Kol nodded and said, “Many prefer the memories of those found guilty of capital crimes, or the most notorious prostitutes from different cultures, for example. Military or law enforcement personnel who have engaged in extreme violent acts are also prized.”
Norris waited for Rantara to comment on the obvious, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“These Merchants understood that Darrien is unique; they were interested in selling his memories because no others like his exist here?”
“Precisely, Sergeant,” Kol continued. “Because of this, Toa moved to have Darrien secured for that purpose, believing with confidence the price they would demand in exchange would be considerable.”
Rantara wasn’t satisfied with Kol’s clarification. “Everything you’re talking about happened seventeen years ago!”
Qural continued.
“We could not allow Toa and the Memory Merchants to take Darrien, so the decision was made to return him to Earth space. It goes without saying that decision was difficult for us because we had become very fond of him, but Toa and the Merchants were extremely disappointed by the loss of their opportunity and the result of their anger is plainly evident inside my sister’s cottage at the top of the hill. However, that was not the end of their involvement. Toa saw only the chance to profit from Darrien’s status as the lone human known to us, but Haleth and Settis, on the other hand, knew better.”
“In what way?” Rantara asked, now sensing a darker purpose was about to emerge.
“While we found those memories—Darrien’s memories—were little more than a novelty and valuable only to Toa, there was another aspect that no one could have predicted. You see, it was not the memories themselves that were astonishing, but the way in which Darrien stores them that made him so special. This is also the reason we meant to seek his assistance before Settis uncovered Toa’s plan and were compelled to send him home so abruptly.”
Rantara had listened, but Qural’s description made as many questions as it provided answers.
“You’ve said this before, but you haven’t told us how any of it connects to this threat from the Namadi.”
“Haleth’s exercises with images and streams of data were conducted for the purpose of studying human cognitive processes and the retention of complex information packages.”
Rantara frowned.
“All those exercises with Haleth were conducted only to study his memories?”
“Not the memories,” Qural corrected; “but rather the process by which his brain files and compartmentalizes them.”
Haleth walked slowly forward.
“Darrien, the unique nature of your memory function is not how much information you can recall, but instead, the manner in which your brain accepts memories that have been uploaded from the Transceptor and holds them with such astonishing detail and fidelity. We don’t yet fully understand why because you are the only human we’ve studied; there is no data that clarifies whether such a condition is unique to you, or common among all humans. Settis suggested the Flash Trap’s influence may have caused changes to your brain’s function seventeen years ago, but that is only speculative at this point. Either way, it was clear your ability to store transferred memories is unlike any other species we’ve encountered.”
“In what way?” Norris asked.
“We conducted many tests to establish the parameters of your memory functions as a normal part of the process to understand human physiology. Recall abilities were tested, but also volumes of memorized data. We showed you images that map back to concepts, for example, each building on the previous instance as a way of measuring how much detail you could remember. The results showed your recall was not significantly different from any other species.”
“What’s special or interesting about that?” Norris asked.
“The Transceptor also conducted periodic inventories of all your memories to study fidelity degradation and loss rates, ignoring how much you could recall on demand. Many advanced memory functions we’ve encountered operate in similar ways, including the transfer of stimuli data into short or long-term memories. Your processes, however, are very different.”
“How are they different?” Banen asked and it was clear his attention had been taken over by the urgency of Haleth’s words.
“Although his recall ability is not remarkable, Doctor, the sheer volume of memory data Darrien’s brain can store with near perfect detail most certainly is,” Haleth replied, turning again to Norris.
“We believe your brain is capable of borrowing space from itself to this purpose—unexplored areas that can accept electrochemical impulses and hold them. Settis and I discussed the possibility your body’s entire neural network may also be involved, but again, that is only a concept for future study.”
“What did you conclude from your early studies?” Banen asked.
“It didn’t matter that Darrien’s unique processes do not provide for recall of these memory packages, and the Transceptor adapted to this new condition. It was then we found his unique capabilities have made him an amazing storage device for information in the form of memories uploaded from the machine.”
“You found Darrien can store more memories from the Transceptor than he can recall?” Rantara asked, tiring of an academic discussion going nowhere. “If he can’t remember or recall, then it’s not a memory at all!”
“Please be patient, Sergeant; we are nearly finished,” Qural said, motioning for Rantara to join her near the console. “Continue, Ommit.”
Tindas returned to the holo-image.
“In the early stages of the Namadi attack on the Saroqui, Kol’s ancestors did what they could to aid survivors before secondary and tertiary bombardment waves arrived. Because they carried versions of our Transceptor in their ships, the Searcher teams offered to record the memories of those still alive, perhaps for the purpose of civilization continuity.”
“The Saroqui agreed?” Norris asked.
“They did, and they were grateful,” Kol replied. “It was thought of as a way to preserve their culture should they fall extinct which, of course, they very nearly did.”
“In those memories,” Tindas continued, “something much more valuable to us than merely the historic record of a lost people ultimately emerged. It has come to us by an unfortunate and distasteful method, but the package of collective memories may prove to be our savior.”
“In what way?” Banen asked.
“Eru Toa’s Memory Merchants established an archive of recorded memories, many of which were taken from individual Saroqui. Some were directly involved with defensive efforts as their civilization was being destroyed, such as government or military officers. As you can imagine, the horrors these unfortunate people experienced became highly desirable commodities to the Merchants as memories to be sold or traded.”
Norris shook his head.
“I figured Toa was a ruthless little bastard after the arguments with you and Kol, but hearing all this…it sounds like every Merchant needs a bullet between the eyes. The Namadi were engaged in genocide, but all those assholes could think about was profit?”
Qural continued.
“As you may recall, Settis was an archivist for the Merchants; he maintained their library archive on an isolated planet in Porseth space called Esharam. His duties included oversight of systems used for the transfer of memory copies to agents in order to complete a sale or similar transaction. Those memories would then be viewed and experienced by paying clients for their own enjoyment.”
“Settis was a part of this disgraceful enterprise?” Banen asked.
“Not as you mean, Doctor,” Qural said; “Settis was a functionary at the archive’s infrastructure level only—he was not an agent or broker. However, his access to the Merchants’ library of memories was unfettered, allowing him to see enough to know what had become of the victim races silenced under the relentless Namadi bombardments.”
“Did he find anything you can use while he was poking around i
n their files?”
“Settis regarded his discovery as little more than the recorded evidence from a distant past, describing in memories those final hours of hopelessness and despair; he looked on with the eyes of historians studying ancient ruins.”
“But his perception changed?” said Rantara, sensing the ‘larger question’ was about to be answered when Qural finished her explanation. They listened in silence as she described Settis’ review, reminding them it had been understandably academic in nature. But as he delved further, subtle clues began to emerge from intercepted message traffic and frantic communications between Saroqui military officers and technicians on remote outposts, holding out in desperation as their civilization was being driven from existence. It took time, she continued, but Settis pieced together small bits of information from separate and unrelated sources, each of which contributed to a larger, more complete picture. Within the archived memories, Settis discovered Saroqui military intelligence officials had learned to translate some of the messages relayed between the attacker’s navigation controllers. It was this discovery that identified them as Namadi.
“Settis understood their language?” Banen asked.
“Not precisely,” Kol replied. “We believe Saroqui linguistic programs developed a basic understanding of the Namadi tongue—grammar, a lexicon and sentence structure.”
Norris shook his head with each moment as the nature of a horrible event began to emerge.
“It obviously didn’t do them any good, but it might be a break for us; what did he find?”
“Settis accessed memories from military operatives,” Tindas continued, “who provided briefings to their leadership on the content of certain communications traffic. What they revealed was the reason we are all here today.”
“What did they say?” Rantara asked, now fully engaged in the tale Tindas spun.
“He found nothing useful at first, but after applying several triangulation exercises, it became clear the Namadi were preparing for their next attack and Settis was able to establish its location.”
No one moved. They waited for the words, but each knew without hearing the conclusion to Tindas’ speech. Norris looked down and closed his eyes in anticipation.
“Let’s have it,” he said, simply.
Tindas rotated the holographic image, widening the view field.
“Their current target lies within the near-side quadrant of the Immediate Cluster. Qural’s people call it the ‘Gap’, but Khorrans have historically referred to the region as the Menros Frontier. It is a vast, mostly empty place on the formerly undisputed border between the territories of the Anash and the Khorra Nu. The war, of course, has transformed this region into a battleground, but its location makes clear the danger we now face together.”
Rantara stood at once, walking quickly to the holo-display where a single, red dot blinked out the place Tindas spoke of and his words sliced through her like a knife. She had been gone from the Khorran army for years, but she knew enough to understand what it meant. After sending out their machines to find and attack neighbors, the Namadi aimed far beyond their horizons and through the void toward the Anash and Khorra Nu. The truce became suddenly clear in Rantara’s mind; Tindas and Qural knew of the impending assault and planned a way to meet it.
“When did Settis discover this new attack was underway—how long ago?”
“By local time, twenty-two years,” Tindas answered.
Norris joined Rantara.
“Wait a minute,” he said; “their ships should’ve arrived long before now. Did something stop them?”
Tindas shook his head and said, “Settis confirmed by other transmissions containing navigational corrections the Namadi have dispatched massive bombardment fleets which remain in transit at this moment.”
“That’s impossible,” said Norris. “The Plexus would take them across even that insane distance in half the time! Something’s wrong here.”
“The transit time from this localized position puzzled us, too, but Settis discovered it is not the launch point of the bombardment fleet,” Tindas replied. “It is, in fact, merely a final waypoint from which each wave of attack vessels has been directed.”
“What does that mean, Professor?”
“We now believe the ships themselves started their decades-long journey from the Namadi inner worlds, much farther from our space. However, there is one bright note in all this, Darrien, and maybe our only saving element. What we know of the Namadi is slight, but for all their inventiveness, they have not yet learned how to access the Plexus as we have.”
“In what way?” asked Rantara.
“The excessive transit time from the Namadi worlds is understandable because that region of the galaxy is not rich in Plexus threads. Doctor Kol’s people found them in far fewer numbers, but also, many are unstable. These conditions have combined to severely restrict the Namadi’s access to the Plexus, but there is another condition we discovered which further limits their rapid mobility.”
“This is an important point,” Qural added. “Please continue, Ommit.”
“As it was when our races each found their way to the Plexus—Darrien’s human experience among them—we did not understand at first how to transit seamlessly from one thread to another. Until we theorized and experimented with transition harmonics, the threads were not useful for extreme long-distance travel.”
Norris nodded.
“I remember learning about this in school when I was a kid,” he said. “My ancestors called it ‘tunnel jumping’. It was dangerous as hell, too; more than one ship got caught in the backwaters where two threads don’t meet and some of them became stranded and paid for the mistake with their lives.”
“Precisely,” Tindas said. “Plexus travel in the earliest days of its discovery was a risky pursuit and called for careful and deliberate exit points. It seems strangely counterintuitive, given the horrific power of their weapons systems, but we are now certain the Namadi have not developed harmonic transition generators for their drive engines.”
“Which means they’re stuck with long transits between gates?” Norris asked quickly.
“To our relief,” Tindas nodded, “the physics of Plexus travel remains unyielding; Namadi bombardment fleets are just as dependent on slowing between threads as any other non-transitional vessels. This limitation is amplified by the infrequent instance of stable threads, requiring decades to travel distances we cross routinely in only months or even days.”
“However,” Qural continued, “while we have been working toward a solution for over twenty years, the distance between their fleets and Anashi or Khorran space has narrowed dramatically. The time is fast approaching when we must prepare or suffer a fate similar to those Settis watched in the last hours of the Saroqui, driven to near extinction.”
They sat for a moment, taking in all they had heard, but a single, unanswered question lingered until Norris stood at last.
“How long do we have?”
Tindas turned to Haleth.
“We don’t know with certainty, Darrien. Without speed and current location data, it would be impossible to say precisely, but the information Settis provided indicates an arrival of the first bombardment waves within a local year.”
Rantara’s agitation was growing and she looked at Tindas.
“Why haven’t our governments done something about this?”
“I first approached senior officers at Central Command, asking for an audience with the Defense Minister so that we could brief him. We believed they would help us to gain entry into the Premier’s enclave but they refused. It was made clear to me any further attempts would solidify a growing concern my actions were bordering on treason—that my association with the Ambassador could land me in prison, or worse.”
Qural watched Rantara’s reaction as she continued.
“The Professor had come under scrutiny from your Security Directorate, Sergeant; they have long suspected our friendship was rooted in a mysterious gam
e of espionage. There was no cause, of course because we do not share military information that could compromise either side; our friendship falls outside the framework of this useless conflict.”
“The Directorate should not be underestimated, Ambassador,” Rantara said with a grim expression. “They are unforgiving where this sort of thing is concerned, believe me.”
Tindas waited a moment as the others considered Rantara’s observation and the predictable images it made.
“I agree,” he said, “and that is why we solicited covert assistance from within the Directorate itself to ensure my activities could not be misconstrued.”
“Torbal,” Rantara said at last and with a knowing smile.
“Yes,” Tindas replied. “The Inspector and I have worked together in the past and he knew my loyalty to the Khorran people is absolute. But he also understood the nature of this discovery and the threat it brings; he saw clearly what his masters could not. Although we can’t say with certainty, we believe Torbal’s involvement spurred our respective governments to allow the ceasefire and provide an opportunity for us to show them evidence.”
Rantara looked at Qural.
“What about the Anashi side of this?
“My enquiries were not met with as much suspicion when I approached the Council,” Qural replied, “but the result was no better. Any plan involving cooperation with the Khorra Nu was doomed to fail, regardless of its importance. Some in the highest levels of my government have made handsome careers on the surety of war; it would not be in their interest to see it end so quickly. For the moment, they have agreed to the truce, but we must make the most of the time we have.”
Norris stood and joined Rantara near the Transceptor.
“Where do we fit into this puzzle? You mentioned evidence, but…”
Qural turned to the holo-display.
“We needed a way—a method—to present our leaders clear and unavoidable proof that will show precisely what the Namadi mean to do. Settis found it in the memories of those unfortunate victims who fell two decades ago, but it is essential that our government representatives see and experience for themselves those horrors.”
Echoes of Esharam Page 6