Post by EmperorMyric on Dec 16, 2017 19:59:59 GMT
“We are never deceived; we deceive ourselves.”
--Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
--oOo—
SOMEWHERE GALACTIC NORTHEAST OF THE GOLDEN EXPANSE
“Estimated border crossings will begin occurring in two weeks; we’ll have the second wave deployed by the end of this standard week.” The special overseer reported to Wythen, as he elaborated upon the details of a ghostly map levitating in the center of the cartography chamber. “As of ten minutes ago, Temporal Overseer Eischa’s sensory reports confirm that we are, as we have been for these last three days, utterly alone out here; and there is no sign of temporal countermeasures being implemented in any relation to us up to a week from now.”
“If they cross the border in two weeks, how long before they release payloads?” Wythen enquired, his tightly cropped hair and chiseled physique giving him a defining outline against the glowing blue map opposite him. “In short, when are they going to realize what’s going on?”
“I would posit at this point that their attention is focused predominantly on the Celestial Eye system the Spartans installed. It’s still undergoing its activation sequence, but it’s only going to get louder as technical feedback is incorporated.” Eischa commented carefully. “Either that or they just don’t care yet.”
Wythen paused. “Why wouldn’t they care?”
Silence filled the room for a brief moment, before Eischa shrugged it off as a passing thing. “Either they’re entirely undisturbed, or they’ve come to terms with what is about to happen to them quite admirably.”
Wythen’s face contorted into a strangely confused mask, almost a parody of a face more than a face itself. “I would have to say I imagine they would care, given what it’s going to do to their civilization. You’ve confirmed that the first wave payloads will reach their destination, correct?”
Eischa nodded. “Checks are underway, yes. So far, at least two of the six devices successfully make contact with their targets in SSC territory. I can also report no premature releases or anomalous timelines, but I am still conducting temporal surveys on the ultimate—“
“But at least a third of these devices release payload on target?” Wythen repeats. Eischa nods.
“Confirmed and reconfirmed. I’m anticipating full success, but such anticipations require a degree of precision.”
“But if there are at least two outbreaks, why wouldn’t they already be moving to prevent the launches?” Wythen’s voice faded out as he answered his own question. It would have been an entirely pointless, inane question had it come from the mouth of any other race, but the answer was this: the SSC didn’t know it was coming.
This, of course, ran against everything the Ascendancy suspected of the SSC. They had after all demonstrated comprehensive temporal adeptness given the jamming. But if they were that adept, that well versed in the movement of time, would they not be trying to prevent the devastation that was now moving so inexorably towards them?
“They’ve demonstrated comprehensive sensory techniques in the past, higher than we have allowed indigenous races to acquire.” Eischa said with a frown, not agreeing with the unspoken but logical conclusion that Wythen had come upon. “The predominant theory at present is that they’re tracking particle displacement across multiple planes, which would indicate—“
“This indicates more, I think.” The Prime Shipmaster said as he tapped an imaginary point on the holographic display. “If they could see the future, they’d be scrambling now. We’d be seeing hostiles coming over the hill days ago.” Wythen shifted his jaw as he looked over the assembled overseers. “I think we may have given them more credit than they deserved.” Without another word, Wythen spun around on his heels and was moving out of the cartography chamber and back to the bridge. “Mobilize the fleet and begin proceeding towards the new launch position. Preferably somewhere with a view.”
--oOo—
“Your passport please?” The disembarking clerk asked cordially, and the well dressed man obliged her with an equally cordial smile.
“Lovely weather you have here.” He lied, as ash fell outside the window. Admittedly, the weather was improving remarkably; ash fall had been steadily declining over the two years since Exceion had been subjected to the vicious surprise attack which had triggered the Quiet Wars. Still, a thin grey haze coated the window, and the clerk looked back at him skeptically.
“I’m afraid,” she said gently, “that if you’ve come here to enjoy the luxuries of planetside living, you’ll be rudely disappointed.” Her voice was low, as her supervisor would scold her surely for speaking ill of this planet; tourism had dropped off dramatically in the wake of the Immortal Empire’s raid, and quite frankly she was in the process of saving money to move onto greener pastures herself. “Well Mister Birch,” she added, “I’m just going to have to check the carry on if you please.”
Mr. Birch nodded amicably, and set the briefcase onto the table. With deft fingers, he spun the locks into the correct number for this occasion, and then turned the still closed briefcase towards the attendant. “Business papers, laundered money, illegal drugs,” Birch stated soothingly, causing a brief chuckle from the attendant. “Just the usual really.”
The attendant corrected her laughter into a stern face as she opened the case. Birch could hear her rustling through the papers briefly, searching for secret compartments in which the laundered money and illegal drugs surely resided. Of course, in this form at least the briefcase was just a thing of papers.
“Everything seems to be in order Mister Birch.” The attendant said finally, as she closed the case and reestablished the latches that kept what it contained safely sealed away from the outside world. “Welcome to InSulas XIII.”
Outside, Mr. Birch hailed a cab, and move through the pale grey world towards the downtown area. He, and the people who’d sent him here, could afford to set him up quite comfortably.
--oOo—
INSULAS XII, EXCEION SYSTEM
“I take it the equipment is operating properly?” Yashimota enquired politely, and after a moment of lag the woman’s holographic form answered much as he would have hoped she would have.
“Quite properly. We’re still functioning at less than five percent power though, as the technicians you left with us have taken to tinkering with a set of transcendent-capacitor relays.” The uniformed woman was slightly pixelated by the incredible distance between them, but not to any impairment; rather Yashimota thought of it as a testament to the capacities of men when money and technology could come together. It was an almost tangible reminder of what could be built with one’s own two hands.
“They tell me it will be resolved by the end of the night, and then we will resume the charge up sequence.” Field Inspector Leslane added after another moment’s pause. “I do question the integrity of those capacitors though as they appeared to fry at five percent capacity. I take it the warranties Halcyon Dynamics provided are still applicable?”
In point of fact, they weren’t, and more importantly both Leslane and Yashimota knew it. The very reason these particular transcendent capacitor relays had burned out was that only one of the thirty two Celestial Eye stations had been active at the time, as a trouble shooting test more than anything else. Unfortunately, when power reserves intended to power a thirty two point broadcast relay were focused through only two of the sixty four capacitors, physics took its course on them.
But more importantly, Leslane was playing a hunch. She knew from her cultural experiences that the neo-orientals disliked above all else impugning one’s honour, or even drawing attention to disagreements. So even while on technicality the warranty was not covered as the capacitors had been rather egregiously abused, she was going to see what Yashimota would do in this situation.
More importantly, he did exactly what she thought he would do.
“I shall see to it personally that replacement components are transferred at no further charge.” Yashimota replied politely, as he watched his aide silently enter the room and retrieve the last of his luggage. Looking briefly away from the projection, Yashimota retrieved a flat, flexible metal strip from inside his jacket, and slapped it over his wrist. The band conformed to proper shape, and with only a moment’s pause the bracelet took over reception of the long distance communication; a scaled down version of Field Inspector Alice Leslane hovered next to his wrist as Yashimota rose from his seat.
“Your accommodation does us a great service, Mr. Yashimota. Halcyon Dynamics has greatly impressed us all with their work ethic and their dedication to the Celestial Eye project. It will be noted in my report.” Leslane smiled at both the truth of that statement as well as the knowledge that even in the slightest of ways she could squeeze more out of him than he wished.
“It is an honour,” Yashimota repeated through a slightly forced smile as he passed the aide and slipped into his private elevator to the roof, “to be of service.” The door closed, and he and the aide rose up towards the landing pad on the roof. From there, he would board a private shuttle, which would take him out above Insulas XIII and allow him to rendezvous with a Halcyon Dynamics freighter bound for Obcasio. The CEO’s office had only hours earlier sent him an urgent request that he proceed there to assist in assessing a presently undisclosed market opportunity; and as the CEO’s office of Halcyon Dynamics so rarely addressed anyone, he was keen to follow through with their desires.
In his absence, his apartment was silent. The collection of katanas on the wall gathered no dust, for the room was carefully sealed and filtered; Yashimota had personally overseen the filtration system’s installation after the Exceion massacre had left so many feet of ash covering all things outside. Ash seeped. It crept in through cracked windows and above most other things Yashimota had a distaste for dust. So the room was clean.
The antique tea set sat silently on its shelf, and so silently sat the other little artifacts of Yashimota’s career. He was a successful man, confident in the security of his world.
--oOo--
Five minutes later, following only the briefest of moments spent compromising what was well established as perhaps the most secure flat in the building, Mr. Birch walked through the front door. The door slid closed behind him, and the computer quickly began to speak.
“Mr. Yashimota, I’m afraid you’ll be late for your flight if you do not hurry.” The flat’s AI warned pleasantly, as Birch quickly moved towards the central control tower between the kitchen and the living room. “Should I call for them to delay the shuttle Mr. Yashimota?”
He was halfway through deactivating the AI before it began to sound suspicious.
“Mr. Yashimota, are you alright? I have not heard you speak since you returned. I’m afraid you’re going to miss your shuttttttttttttllllllllleeeeeeeee—“ and then with a brief squeak, the AI shut down. Mr. Birch smiled with polite contentment, before he set his briefcase down on the coffee table. He spun the dials now to open it, but differently; the number he was putting in was not the same as the number he had used to open it for the customs official. It was a bit of very useful magic.
The briefcase itself never changed, but its contents did; it was more of a door than a box really, albeit a door far too small for most anything to fit through. Within the confines of its four walls were a rather substantial number of pocket universes, though only three really mattered here. For 996 of the 999 combinations possible, the case would not open at all. Locks, as it turns out, tend to require a specific formula in order to facilitate their cooperation.
One particular combination opened the briefcase and revealed stacks of papers. But the remaining two combinations did strange, strange things. Mr. Birch retrieved an encrypted communication module from the briefcase, and opened it gently, plugging in the right numbers left and right, before stepping out on the patio.
There was no view from back there. He could see the closest rooftops clearly enough, but the ash had reduced visibility dramatically. Still, as he listened to the telephone ringing, he knew precisely where the capitol building would have been, should it have been visible.
But like many things at this moment, it was unseen.
--Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
--oOo—
SOMEWHERE GALACTIC NORTHEAST OF THE GOLDEN EXPANSE
“Estimated border crossings will begin occurring in two weeks; we’ll have the second wave deployed by the end of this standard week.” The special overseer reported to Wythen, as he elaborated upon the details of a ghostly map levitating in the center of the cartography chamber. “As of ten minutes ago, Temporal Overseer Eischa’s sensory reports confirm that we are, as we have been for these last three days, utterly alone out here; and there is no sign of temporal countermeasures being implemented in any relation to us up to a week from now.”
“If they cross the border in two weeks, how long before they release payloads?” Wythen enquired, his tightly cropped hair and chiseled physique giving him a defining outline against the glowing blue map opposite him. “In short, when are they going to realize what’s going on?”
“I would posit at this point that their attention is focused predominantly on the Celestial Eye system the Spartans installed. It’s still undergoing its activation sequence, but it’s only going to get louder as technical feedback is incorporated.” Eischa commented carefully. “Either that or they just don’t care yet.”
Wythen paused. “Why wouldn’t they care?”
Silence filled the room for a brief moment, before Eischa shrugged it off as a passing thing. “Either they’re entirely undisturbed, or they’ve come to terms with what is about to happen to them quite admirably.”
Wythen’s face contorted into a strangely confused mask, almost a parody of a face more than a face itself. “I would have to say I imagine they would care, given what it’s going to do to their civilization. You’ve confirmed that the first wave payloads will reach their destination, correct?”
Eischa nodded. “Checks are underway, yes. So far, at least two of the six devices successfully make contact with their targets in SSC territory. I can also report no premature releases or anomalous timelines, but I am still conducting temporal surveys on the ultimate—“
“But at least a third of these devices release payload on target?” Wythen repeats. Eischa nods.
“Confirmed and reconfirmed. I’m anticipating full success, but such anticipations require a degree of precision.”
“But if there are at least two outbreaks, why wouldn’t they already be moving to prevent the launches?” Wythen’s voice faded out as he answered his own question. It would have been an entirely pointless, inane question had it come from the mouth of any other race, but the answer was this: the SSC didn’t know it was coming.
This, of course, ran against everything the Ascendancy suspected of the SSC. They had after all demonstrated comprehensive temporal adeptness given the jamming. But if they were that adept, that well versed in the movement of time, would they not be trying to prevent the devastation that was now moving so inexorably towards them?
“They’ve demonstrated comprehensive sensory techniques in the past, higher than we have allowed indigenous races to acquire.” Eischa said with a frown, not agreeing with the unspoken but logical conclusion that Wythen had come upon. “The predominant theory at present is that they’re tracking particle displacement across multiple planes, which would indicate—“
“This indicates more, I think.” The Prime Shipmaster said as he tapped an imaginary point on the holographic display. “If they could see the future, they’d be scrambling now. We’d be seeing hostiles coming over the hill days ago.” Wythen shifted his jaw as he looked over the assembled overseers. “I think we may have given them more credit than they deserved.” Without another word, Wythen spun around on his heels and was moving out of the cartography chamber and back to the bridge. “Mobilize the fleet and begin proceeding towards the new launch position. Preferably somewhere with a view.”
--oOo—
“Your passport please?” The disembarking clerk asked cordially, and the well dressed man obliged her with an equally cordial smile.
“Lovely weather you have here.” He lied, as ash fell outside the window. Admittedly, the weather was improving remarkably; ash fall had been steadily declining over the two years since Exceion had been subjected to the vicious surprise attack which had triggered the Quiet Wars. Still, a thin grey haze coated the window, and the clerk looked back at him skeptically.
“I’m afraid,” she said gently, “that if you’ve come here to enjoy the luxuries of planetside living, you’ll be rudely disappointed.” Her voice was low, as her supervisor would scold her surely for speaking ill of this planet; tourism had dropped off dramatically in the wake of the Immortal Empire’s raid, and quite frankly she was in the process of saving money to move onto greener pastures herself. “Well Mister Birch,” she added, “I’m just going to have to check the carry on if you please.”
Mr. Birch nodded amicably, and set the briefcase onto the table. With deft fingers, he spun the locks into the correct number for this occasion, and then turned the still closed briefcase towards the attendant. “Business papers, laundered money, illegal drugs,” Birch stated soothingly, causing a brief chuckle from the attendant. “Just the usual really.”
The attendant corrected her laughter into a stern face as she opened the case. Birch could hear her rustling through the papers briefly, searching for secret compartments in which the laundered money and illegal drugs surely resided. Of course, in this form at least the briefcase was just a thing of papers.
“Everything seems to be in order Mister Birch.” The attendant said finally, as she closed the case and reestablished the latches that kept what it contained safely sealed away from the outside world. “Welcome to InSulas XIII.”
Outside, Mr. Birch hailed a cab, and move through the pale grey world towards the downtown area. He, and the people who’d sent him here, could afford to set him up quite comfortably.
--oOo—
INSULAS XII, EXCEION SYSTEM
“I take it the equipment is operating properly?” Yashimota enquired politely, and after a moment of lag the woman’s holographic form answered much as he would have hoped she would have.
“Quite properly. We’re still functioning at less than five percent power though, as the technicians you left with us have taken to tinkering with a set of transcendent-capacitor relays.” The uniformed woman was slightly pixelated by the incredible distance between them, but not to any impairment; rather Yashimota thought of it as a testament to the capacities of men when money and technology could come together. It was an almost tangible reminder of what could be built with one’s own two hands.
“They tell me it will be resolved by the end of the night, and then we will resume the charge up sequence.” Field Inspector Leslane added after another moment’s pause. “I do question the integrity of those capacitors though as they appeared to fry at five percent capacity. I take it the warranties Halcyon Dynamics provided are still applicable?”
In point of fact, they weren’t, and more importantly both Leslane and Yashimota knew it. The very reason these particular transcendent capacitor relays had burned out was that only one of the thirty two Celestial Eye stations had been active at the time, as a trouble shooting test more than anything else. Unfortunately, when power reserves intended to power a thirty two point broadcast relay were focused through only two of the sixty four capacitors, physics took its course on them.
But more importantly, Leslane was playing a hunch. She knew from her cultural experiences that the neo-orientals disliked above all else impugning one’s honour, or even drawing attention to disagreements. So even while on technicality the warranty was not covered as the capacitors had been rather egregiously abused, she was going to see what Yashimota would do in this situation.
More importantly, he did exactly what she thought he would do.
“I shall see to it personally that replacement components are transferred at no further charge.” Yashimota replied politely, as he watched his aide silently enter the room and retrieve the last of his luggage. Looking briefly away from the projection, Yashimota retrieved a flat, flexible metal strip from inside his jacket, and slapped it over his wrist. The band conformed to proper shape, and with only a moment’s pause the bracelet took over reception of the long distance communication; a scaled down version of Field Inspector Alice Leslane hovered next to his wrist as Yashimota rose from his seat.
“Your accommodation does us a great service, Mr. Yashimota. Halcyon Dynamics has greatly impressed us all with their work ethic and their dedication to the Celestial Eye project. It will be noted in my report.” Leslane smiled at both the truth of that statement as well as the knowledge that even in the slightest of ways she could squeeze more out of him than he wished.
“It is an honour,” Yashimota repeated through a slightly forced smile as he passed the aide and slipped into his private elevator to the roof, “to be of service.” The door closed, and he and the aide rose up towards the landing pad on the roof. From there, he would board a private shuttle, which would take him out above Insulas XIII and allow him to rendezvous with a Halcyon Dynamics freighter bound for Obcasio. The CEO’s office had only hours earlier sent him an urgent request that he proceed there to assist in assessing a presently undisclosed market opportunity; and as the CEO’s office of Halcyon Dynamics so rarely addressed anyone, he was keen to follow through with their desires.
In his absence, his apartment was silent. The collection of katanas on the wall gathered no dust, for the room was carefully sealed and filtered; Yashimota had personally overseen the filtration system’s installation after the Exceion massacre had left so many feet of ash covering all things outside. Ash seeped. It crept in through cracked windows and above most other things Yashimota had a distaste for dust. So the room was clean.
The antique tea set sat silently on its shelf, and so silently sat the other little artifacts of Yashimota’s career. He was a successful man, confident in the security of his world.
--oOo--
Five minutes later, following only the briefest of moments spent compromising what was well established as perhaps the most secure flat in the building, Mr. Birch walked through the front door. The door slid closed behind him, and the computer quickly began to speak.
“Mr. Yashimota, I’m afraid you’ll be late for your flight if you do not hurry.” The flat’s AI warned pleasantly, as Birch quickly moved towards the central control tower between the kitchen and the living room. “Should I call for them to delay the shuttle Mr. Yashimota?”
He was halfway through deactivating the AI before it began to sound suspicious.
“Mr. Yashimota, are you alright? I have not heard you speak since you returned. I’m afraid you’re going to miss your shuttttttttttttllllllllleeeeeeeee—“ and then with a brief squeak, the AI shut down. Mr. Birch smiled with polite contentment, before he set his briefcase down on the coffee table. He spun the dials now to open it, but differently; the number he was putting in was not the same as the number he had used to open it for the customs official. It was a bit of very useful magic.
The briefcase itself never changed, but its contents did; it was more of a door than a box really, albeit a door far too small for most anything to fit through. Within the confines of its four walls were a rather substantial number of pocket universes, though only three really mattered here. For 996 of the 999 combinations possible, the case would not open at all. Locks, as it turns out, tend to require a specific formula in order to facilitate their cooperation.
One particular combination opened the briefcase and revealed stacks of papers. But the remaining two combinations did strange, strange things. Mr. Birch retrieved an encrypted communication module from the briefcase, and opened it gently, plugging in the right numbers left and right, before stepping out on the patio.
There was no view from back there. He could see the closest rooftops clearly enough, but the ash had reduced visibility dramatically. Still, as he listened to the telephone ringing, he knew precisely where the capitol building would have been, should it have been visible.
But like many things at this moment, it was unseen.