Conflagration 1: Burning Suns

by Lisa Wylie

  The Synergy had evolved from an artificial intelligence constructed millennia ago by the Leviathan and Guardian races, a rare technological collaboration even by the standards of ancient times. The need had arisen in the aftermath of a conflict that had threatened to engulf the galaxy. An alliance of the Ercinean, Templar, Guardian, and Leviathan races had prevailed over their enemy, but not without great cost: the majority of the Guardian population had been wiped out. Lacking the numbers to fulfil the self-appointed duty they viewed as paramount—their stewardship of the galaxy and all its younger races—the Guardians had turned to a technological solution. The resulting artificial intelligence had been seeded with two overriding directives: to watch for the return of the Wraiths, and to safeguard the galaxy against them should they ever seek to invade once more.

  The AI was loaded into ten prototype platforms, each equipped with twenty mechanical surrogates for performing basic physical tasks, but had quickly determined its resources to be insufficient to fulfil its directives and had cannibalized its own platforms to establish a permanent base of operations and a foundry on a metal-rich dwarf planet deep in the outer reaches of the galaxy, close to where the Wraiths had retreated.

  The Legislature were the surviving surrogates, seven of the original two hundred units built to permit the AI to expand its influence beyond its operating platform. Wholly mechanical (organic components had been a much later evolution) and painstakingly maintained, the archaic machines were the first and most direct extension of the AI’s will, the closest the programming came to a physical manifestation of its original self. Each surrogate was wholly autonomous, and each took responsibility for overseeing a different aspect of the core directives. As a result, in spite of sharing the same base programming, they had evolved different sensibilities and different priorities. Each was a unique being, ancient, and imbued with far more knowledge than Kohath’s memory would ever manage to store. Together, they formed the brain of the Synergy, the directing consciousness that ultimately dictated the course of action of every animate assembled by the forgemasters.

  An organic might feel trepidation at being summoned to discourse with beings of such high station. Kohath felt only curiosity as he approached the doors to the Legislature chamber. I present myself as ordered, he transmitted as he reached the closed portal. Unnecessary information, but centuries of living among organics had substantially modified his protocols.

  Welcome, preceptor. The response was immediate. The doors slid open without a sound. Your travels among the other races have granted us much insight. A great deal can be learned from empirical observation of behaviours. Your individual experience, however, is worth as much—or more—than any observed data.

  “Did you bring me here simply to satisfy a curiosity, then?” Kohath asked, deliberately vocalizing the query. While he had no defined plans for his future course of employment, he disliked the notion of wasting time with questions when a data download would suffice.

  No. The voice bore a hint of approval. Enter, Kiith Kohath. Learn why you have been summoned. The Synergy has need of you.

  “I am the Synergy’s to command.” Kohath stepped confidently into the chamber. It was only the third time he had been summoned to this sanctum, but here again, nothing had changed. The walls of the cavernous chamber were lined with server banks stretching from deck to bulkhead, with more hung suspended from gantries overhead, managing the colossal amount of data traffic to and from the Legislature. The legislature platforms themselves were arranged in a circle on a suspended platform—the empty spaces between them bore silent testimony to units lost. Each of them employed a hard-line connection to the server bank mounted above it: wireless point-to-point could not handle the traffic volumes. The mechanicals could disconnect and move around, but they chose to do so very infrequently, and usually only for the benefit of guests from other races who needed to see them as individuals and not part of the mainframe.

  The platform nearest him swivelled what could nominally be considered its head to regard him. Your return is opportune, Kiith Kohath. Why have you come home?

  “The Neomorphs have taken a political decision to pursue a war I do not believe they can win against the Leviathan Giants. As my counsel was no longer being heeded, I elected to terminate my contract with them and seek a new opportunity. It is my intent to undergo maintenance, and then contact my employment broker to seek a new position.”

  What is the nature of the Neomorph grievance?

  “They fear the Giants seek to rob them of territory. Their reaction is irrational and disproportionate, an emotive response rooted in their previous loss of worlds and territory to an enemy.”

  Interesting. The reason for the Neomorph arrival in this galaxy four hundred and ninety-eight years ago has never been satisfactorily elucidated.

  “It is not well understood in the Neomorph community at large. I have never met anyone willing to disclose it. Their leaders keep the truth close, using myths and half-truths to provoke the necessary emotions in their population. Such deception seems short-sighted and foolish; it can only harm them over a longer timescale.”

  These are behaviours that many organic beings share. The friction between the Neomorphs and the Leviathans may be problematic, but that is a matter for the Assembly. We will notify our Guardian allies. We have a more urgent issue to discuss with you. You have noted our proximity to Assembly space?

  “Yes. I surmise that we have been driven sunward by some opponent?”

  By two. The Wraiths are moving again. We have known of this for some time. Our journey sunward was precipitated by their assault on several systems on the rim of the galaxy. We lacked the means to engage them and prevail. They have begun using the Acheron system as a staging post and they are building their strength, slowly, but inexorably.

  “Have you informed the Assembly?”

  We have informed the Guardians. They will act when the time is right. The warning must come to the Assembly from a reliable source, and we are neither liked nor trusted by the organic races, for the most part. Especially given the recent actions of the second of our opponents.

  “The Corrupted,” Kohath reasoned.

  Yes. The Corrupted prepare for war, as we do. However, their methods are as savage and uncompromising as they themselves have become.

  Kohath nodded. The Corrupted, called Reavers by the other races, had evolved from a conflict in the Synergy’s directive to safeguard the galaxy. The Neomorphs, seeking new potential colony worlds, had sent an expedition to the rim, an expedition that had wandered far too close to Wraith-controlled space. Fearing that an invasion of Wraith territory might provoke a backlash, the Legislature had authorized a commando force to capture the Neomorph ship. The Neomorph crew, mistaking the Synergy’s intent, had fought to the last being to prevent the boarding, and sabotaged the ship when they could not prevail, killing everyone aboard along with the thousands of eggs in cryostorage intended to seed the colony.

  The loss of lives had presented a paradox, since the action had resulted in direct harm to those involved, but had protected the wider galaxy. The Legislature, at that time ten strong, had debated to determine an appropriate response. Three units had asserted that the mandate to safeguard implied the right to act, and that in order to fulfil it, any and all means must be considered, even unto causing harm to the other races in order to protect the rest of the galaxy. The remaining seven held a majority consensus that actions taken to safeguard the other races should do them no harm unless unavoidable. This view was encoded as the Legislature’s accord, but the division could not be resolved. The dissenting platforms withdrew from the Synergy, running a series of infiltration programs that rewrote the core directive in one-third of the animates on Korxonthos before the coding could be isolated and cleared. The corrupted platforms had departed en masse, their directives forever altered. Shortly thereafter the first reports of Reavers, brutal and bloodthirsty cyborg pirates preying on the shipping lanes along the Ercinean border,
began to surface. As yet, the Legislature had not disclosed their strategy for dealing with the separation, and each new atrocity drove the wedge of distrust between the cyborgs and the pure organics deeper.

  Kohath swiftly analysed the reports transmitted to him to support the commentary. “They are building an army,” he postulated.

  Yes. Although they know it is futile to engage the Wraiths in a war of numbers. Their true objective remains unclear.

  “And in the meantime they threaten the balance of power within the Assembly.”

  Correct. We fear that they may provoke a conflict with the Assembly before we can determine their goals, weakening all to the benefit of the ancient enemy. The Wraiths have begun to move. They are driving the Corrupted before them. We moved sunward to give them room, but they have begun attacking targets in Assembly space to harvest organic components. It is our responsibility to stop them. You will take the lead in doing so.

  “Me?” Kohath was unable to keep the uncertainty from his reaction.

  You, Kiith Kohath. Bringer of victory, strategos, preceptor. As one who has amassed five hundred years of expertise in applied warfare, one who has walked among every race in this galaxy, your perspective is unique. Your skills and experience make you the ideal conduit through which we may contact and interact with the other races.

  “I am a military tactician, not a diplomat,” Kohath objected.

  You were designed for such special purposes. You and all your fellow preceptors.

  “We are gatherers of knowledge.”

  Do you truly judge that to be sufficient purpose to afford you the degree of self-determination and the capacity for self-improvement that you possess? Such latitude is not lightly granted. In fact, beyond the Legislature itself, such freedoms are granted only to preceptor animates. You were programmed with an additional purpose. Until now, it was not necessary to disclose. In times of watchfulness, you learn and develop, bring unique perspective to the Synergy, share knowledge and insight otherwise denied us. That is a preceptor’s primary role. In times of crisis, however, you become what we can no longer be: instruments of the Synergy’s will, the manifestation of our core mission.

  Every platform in the Legislature turned their heads to regard him in perfect synchronicity. We have need of your service, Kiith Kohath. You are directed to investigate the activities of the Corrupted. Ascertain their intent, and prevent them from enacting any course of action that will result in the mass loss of organic life. Will you comply?

  Kohath did not even pause to question. “I am the Synergy’s to command,” he repeated. As he spoke, he felt the Legislature’s transmission shift, opening more bandwidth.

  Good. We are providing additional data. The transmission paused briefly, then resumed, with a hint of rebuke. May we suggest you submit your platform for assessment and overhaul? It has been some time since you availed yourself of any advances. You will require optimal performance from your systems.

  “Do you wish me to submit to reprogramming?”

  No. It is unnecessary. We judge that there is no reason to introduce deviations to your current protocols. You were always intended to evolve beyond the parameters of your initial programming.

  “As you wish.”

  We have taken the liberty of appointing two of your counterparts to aid you. They have been recalled from their current assignments, and will rendezvous with you here. You may supplement them with additional resource as you see fit, however their participation in your activities is non-negotiable. Together you will act as a sub-level legislature, coming to a mutual accord on your actions prior to executing them.

  “I would prefer to appoint my own collaborators,” Kohath protested.

  Your preferences are irrelevant. It has been determined that these animates will benefit your mission. Dolos and Praetorius are preceptors, as you are. Their experiences, skills, and perspectives will increase the probability of your success.

  Kohath tilted his head to one side reflexively as the datastream entered his consciousness, acquainting him instantly with the expertise and attributes of his new allies. He nodded, satisfied.

  “Very well. I will seek out Praetorius when I leave you. Has Dolos submitted an estimated arrival time?”

  Dolos expects to be back on Korxonthos in approximately ninety-six standard hours. She is already within tight-band communications range if you wish to contact her.

  “I will wait,” Kohath decided. “I will attend to my maintenance and upgrades first, and then apply myself to this new objective. Is there anything further?”

  Not at this time. You may go, Kiith Kohath, with the Synergy’s thanks.

  ***

  Kohath found Praetorius precisely where he expected; the gladiator was attending to weapons calibrations on a garrison level near the alien docking enclave. In spite of the fact that he already knew his new colleague’s specifications, he took a moment to study the other cyborg’s form and attributes as he approached. Data records could be incomplete, and in Kohath’s experience supplementary detail was never wasted.

  In Praetorius’ case, the data did not adequately describe the reality. The animate was a rare breed among cyborgs, his organics having been recycled from a Guardian. Some of the alien’s armour had been salvaged along with the body, and the forgemasters, recognizing a unique opportunity, had wrought a masterwork. Machine response time, allied with the trained skills of a peerless warrior with centuries of experience, had given rise to a platform that was the pinnacle of close-quarters combat prowess. Where the organic tissue of the head and upper torso had been too decayed to rejuvenate, they had grafted the armour directly over the cybernetics that had granted new life, seamlessly incorporating the ornate, platinum-chased titanium into his body. His head was encased entirely in the full face, swept-wing helmet he had worn in his previous life, a thin slit across the visor permitting his ocular implant to interface with his environment. His shoulders, upper chest and left arm were completely armoured, while his abdomen and right arm were bare, displaying the dusky-grey skin and densely packed muscle structure of his organic scaffold. His left forearm was sheathed in a vambrace that mounted no less than six small-bore lasers arranged in a bracelet around his wrist. His right shoulder mounted a high-intensity laser cannon, and both weapons systems responded to synaptic commands—he merely had to think to direct them. His lower body had been intact upon recovery, but the armour had been grafted on nonetheless to provide a counterbalance to the increased weight of his massively reinforced and armoured upper body.

  As Kohath approached, Praetorius looked around, and dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Greetings, Kiith Kohath. I am given to understand that you prefer audio data exchange.”

  “It is simply that, a preference evolved from centuries spent among organics. I do not ask that you adhere to it. I am happy to receive point-to-point transmission.”

  “If we are to travel beyond Korxonthos, it would be appropriate to acclimate to alien expectations,” Praetorius noted. “We shall converse as pure organics do, the better to prepare me. It has been some time since I left Korxonthos.”

  Kohath smiled wryly. “It has been some time since I have set foot here.”

  “Then it would seem prudent to defer to your judgement on the matter, and I will abide by your preference.”

  “As you wish.” Kohath fell into step with the gladiator. “Have you any first-hand knowledge of our companion to be?”

  “I do,” Praetorius affirmed. “I have undertaken several missions with Dolos in the past, and each one was executed flawlessly. She will be a great asset in achieving our objective.” The gladiator canted his head to one side. “We face a significant challenge, do we not?”

  “We do,” Kohath agreed. He considered it for a moment. “But one learns little from a task too easily accomplished.”

  Praetorius nodded. “Indeed. I expect, in that case, that this mission will teach us much.”

  “I hope so, Praetorius. I hope so.”
<
br />   JENNIFER

  Berlin, Earth, Modeus System, Assembly Space

  Jennifer came to slowly, lying flat on her back on something hard, cold, and lumpy. Her left shoulder throbbed with pain in synch with the dull pounding in the back of her skull.

  “About time you came round,” a vaguely familiar voice observed from the other side of the room. “I was getting a little worried.”

  Jen opened her eyes gingerly, squinting against the glare of the fluorescent lighting. Tipping her head towards the voice, she made out a fuzzy blob of black topped with purple. As her vision cleared a little more, she let out a relieved sigh. “Wai-Mei,” she identified her companion, voice rasping against her dry throat.

  “The one and only.” The thief loomed above her momentarily, then settled to perch on the side of the bunk. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like hammered shit,” Jen confessed.

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  “I’m a little fuzzy on the details.” She rubbed at her eyes, causing the ache in her shoulder to flare. “Ugh. Did I take a round?”

  “Yeah. Luckily, it was just a concussion round,” Wai-Mei explained with a nod. “Dropped you like a sack of potatoes. And you hit your head pretty hard on the way down; the attending medical tech thought you might have cracked your skull.”

  Jen reached reflexively for the back of her head, freezing as the recollection of Thud’s death hit her square behind the eyes. “Fuck,” she whispered as she remembered the puff of red as the bullet had burst from his skull, relived the sensation of his warm, thick blood splattering all over her.

  Nausea swept through her. She sat up, but the movement made the room spin crazily, redoubling the sick sensation. She clapped her hand to her mouth as her stomach heaved. “Easy,” Wai-Mei soothed, catching her round the shoulders. Another spasm gripped her, and this time she vomited with an explosive cough. Wai-Mei braced her as a third heave ensued, but there was nothing to bring up except bile, the acrid, caustic fluid burning her throat and mouth as she coughed and spat to try and clear it.