by J. N. Chaney
“It’s not going anywhere,” Dash told Conover with a smile, but the kid was too juiced to slow down. After a collective shrug, they moved on, the enormity of the Unseen pressing all around them with each passing step.
Leira, meanwhile, took a suggestion from Dash and maintained a map of their progress on her vacsuit’s computer. Periodically, she uploaded her progress to the rest of them, so everyone had a copy. It quickly became clear how good an idea this was, because without it, they probably would have ended up…well, maybe not hopelessly lost, but lost enough to spend a lot of time bumbling around, trying to find their relative location in a facility that boggled the mind. The Unseen didn’t just build. They built for effect, and they did so without any seeming cares regarding the laws of physics.
Eventually, they reached a door that wouldn’t open, even for Dash.
“Let me guess,” Dash said to the door, “you won’t open up until I find something, or fight something, or solve a puzzle or some such bullshit, will you?”
The door remained implacably quiet and closed.
“Apologies, Messenger, but I cannot discern a way to open it,” said Sentinel.
“Fine, be like that,” Dash said. “I left my keys back home anyway.” They turned away, back toward a corridor they hadn’t yet explored.
“I don’t think keys would matter. Not here,” Amy said.
“I know.” Dash tapped a metallic surface, earning a low thump that was almost musical. “They’re well beyond simple keys. I think they’re beyond locks, at least as we know them.”
“I locked myself in a bathroom once,” Conover said.
Dash looked down, and everyone else found a reason to look away, their laughter barely contained.
“I kinda wish I hadn’t said that,” Conover finished, his face turning crimson.
Viktor saved him. “Been there many times myself, kid.”
“Really?” Conover asked him with interest.
“No, but I couldn’t leave you hanging. We’re a team,” Viktor said, and then he did laugh, a low rumble that let Conover take steps with some shred of his dignity.
“Teamwork is critical to emotional development in young humans. It’s science,” Sentinel said.
“It—hey!” Conover said among the laughter ringing out from the crew.
“Was that all of your allotted sass, or just some?” Dash asked Sentinel.
“I would prefer not to say at this time,” Sentinel said.
“Understood. Young man, follow me,” Dash said to Conover. “And the adults as well.”
“Even the AI. Man,” Conover mumbled, and they all fought to contain their mirth, moving as one into the next section of charmless corridor.
By the end of the second hour, they’d found more doors that wouldn’t budge. Based on Leira’s map, the sealed doors seemed to block off a portion of the Forge around the docking bay—the only part of the station they could currently access.
“That may be the only part of this place that’s powered up,” Conover said. “The rest of the Forge might not have life support running.”
Amy nodded. “Good point, yeah. Sentinel did say this place was stuck in some sort of low-power mode, right?”
Conover’s mood lifted when Amy agreed with him. Leira smirked at the little display, then said, “This means we’ve explored…oh, something like a whole two percent of this place. If it all somehow gets fully powered up, and we can access the rest, it’s still going to take us ages to check it all out as a single group—and that’s if we can get the lights and doors to work without constantly having you nearby.”
“Not to mention that there are certain activities that you probably don’t want to have to be present for, Dash,” Viktor added.
Conover gave him a puzzled frown. “Like what?”
Amy leaned close to him. “He means using the toilet,” she said in a stage whisper.
“Oh.” Conover blinked at that. “Do you think this place even has toilets?”
The question actually intrigued Dash, but he added it to the list of things to deal with later. “For now, we don’t really have much choice. You guys are stuck with me. As for checking out the rest of this place, let’s worry about that when the time comes. And let’s hope the bathrooms don’t have locks.”
“Hah,” Conover said, but when Amy grinned at him, he tried to be calm. And failed, the hint of a grin creeping into his features.
“So,” Leira said, pointing at the map, “if we’re taking this rough cube I’ve mapped out as the part of the Forge we currently can access, then this blank bit right here is the only part of it we haven’t visited.”
“So let’s go check it out then head back to the docking bay,” Dash said. “All that talk about using the toilet—not to mention being free of the suit for a moment.”
“Yeah, me too,” Viktor said, and the rest of them gave quick nods. The vacsuits were designed to accommodate their bodily functions, but they didn’t do it comfortably, or well. Even the most hardened spacefarer considered it a last resort sort of thing.
As they approached the last door in the powered-up section they hadn’t yet explored, it struck Dash as different. It was taller, wider, and more substantial than other doors they’d encountered. Even if it had just been made of known alloys and composites, it likely would have withstood a serious blast. Made by the Unseen, it might as well have been indestructible. Whatever lay behind it must be important. Or dangerous. Maybe both.
Dash had expected to walk up to it and just be forced to just stop, their way again blocked. But the door slid smoothly aside, opening onto a darkened compartment with a susurrating whoosh that let air flow out fast enough to feel on their suits. Again, this one was obviously different than the others they’d entered. Myriad lights glowed in the gloom, not bright enough to fully illuminate the space, but enough to outline an area much larger than any other they’d encountered, except for the docking bay itself.
Dash stepped through the doorway, and the room filled with brilliant light.
“This place would easily fit the Slipwing, with some room to spare,” Dash said.
But his gaze only roamed briefly, before settling on something dominating the middle of the big compartment. A massive cylinder rose at least five meters tall, its glassy surface alive with a multitude of flickering lights. Around it squatted an array of smaller cylinders, cubes, and what were either pipes or conduits, some of which were also lit, and all of which meant absolutely nothing to him. The sense of complexity and importance was unmistakable. The design was utterly alien.
For a while, they all just stood and stared.
Amy finally broke the silence. “I don’t know what any of this is, but it’s awesome!”
Viktor nodded. “It’s obviously something—well, it’s a hub, it’s in the center of the station, and it’s incredibly complicated.”
“For all we know, it’s a sculpture.” Leira smiled. “Or a bathroom.”
Conover said nothing and simply walked a short distance away, eyeing the massive device dominating the center of the chamber. Around the huge object, other machines and bits of cryptic gear filled much of the space around it. “Whatever it is, it seems to be active all of the time, and not just when Dash is here.”
“Maybe it switched on right before the door opened,” Amy said.
“Maybe,” Viktor said. “But that would still be different than anything we’ve encountered yet. And I can’t help feeling different also means critical.” He looked at Dash. “If the Unseen wanted you to come here, there must have been a reason for it.” He gestured at the thing dominating the room. “This could very well be it, or it might be something that points you in the right direction, at least.”
“The man speaks wisely,” Dash said. “So, here I go, once again exposing myself to yet another alien something, albeit a beautifully designed flosnagar.”
Amy giggled. “Exposing yourself to a flosnagar. Hey, what’s a flosnagar?”
“That, my de
ar, is the device you see before you,” Dash said with some dignity. “Although I just made it up.” Taking a breath, he approached the cylindrical thing looming over the room.
Nothing. He stopped within arm’s reach of it, reached out, and touched the nearest part of it, one of the cubes.
Nothing.
“Alrighty then,” Dash said.
And then the world changed.
Data.
That became information.
That became knowledge, that, in turn, became experience.
A flood of knowing crashed through Dash like a breaking wave, a torrential deluge of understanding far greater than anything he’d been through before. His Meld with the Sentinel, or with the Unseen outposts, seemed barely a trickle compared to this. It submerged him like a riptide, threatening to wash away his consciousness, his very identity, and sweep it off into oblivion. An instant before he stopped being Dash entirely though, the torrent slowed, giving him a chance to grab onto his idea of self like a tether and just desperately hang onto it, his psyche clutching at straws in order to maintain some connection with the world that he thought of as real.
“Your mental processes are surprisingly fragile,” a resonant voice said. “I have adjusted the data stream to compensate.”
Dash found himself standing nowhere, surrounded by absolutely nothing. It wasn’t even emptiness, because even that would have been something. This was somehow actually nothing.
The experience of it—the very idea of it—should have twisted his mind so much it would never again unwind. But, as his sense of self reasserted itself, he realized that he had been here before. Every time he traveled aboard the Archetype, through unSpace, he’d been immersed in this uttermost nothing. This was unSpace, and he was somehow in it, having translated in some cryptic way from real space. Without the solid presence of the Archetype to enclose him, it left him fully exposed to it, a wrenching and terrifying existence in a void so far from human experience, it should have reduced him to a gibbering, empty-minded ruin.
But it didn’t. Instead, he was here, and so was that voice.
“You are the Messenger.”
“I apparently am.”
“You are a far more unimpressive life-form than I had anticipated.”
“Thank you. No offense taken.”
“It is of no consequence. The mere fact that you are here means you are adequate.”
“I’m guessing that’s as close as you’ll ever come to a compliment. Speaking of which, you are?”
“I am Custodian. I oversee the Forge on behalf of the Creators.”
“Custodian. Okay. Say, do you happen to know Sentinel?”
“The intelligence that oversees the Archetype, yes.”
“I joined the data stream when you did,” Sentinel said, startling Dash. “I am always with you, even in the presence of Custodian. It is my duty to you, Messenger, and I shall see it through.”
“So now I get to contend with not just one, but two super-intelligent alien AIs. I have mixed feelings about this, given your level of complexity. And borderline sarcasm.”
“You are the Messenger,” Custodian replied. “Your implication that Sentinel and I somehow stand in opposition to you is erroneous. There would be no point to such behavior, given the objectives of the Creators.”
“Yeah, well, if you were me, you might look at things a little differently.” Dash thought about looking around, but there was no around to look at. “So why am I here? For that matter, how am I here? Is this really unSpace?”
“To the extent that your limited senses are able to perceive it, yes, at least in part. You are actually in the Dark Between, which is how you are able to maintain a semblance of physical existence.”
“The Dark Between. That’s the place that’s somehow between real space and unSpace, right? It’s kind of neither, but also both at once?”
“That is essentially correct. The world the Unseen have left behind is far more complex than what you once knew, although the Unseen linger on as data, and memory, and a guiding direction intended to rid your people of the Golden. There is no middle ground to be found between life and the Golden. There is only victory or utter defeat, and my Creators have left behind a legacy that is far more than what you would consider ghosts in the darkness. The Unseen were peerless in creating sharp objects designed to kill the Golden, and your purpose will be fulfilled here in the Dark Between—and beyond. As for how you came to be here, you are the Messenger. The Creators put in place the means of you coming here.”
“When you installed that last power core in the Archetype, it gave you the ability to be recognized by Custodian as the Messenger,” Sentinel said. “That is why you are able to access the Forge and have been incorporated into its data stream. It also gave you the ability to perceive, and have limited access to, the Dark Between.”
“Great. So does that mean I can finally get some questions answered?”
“That depends on the question,” Custodian said.
“Well, sure. I’m assuming you wouldn’t be able to answer what the entire purpose of this is? Beyond the simple defense of life, or something else grand like that?”
“I am not aware of any objectively correct answer to that question.”
Actually, Dash was kind of glad Custodian couldn’t give an answer to that one, because he was by no means sure he would have been happy with whatever it was. As he walked the halls of the Forge, it became apparent that the galaxy wasn’t just in a state of ancient war—the entirety of the war was tilted against humanity, and he was, in his core, an optimist.
“Fine,” he said. “So let’s try this. What’s this Forge all about? Why does it exist? I was pretty much pushed to come here—”
“You were made aware of the existence of the Forge,” Sentinel said. “But your choice to come here was yours. That fact is crucial, given the context of the Creators’ intentions.”
“Okay, sure. In any case, here I am. Now what?”
"The Forge exists because of the Archetype,” Custodian said. “The Creators built the Forge in order to allow them to construct the Archetype and then provide for its ongoing needs.”
“So this place—all of this enormous station—exists only as the place where the Archetype was built, and then to act like a sort of repair facility to keep it going? That seems like overkill.”
“The Creators’ intent was to develop a number of constructs such as the Archetype, all of which would be operated from this place.”
“Ahh. So where are these other Archetypes?” Dash wondered if that was where this was headed—if there might be four more of them, one intended for each of the others that had accompanied him, and that they’d all been meant to come here. It would be nice, he thought, to start sharing the job of Messenger. Besides, he could imagine Amy just losing her shit over the chance to pilot an Archetype of her very own.
“Only one Archetype was ever constructed.”
That brought Dash’s flight of fancy to a crashing halt. “Only one? Why?”
“I do not possess that information,” Custodian said. “The Creators never saw fit to provide it to me.”
“You don’t know.”
“I believe that is what I just said.”
“You will find,” Sentinel said dryly, “that the Messenger has an almost obsessive need to simplify concepts to an extreme degree.”
“To what end? The ability of the data stream to communicate complex concepts is essentially unlimited.”
“Uh, guys? Much as I’d love to stand around here and listen to you discuss how simple I am, I have a few more questions. If it isn’t too much trouble, that is. It may surprise you that the Messenger is, in fact, capable of nuanced thought. So let’s get on the same page and begin planning how to save the galaxy, shall we?”
Silence followed. Dash took it to mean the two AIs were waiting for him to go on. “So this Forge exists to support the Archetype. What does that mean, exactly? And I’m going to need details within a
context of military applications.” He pointed toward where the Archetype was located with some emphasis. “That is a weapon like no other, and this place is more than just a floating barracks for service techs.”
“The Forge is capable of performing any necessary repairs that the Archetype may require,” Custodian replied. “Because the original intent was to provide for several such constructs, there are, practically speaking, limitless quantities of raw materials available, from which any necessary components may be fabricated.”
“That’s fantastic. It actually took a bit of a beating on the way here, in fact, from missiles that I assume you must have launched at us. Let’s make a note not to do that in the future, shall we?”
“The low-power state of the Forge inhibits efficient operation of its systems. The attack on you was triggered by an automatic failsafe, because of an inability to conclusively identify the Archetype as genuine.”
“Understood,” Dash said. “It’s ancient history now. But it means you can fix it.”
“Yes.”
“Oh—wait. Can you fabricate power cores, too? It would save chasing all over the galactic arm trying to gather them up.”
“No. The fabrication of power cores is not within the current capabilities of the Forge.”
“Okay, I can see where that’s going. Once I’ve found them all, you’ll probably be able to make replacements. But until then, nothing.”
“I cannot say if that is true.”
“Okay, so there are some systemic limitations, but even so, this is far beyond anything humans have ever seen before. Can you fix my ship, too?”