions from newly emerging species. They will know what that signal means, where it is originating.’
‘Not just the Neána,’ the onemind contemplates in an unguarded moment.
Deep memories from the arkship neuralstratum. We see the Katos – red blemishes traversing the elegant starscape, the destruction they inflicted upon us when they divined our true honourable mission. Worse, we felt the demise of valiant oneminds as our Welcome ships were shattered and burned by the Angelis war fleet. The sadness of loss that lingers in every Olyix mind to this day.
‘We should be able to find out the true intent behind this broadcast,’ I said. ‘The humans must still be on board. They can be questioned.’
‘The subverted transport ship was destroyed. No neurovirus distortion could forge that; verification was external. I have now purged the contamination from myself and confirmed total integrity. The remaining ships from that hangar are gone, flying into the star. Their trajectories are being monitored. There is no illusion any more. The humans perished with their ship.’
‘Suicide in humans that dedicated to their mission is unlikely. I know. I understand humans very well.’
‘Your knowledge of human psychology is acknowledged. You shared it with me, and now I utilize your own routines in my analysis. There is nowhere further they can hide within my structure. Quint and subsect server organisms have searched the hangar for any continuing signs of human activity. There is none. They are dead.’
The onemind is shitting on me from a truly great height. It doesn’t fucking listen. ‘They are not.’
‘Your reluctance to accept my authority is troubling.’
‘I am simply offering likely possibilities. If humans were on board that ship, they will have attempted to survive.’
‘And, alternatively, if the ship was governed by a G8Turing? If there was a metahuman Neána on board? No. The regrettable incident is now closed. Rejoice; we are about to enter the enclave.’
‘I rejoice. Will the gateway’s onemind watch for approaching hostile alien ships?’
‘Of course. It is already determined that the gateway star system’s watcher sensors will be refurbished. New short-range sensors will be built in to enhance our observation of near-space. Now recommence your duty. Our situation has returned to normal.’
But it hasn’t. That arrogant motherfucker will get us all killed. Those alien vermin are still on board, skulking about somewhere. And I am going to find them. I am going to prove the onemind wrong. I’ll enjoy rubbing its smug face in that. Who knows, the Olyix fullmind might even reward me with elevation to a onemind – not in a Resolution ship, but a full arkship like I deserve. Wouldn’t that be something?
Morgan
FinalStrike Mission, Year Twelve
Dellian and Yirella, along with the rest of the fleet crews, had spent twelve years in the toroid-shaped domain. Twelve years while the history faction remodelled the thirty fleet ships. They also increased the neutron star’s defences, adding concentric layers of sensors and portals out to three lightyears, ready for any ships coming from the Olyix sensor station, sixty-seven lightyears away. Within the domain, those events played out across a total of six days. Immanueel had reversed the speed that time flowed from the accelerated rate that had matured the biosphere into ancient delightful parkland to the same slowtime that was used by the Olyix enclave.
Dellian had to admit, that was a whole lot better than getting dunked in a suspension tank again. ‘So do you think they can timeshift the fleet when we’re inside the wormhole?’ he asked.
On the last day before they left for the enclave star, he and Yirella were walking through one of the domain’s forests. It was something they’d done every day of the hiatus, enjoying an epoch that was probably the closest they’d ever get to old Earth’s environment. Bizarrely, it seemed more natural than Juloss ever had. He’d decided that was down to age, which possessed a reassurance all of its own. Some trees in the forest were giants, hundreds of years old. So they’d explore the not-quite-overgrown paths and climb some of the stately trees and finish up with a swim in one of the big rock pools.
An altogether pleasant experience, until today. With the time flow normalized so they could access the outside universe directly again, Ainsley’s android had come to visit them.
‘The corpus guys know their shit,’ the white android said. ‘If everything goes to plan, we’re actually going to be at the enclave in a few weeks – our time. Can you believe that?’
‘No,’ Dellian said flatly.
‘Easily,’ Yirella said, and gave him the look.
‘Oh, come on, Dellian,’ Ainsley said. ‘Don’t tell me you aren’t interested to see the weapons upgrades they’ve been working on. Damn, if they’ve built you a combat suit like Yanki from Prefect Space III, I’ll stuff this android in one and join you storming the Salvation of Life myself. They were awesome.’
‘Okay. I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Prefect Space III was a game matrix when I was . . . Well,
