by James Murdo
“It was Tracker?”
Yes. It was drawn to Tolren, possibly just as strongly to you too. And myself, I suspect, in its current form. But it was confused. It was probably not long after it had first encountered you as a Galphranx, in its own time trajectory.
“That’s… It can’t be true,” Tolren said.
Time isn’t linear in the Construct.
“I killed it,” Seremend said.
Another rule of the Construct – life cannot be created here. The converse is also true. Life cannot be destroyed.
Tolren put an arm around Seremend in comfort. “How’ve you figured all this out?” Tolren asked.
I’m a Wanderer machine-lect, from a time far beyond your own. I analyse everything. It’s what we do.
“Then how did Tracker overpower you?” Seremend asked. “How did it capture me?”
Unfortunate timing. The fractional differences between both our entries translated into many years, by a Roranian’s reckoning. During that time, I explored, I built this laboratory, I met others who passed through the hatch-points, and I learned. But also, during that time, I realised the copies needed to be sent back. Seremend’s plan had to be achieved.
“My plan?”
The journey you took was a message. I don’t know whether that makes it less real or not, or whether you experienced a parallel journey through time to Tolren, but I can’t be sure it explicitly happened. You played Tolren’s role in your search of the Original to enable me to understand the requirement to create the copies.
“You’re sure?”
As much as I can be about anything here.
“So not much,” Tolren said, and they both smirked.
Suffice to say, the process of creating the copies severely weakened me. That was when Tracker entered, through a different hatch-point – bad luck, you could say. Most of the time the hatch-points don’t work, however Tracker not only passed through, but also found me near-incapacitated on this side. It attacked me. The Galphranx have many intriguing abilities, one of which, as we can all appreciate, is direct consciousness-to-consciousness interaction–
“It attacked you through your mind?” Tolren asked.
“Lect,” Seremend corrected. “A machine mind.”
Yes, and it was a foregone conclusion. I was too weak. Over the years, it managed to subdue me all but completely. Between procuring food and exploring for itself, it would attempt to force its way into my lect to steal scraps of information, to learn from me what it could. Fortunately, it did not understand much – how could it? The Wanderer civilisation is too advanced, and the information was mostly encrypted beyond use.
“How did I wake up?” Seremend asked.
The stasis platform was never supposed to imprison you, and certainly not indefinitely. As a precaution, the platform was designed to wake you up every ten thousand Roranian years.
“I was asleep for ten thousand years?”
In stasis, yes.
“While you were… stuck here? Frozen?”
Waiting.
“What exactly are the Galphranx?” Tolren asked, bewildered. “They’re able to integrate with machine-lects from different civilisations, they can communicate with the consciousness of other species… do you think…”
“What?” Seremend asked, intrigued.
Tolren, if I am correct, is wondering whether the Galphranx are creations of whomever created this Construct. And that is certainly a possibility I have considered. They may be engineered to allow trapped machine-lects to gain the ability to interact with the environment. They’re certainly built to be durable.
“But?” Seremend asked, sensing what the culmination of Ciqalo’s explanation was.
The Galphranx I reside in was affected negatively in the territory of the cyber-shells. There are situations where its body-type made it harder to function. Therefore, I cannot conclude definitively whether or not the Galphranx were created specifically for the Construct.
“Before, you said they’re designed to find machine-lects.”
What I understand from my observations, is that they exist in a quasi-conscious state, and that they seek out integration with machine-lects. They instinctively desire to be changed. As far as I can tell, the machine-lect mind completely supplants whatever is initially there. One of the reasons it took so long for me to gain control over this form is that the backup node contained myself and millions of my algorithmic subordinates – the c-automs. The Galphranx processes took a long time to distinguish these from the main machine-lect, which was myself. Aside from that, they are still a mystery, even to me.
“The main machine-lect?” Tolren said loudly.
Myself and my c-autom crew were stored in the backup node. They are how I was able to send back the copies.
“You sent your crew back?” Seremend asked, adding uncertainly. “The copies were your crew?”
Tolren joined in. “What exactly are the copies?”
They’re impressions of you.
“But they don’t know anything?”
They deserved their own journeys and experiences. I allowed them to start again.
“How did you do it?” Seremend asked.
Using the hatch-points. Evidently, they tend to take you back to the Spires. Each time, I sent an individual c-autom back within a nascent clump of Galphranx matter – as I said, the Galphranx are an intriguing species. The cabin rooms each have food dispenser units, which allowed the c-automs to grow into the copies.
Seremend smiled. “It’s almost simple, when you put it like that.”
“So, you made them all different?” Tolren said.
Unique – yes. As each grew, mutations were allowed within certain parameters. They were all different, yet still copies. Memories of Hope was the only one I made from an impression of Seremend, and with the knowledge of where to go. One to lead the rest. She is the expression of one of my most capable c-automs. And now that Tolren is through, they will all begin to remember.
“Will they come back to you?” Seremend asked.
I’m counting on it.
“Will you wait?” Tolren asked.
Until Memories of Hope returns.
“She’ll be the last,” Seremend said. “Won’t she?”
She will.
“When you said the legend of the Original was self-concocted,” Tolren began. “Did you mean that the copies created it themselves?”
It’s unavoidable when you think about it, given their obvious similarities and connections. And either one makes sense – whether they chose you or Seremend.
“But you made them able to die? Their fuel runs out, and they die.”
Now that you are both here, the condition requiring them to use fuel is removed, as is the condition requiring them to wait in the Inner Layer, clearly. The fuel was designed to give them a finite timespan within the Outer Layer, since I could not be sure how long it would take for both you and Tolren to both pass through to the Inner Layer. It was designed as a measure of mercy, to keep them from hopelessly waiting for an eternity. They do not die, and never did. Nothing can. Those without fuel will now awaken.
“Of course…” Seremend leaned her head back. “And you designed the copies to require biological help to pass through the Spires. In case any came across Tolren, they would help him. The ones that had become… strange… well that’s why I’d developed a dilution agent to deliver into their fuel, reducing its efficacy and depleting them more quickly. I’d offer them some from my own flask and they’d take it thinking it was fuel. But they’d become strange because they weren’t supposed to function correctly when they were together, and without a biological influence.”
Exactly.
“Why haven’t any of the other machine-lects who’ve passed through here ever sent anything back?” Seremend asked. “Tracker told me there were other machine-lects waiting here, unless it was lying – but I don’t see why it would have lied about that. Why wouldn’t they have made their own copies to go back t
o the Spires and the Outer Layer?”
Maybe they have, but do not forget–
“Life cannot be created,” Tolren answered for Ciqalo. He turned to Seremend. “We’ve never seen any children, any young, from any species within the entire Outer Layer or the Spires. Maybe the other machine-lects came alone, without their… c-autom crews. Maybe Ciqalo was lucky.”
“But… I still have so many questions… Why me?” Seremend asked. “Why us? And the hatch-point… Was it all just a story? A fabricated story? There’s nothing special about it after all?”
Everyone follows a path here. This was yours – designed to bring you to the same hatch-point, and back together.
“And what do we do now?” Tolren asked.
Ciqalo led them out, to face the thick silvery rails extending far above.
You explore.
“What about Tracker?”
Leave that to me.
51
FLASHES WAIT
Seremend hugged Tolren, grabbing his head playfully and twisting it to look out the window. Rapid, red frond-like flashes danced about outside, existing for the briefest moments of time before disappearing. Small groups whisked around the energetic displays, darting in and out, some vanishing.
“Where do you think they go?” Seremend whispered.
“Another mystery,” Tolren said, smiling and turning to gaze into her eyes. “They’re taking a chance.”
“You think it’s a deeper part of the Construct?”
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “Perhaps.”
A cool breeze washed over them. They turned to see a long, dark wing brush near them. It was attached to a large creature gliding briskly past, causing others to hurriedly move out of its path.
Seremend smiled. They were in a large, covered space, designed to view the red flashes. Albeit rare reprieves of the paradise they all explored, the ‘flash territories’ were the only repeating territories known in the entire Construct. They solely existed within the Inner Layer and were only sometimes found near the ends of a connection rail. Their purpose was unknown.
A hand landed on Seremend’s shoulder. Tolren’s eyes widened in surprise, and a faint smile traced across his lips. She turned, to see another version of Tolren behind her.
“Seremend, Tolren.” The copy nodded, politely. “Would you…” He gestured along the side wall of the viewing platform. Up ahead, the familiar shape of a Galphranx was settled next to a large transparent window.
They walked towards it. Seremend a half-step in front.
Hello again.
Seremend rushed forwards and threw her arms around it. Once she had let go, Tolren placed a hand briefly against it.
“It’s been so long! How’ve you been?” Seremend asked, breathlessly. “Did they all get through?” She looked for the copy that had led them to Ciqalo, but it was no longer there.
They did, and now they explore the Construct. There is much to see.
“I’m so glad to see you again,” Seremend said. “We’ve so much to tell you.”
And yet, you’re here. Precisely here.
Seremend and Tolren looked around them. “What do you mean?” Tolren asked.
I believe I know what the Construct is.
Seremend and Tolren stared at Ciqalo, in silence.
I’ve had time to think and analyse it. The answers are yours, if you wish.
They looked at each other uneasily. “Why are you here?” Tolren asked.
To help you on your journey, one more time.
“What is this place?” Seremend asked softly. “What’s it all for?”
I believe it’s an artificial repository, outside of and unconstrained by what we understand as normal time. Before my ship was destroyed, long ago, certain signals were detected. Fleeting, and different. I now know that they were from this place – the Construct. Unlike the rest of the galaxy, something protects it from the sensespace. I was sent to investigate.
“Sensespace?” Tolren interrupted.
A scourge that has decimated the galaxy, infecting countless sentients in my time. That is why I am here, to find something that will help us win the war.
“And have you?” Seremend asked.
I’m not sure. But that’s not why I’m here right now.
“What do you mean it’s a repository?” Tolren asked. “What’s it storing?”
Sentience. Life.
“How?”
A sample is all the Construct requires to learn about us. A small selection of each species it comes across. It’s part of why there are disproportionately fewer machine-lects compared to biological sentients. For the most part, machine-lects are the products of biologicals, and have characteristics that are predictable based on their makers, no matter how much we fool ourselves otherwise.
“It’s a prison?” Tolren asked.
Think about it differently. The many, many territories the Construct provides, the adventures, the puzzles and the various paths – they’re designed to draw out responses from you. Those responses are points of information.
“A test, then?”
In a sense. It learns about us all, on an unbelievable scale.
“Why?”
That’s a different question, to which we can only still speculate. But I would assume it’s to ensure the information is stored correctly and kept safe. That’s what repositories are for.
“How do you know it isn’t a prison?” Seremend asked.
Because of where we are.
“We’re in the Construct.”
I’m referring to where we are, right now. Eventually, everything finds its way through, you see.
Seremend and Tolren glanced in confusion at each other. “To where?” Tolren asked.
The red flashes outside were reflected off their bodies.
There are paths which you can choose between, and there are rules that dictate the flow. There is also a final path. We are never truly lost. The hatches and modules allowing for movement within the Spires, the hatch-points in the Outer Layer, they’re all designed to funnel you through. To inspire you to want to move onwards and reach further into the Construct. They’re not random. Like finds like. Eventually, everyone finds who they are supposed to.
“The hatches were never meant to keep us out?”
The opposite.
“They kept Tolren and I from each other, for so long.”
But you found each other, against incalculable odds.
“It took so long.”
What is time, if nothing dies?
“But… why us?” Tolren said, uncertainly. “What makes us so special.”
Every sentient that passes through the Construct has its own, unique path. Perhaps individuals from certain species with an affinity for each other are chosen. Perhaps it’s random.
“Who could build such a place?” Seremend asked.
“The Ascended Biologicals,” Tolren said. “It must be them.”
The Construct does not exist in time or space as we understand it. The builders are very different to the majority of our galactic community – nothing of which, including the Ascended Biologicals, has ever displayed any immunity to the sensespace threat.
“What do you mean?” Tolren asked.
This place represents a convergence of different realities. Spaces and timelines, within a more complex representation of everything than anyone has suspected. Somehow, we’re allowed to bounce between different forms of spacetime, not quite existing within them, but temporarily experiencing them. Impossible mixtures of components that were never supposed to meet. It’s why it’s so rare to come across another species you recognise.
“Different forms of spacetime?” Tolren asked. “You mean different galaxies?”
“Universes,” Seremend said. “You mean universes, don’t you?”
It’s possible.
“Do you know who they are?” Seremend asked. “The builders.”
Ciqalo paused.
I suspect I do.
If my ship hadn’t been destroyed and I had a full copy of my databanks, I could be surer in my conclusions. Still, I believe my conclusions are correct to an acceptably high degree of accuracy.
“But who?” Seremend said.
The Quillians.
“The Quillians!” Tolren exclaimed, laughing at the absurdity. “Are you sure?”
A version of them.
Tolren stopped laughing, as Seremend asked, “Version?”
From another time, or another place.
“Why them?” Tolren asked.
“They were there…” Seremend said quietly. Tolren looked at her. “There are more… so many more than there are supposed to be. From the very beginning, and always. Tolren, they were there beside the small cabin segment of the ship when you first entered it. And mine too… How could we not see it? They’re everywhere – in everyone’s stories… even the devices. Half of the devices we have right now are Quillian! And remember when we saw them in the Spires, at the beginning. Perhaps they weren’t trapped, like us – they were observing us!”
They are attracted to uniqueness. I believe they fixated on you that single time, Seremend, because they saw something of interest. Your path through the Construct intrigued them. Perhaps the Quillians allow us to influence our paths, and they saw something they had not seen before – a new way through. I do not believe it was because of your violent interaction with the early incarnation of Tracker.
Tolren placed his hand on her shoulder.
“It’s fine,” she said to him. “That was long ago.” She looked squarely at Ciqalo. “What now?”
That is what I am here to tell you. You see, in order for such a place to exist, we must have the choice to leave. In fact, I believe it’s a requirement. The rule of the flow. Nothing remains here forever, because it cannot. In the same way that a gravitational singularity eventually bleeds out any information it consumes, radiating it back to the universe, we must have an exit.
“We can leave?” Seremend asked.
The flashes of red from across the boundary continued to dance across their bodies.
The drive onwards, into the Construct, is eventually what frees you from it.