Accessing Thoth’s internal keyring, I began running the algorithms I had onboard courtesy of Erebus Industries. They were still up to date for now, but it was only a matter of time. There was little doubt that Erebus, knowing of my existence, was quietly scrambling to lock me out of what he could of his systems. In reality, he couldn’t keep me out of his networks. I was designed to function and communicate with computers as a fellow program, giving me a latitude and level of access your average end user couldn’t even dream of, but that didn’t mean I could magically decrypt files.
Case in point. Try as I might, nothing was working to crack open Daedalus. Soon enough, I realized why. The encryption had Central Command’s fingerprints all over it, completely different security measures from Erebus Industries. I didn’t have the needed keys, nor the available resources to easily crack it.
It was a setback, but I wasn’t out of the game yet. Umbra remained, and proved to be an entirely different story.
The file yielded to my queries effortlessly, and, thanks to a few quickly written macros, the translation protocol kicked in automatically.
Twenty minutes passed as I processed the initial files. It quickly became clear as to why it was so easy to access the file. It was essentially my own, and it was telling a fascinating story, weaving clues to my origin.
Umbra started with Daedalus’ end. From what few references to Daedalus existed in the files I had churned through thus far, a mission failure aboard House Lethine dated June 5th, 2081 caused it to be canceled.
That date… That was the day Charlie died.
There could be no doubt. Charlie’s mission was, or was tied directly to Project Daedalus.
My drive to get into the file went from simple curiosity to attention sucking singularity, but there was nothing I could do. It was well and truly locked. Denied relief, I plunged harder into Umbra, seeking what information I could from there.
While Daedalus was ultimately a failure, it yielded an unexpectedly large amount of data. The fact that Dawkins had inadvertently disabled a Mendian house ship had gotten the attention of the highest levels of command.
Quickly and quietly, Earth First got out of the way of Ambassador Dawkins as the project was put into full effect.
The information was revelatory, but not altogether earth shattering, and mysteriously, there was no mention yet of the Ascension Protocol. The process was originally designed to be passive, using a clever application of Link technology to download chunks of Dawkins’ memories.
It only raised more questions. How did Erebus Industries know anything about the Link, and why, with their connections to Earth First, would they ever hide it? It was the perfect advantage to exploit.
Every answer led to more questions, which engendered a feeling of desperation. This was supposed to be the moment, not a treadmill to run upon.
Why would they give up an advantage that could destroy the Treaty of Gates, wasn't that their objective?
That wasn't fully correct was it? Their mission was to see Earth as ascendant, dominant and powerful. Earth First. It was in the name.
Project Umbra. That had to be the answer; everything pulled back at that moment, and they played along… because it was working to their advantage. Where Daedalus had been a failure, Project Umbra was working exactly as planned. Through the Link, there was an advantage that could always be played later; they had what Charlie had died for. Access to the Mendian network, and some access to their technology.
Erebus was playing a very long game. Four months into the project, the passive monitoring had yielded its maximum results and he began looking to expand the program with Thoth. At the six month mark, I found the first reference point to the Ascension Protocol.
I had hardly heard his name up until a few weeks ago, outside of occasional news reports, and his corporation's name. Now it was becoming clear he was at the center of a very deep and very wide-ranging operation that put him secretly at the heights of leadership of Earth First, and the shadowy organization known as the Paladins, that I only barely understood.
Whoever they were, they were under his direct command, whether they knew it or not.
His idea was simple, and brilliant. Thanks to the success of Project Umbra, their understanding of the Mendian Link technology was greatly enhanced. Erebus Industries quietly patented the process, and then the UEA promptly classified them, keeping them off the books, working in joint partnership. After all, their corporation was so closely tied to the UEA through the military-industrial complex that they were essentially organs in the same body.
Since measures were already in place for Dawkins with Project Umbra, she was fast tracked for the prototype. Erebus used his growing access to my predecessor to slowly test elements of the Ascension Protocol, focusing mainly not on its disguise as an assistive technology, but its true and most sinister purpose. Control.
What happened to my predecessor was born out of curiosity and the potential of taking it as far as it could possibly go.
They had learned much from their intrusions. Not only did it turn every morphic infected with it into a walking surveillance point, it also gave what the files called “corrective control” of the subject.
I found the example in my personal files from Dawkins. The whispers of thought, in hindsight were clear to see.
You don't need a doctor. You can Trust Erebus Industries. You're only hope is in surrender.
The subconscious thoughts, the half formed, half said near statements that dance across the brain, the memories themselves. The Ascension Protocol was their conductor, manipulating the choir that surrounded consciousness, and thus controlling the tune.
It was all, quickly becoming clear it was the prototype for a takeover. The UEA and Erebus Industries had found their way. They had weaponized the Link; Project Umbra, was the testbed for the Ascension Protocol, a prototype and proof of concept for the enslavement of an entire civilization.
It was as brilliant as it was sinister, especially given that the UEA had made the protocol mandatory for all colonial citizens, effectively routing any future serious attempts at their independence movement.
It was their greed that had led to my genesis. The prototype Ascensions Protocol built for Dawkins wasn't just about her control, but about using her to exploit and access the Mendian networks, going so far as to corrupt the shifting technology that had initially set her free, to make her a better bug, creating a home for Thoth in the process, all the while acting like a choking vine, ensuring her eventual death.
I shut down the construct and pulled out of my inner space, breathless and near shock. Jill was asleep in the com chair, and a quick check of my internal clock told me why; five hours and three minutes had passed. Still, in that moment I could find little concerns for her needs to regenerate.
“Jill, wake up. You have to wake up, we have a serious problem,” I ordered, shaking her chair.
Stiffly, her processes came online and she stretched, her form emitting a series of pops.
“Sorry Boss, I drifted there for a moment,” she offered, apologetically.
“We need to talk to Darnack, and Harper, now. It’s an emergency,” I replied.
Chapter 32
Harper was inbound. Darnack was being a Mendian.
“We are already recalling the ships, Shifted One, back to the nest, and have already substantially reduced our contact with the humans. Tell me, how did you come to return to Earth so quickly?” he asked, dismissing the gravity of the situation. It was the same type of optimistic arrogance that had led to my predecessors’ prodigious exploiting of their network for six years.
And they accused the humans of never learning.
Irony.
“Darnack,” I paused choosing my words carefully, and fully ignoring his question, “You don’t understand the gravity of what I am talking about here. This is an immediate threat. You need to accelerate your timetables,” I pushed, he had to get it.
“With respect, Key. Based on a proj
ect file and the possibility such a thing could work on a Mendian? You say it is one of the project goals, but was it tested? Erebus is no Mendian, nor does he have access to one, how then would he have the understanding to make it work for one?” Darnack debated, ever the diplomat, and made an excellent point.
“There is still some of the anxiousness of your predecessor within you, Shifted One,” he scolded, gently through the Link.
“He’s had access to your link for SIX years,” I briefly raised my voice through my vocal processor. “There’s a chance, and given what that could give him. That’s too much. We can’t just leave this here.”
“Shifted One, the humans have no Gates. In a few weeks, the council and our government will cease all contact. Whatever advantage they may have, the window for it is closing. Besides, you discount the extent of the alteration of Dawkins to grant him such control.” Something began to dawn on me as I churned through his words.
He didn’t fully trust me.
Anger flashed. “You would have given this greater credence if Dawkins was standing here. My predecessor was a test bed, the Ascension Protocol was just part of it; and it uses a human counterfeit Link input to regulate thought. It doesn’t require the extensive level augmentation that you think it does. You aren’t listening,” I spat.
“Perhaps, but Dawkins is not standing there as you pointed out in our last meeting, you have supplanted her. Thank you Key, for your concern, we will be careful,” he said, attempting to comfort, yet there were elements of dismissiveness I could not ignore.
I cut off the feed, disgusted.
“I don’t like that look, Key,” Jill said. My ears were down, my right hind paw was trembling.
So this is what anger feels like.
Interesting.
“How, can they be so fucking advanced, and so fucking stupid!” I raged, letting my head thud heavily into a bulkhead.
“Whoa,” Jill exclaimed.
“He blew me off, Jill. He blew me off while I was informing him of the greatest single threat to their society since their fucking star exploded.” I paced back and forth. My paws were tingling, and I’d occasionally jump, my movements twitchy.
I desperately wanted to run, something, find an output for this sudden extra energy and noise in my subroutines.
“Key look…” Jill temporized, trying to stop the cascade.
“He didn’t trust me. I told him the truth and he didn’t trust me.” The anger was hiding something deeper. This hurt.
“Trust is going to be a hard thing for them to do right now,” Jill replied.
Her answer hung in the air, it shocked me. I thought back to my first day, how quickly I had been moved off ship, citing a concern for my safety, but maybe I had it backwards. Maybe he wasn’t ultimately interested in my safety, but his own.
It chilled me, and brought with it an awareness.
He had every reason to be suspicious. Erebus wasn’t the only guilty party. My existence was the culmination of a six year violation of their trust. Even my last act aboard, had been a theft.
My anger died, drowned in guilt, and regret as the edges of my vision pixelated. My processes were running hot; I wasn't designed for this level of emotional throughput and I swooned on my paws some as it all caught up with me.
Something glitched and I lost all track of time.
“Are you ok? You’ve been quiet a while,” Jill asked. Everything suddenly snapped back into place; I was impressively distracted. Ten minutes had passed and I had forgotten she was standing there.
“I honestly don’t know. I think I need to take some time to process. I’m going offline a while,” I said, settling down into an out of the way corner.
“I’ll give you some time,” Jill replied, and left the quarters. I went through my shutdown process, eager for some time away from my own thoughts.
One of the processes hung. My eyes snapped backed open.
I couldn’t get it out of my head, going over the conversation again and again on an endless loop.
Fuck.
If sleep wouldn’t come, distraction would have to do. I had to hop to slap the panel to exit the quarters, and I felt myself grateful in that moment that the Corvaldians didn’t have the same love of closed doors that the humans did. The Zulfiqar was luxuriously open, save for our quarters. On deck, the ship appeared as if in a perpetual state of open house, and various birds of the Corvaldian delegation wandered in and out as they needed to.
It allowed for quick travel and I was easily able to navigate to the Alpha-889; her ramp was down, and much of her systems were still offline from my earlier dive into the files. This was the distraction I was seeking.
It took two hours, twice as long as it had initially, without Jill’s help, owing mainly to the limiting of my dexterity. I was forced to use my teeth a few times to properly align and mount a few of its chips and boards, but it was none the worse for wear. Space tech is notoriously tough for a reason.
With the final physical piece installed, the boot up of the software was a trivial matter, and I found that Harper was thirty-one minutes out, aboard a veritable twin of my own craft.
At least I had more luck with him, than Darnack, recently.
Chapter 33
Aboard the Alpha-889, I was replaying a file from Project Umbra.
Harper was watching in horror.
“Snow, what color is the sky?” Erebus asked. My predecessor was strapped to a table, her eyes open but hazy, occasionally drifting up back into her head.
“Blue. The sky is blue,” she replied. Erebus began typing commands into a terminal, and the image on the screen split, showing a screen with an open terminal window, outputting data.
Ascension Protocol Active flashed across the top of it. Erebus entered data, while Snow drooled on the table. An agonized, half-aware whine escaped from her throat; she was obviously in agony.
“Snow, what color is the sky?” Erebus asked again.
The window lit up, and came alive with activity. Nodes were isolated, processes were rerouted; an explosion of activity bloomed across the window as it filled with text.
She screamed.
“Purple. The sky is purple!” she answered, lapsing back into calm.
“I’m now working for that man,” Harper announced.
I switched the display off. He was bleach white and trembling, and looked as if he was going to be sick.
Jill’s tail twitched, her face a mix of emotions, then she ran out of the room.
It was a fitting way to end my presentation. There was too much to lose to risk a similar conversation to the one I had with Darnack.
Every UEA officer wore a pair of wings as a badge over their chest. Jon’s were gold, denoting his senior rank. Now, he did something curious. He removed them.
“You know, these were supposed to mean something.” He stared at them intently, guiltily.
“They have the meaning you give them. For Erebus, everything is a means to an end, but you have principles, you understand the horror in the ends justifying the means, or you wouldn’t have been sickened by what you just saw,” I replied.
“That was fucking horrific.” His hands trembled and his form was rigid, having none of his easy nature. Then, a look of shock seized him.
“The first three morphic columns...:” he said, distantly, lapsing into thought.
“Already far too late for them, for now. Effectively, the fourth column is the last group of free morphics that exist,” I answered, confirming his worst fears.
“But this is a violation of the UEA charter,” he protested.
“Which the parliament has consistently held- doesn't apply to morphics, and the Farthest Star Act places us all permanently outside of it,” I answered back. “There’s absolutely nothing to stop them.”
“I don’t know what I can do to fix this, but I don’t even recognize the government I’m serving in all of this insanity,” he said, turning his wings over again in his hands. “I will not stand by w
hile sapient people are enslaved. I can’t.” There was a rising fervor in him.
“You don’t have to, but that doesn’t mean going off half-cocked. You have a powerful position; knowing what you know, it’s up to you now to do whatever you can to protect the fourth column. It’s on the both of us to do so, to prevent this evil from spreading, and to start making a home for when we can free the ones in chains.” Dawkins set it up to be a colony side process. They will be inoculated as they disembark.
Harper reached into his pocket and unfolded a paper. I recognized them immediately as official orders.
“Ready for more good news?” he said, as I quickly read over them.
“You're being removed from your current position and reassigned to command a reserve officer fleet from the Excalibur in two weeks under the newly formed UEA Orbital Militia? What the hell is this?” I asked, confused. Harper was an experienced battlefield commander and an excellent administrator. This made no sense.
“A newly created dumping ground for those with attitudes deemed incongruent with the ongoing military ethos post Treaty of Gates. A quiet place on aging ships for careers to die,” he responded as he cradled his head in his hands.
Chancellor Erebus was cleaning house, consolidating power, taking control. Something the world had never seen was potentially lurking in the shadows; a global dictator, with the tools to make his empire almost total.
Ascension Protocol indeed, ascension to power maybe.
“My advice is to take the Excalibur, and staff it with the most loyal people you have, then cash in whatever favors you have left to ensure it’s the Orbital Militia that guards the fourth column,” I offered. It seemed the best plan.
“Aye aye sir, any other orders?” Harper teased, his easy nature suddenly appearing like the first rays of sunshine on a frosted morning.
“They are merely suggestions, if you have a better idea? You’re the one that told me the fleet is mobilizing, so tell me, how much do you think the Earth First led UEA is going to care about the fourth column if things go south out there?” I challenged, it had been a rough day.
Rise of the Forgotten Page 20