999 OCTILLION SOULS, May 15, 2024
I FLIGHT
Start here:
Previous:
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE:The following information is derived from Information Seed 40 and received by the Gravitational Wave Observatory. I and AI performed a frequency analysis on it. IE edited certain parts to make them more 'readable'. (He might have overdone it.) Please feel free to comment.7
Legume grimaced, leaving the sterile white corridor. The stench that greeted her wasn't the acrid tang of recycled air she'd grown accustomed to, but something altogether more pungent and unsettling. Suppressing a gag, she ushered Charlotte past the holographic sign that flickered between a male and female dwarf icon, both rendered in a vaguely unsettling, featureless style. PRAISE THE GRAND EMPEROR, a hologram said. A holographic St. Trillian watched the two hermaphrodites from a corner too. Posters informed the public about recent viral outbreaks.
Inside, the harsh fluorescent lights cast the cramped stalls in a sickly glow. Legume wrinkled her nose. The metal floor was cold and slick with what she hoped wasn't spilled sanitation fluid. A single, rusty disposal unit sat in the corner, its chrome finish dulled with neglect.
de_tech_G: no surprises there
luo_ji: nanobots could have been useful
Legume set down her red bag and knelt beside Charlotte, who clutched her threadbare blanket tighter, her large eyes wide with apprehension. " ‘ere, sweet," Legume murmured, her voice a low rumble. " ‘old." She pressed a small, tightly sealed pouch into Charlotte's hand.
The privacy partition barely reached Legume's chest, offering little sense of seclusion. She used her cloak to shield Charlotte further, the worn fabric a meager barrier against the sights and sounds emanating from the adjoining stalls. Each cough, each muttered curse in different languages, was amplified in the confined space.
Legume finished quickly, the harsh clang of the disposal unit echoing like a gunshot in the small space. As she washed her hands, a thin, grey soap dispensed from a dispenser that sputtered and groaned in protest. She dried them on a single, scratchy paper towel, the flimsy sheet disintegrating in her grip.
Leading Charlotte out, Legume scanned the restroom. A lone pale figure, hunched and cloaked, lurked in the corner, their face obscured by shadow. A vampire. Legume instinctively pulled Charlotte closer, her hand hovering near the concealed dagger strapped to her thigh. Vampires were a mystery. For eons, people tried to discover whether vampires were aliens, engineered beings, or mutated humans. Sunlight hurt them to a degree; they didn’t eat but drank animal blood (not human), but otherwise, vampires were not that interesting.
doc_T: veered off into fantasy again
translator: why can’t these creatures exist?
doc_T: how likely is it?
IE: we’ll ask AI to write you an analysis
With a forced smile, she knelt before Charlotte. " ‘K, C," she said, her voice a reassuring murmur. "Let's clean ya, then find a place to rest."
A hologram of a smiling Cheshire cat appeared out of nowhere. “If it isn’t my favorite hobbit.”
uk_gwo5: that’s the Computer from Earth, right?
ru_mikhail: or twin
“Not a hobbit,” Legume said.
“I apologize. I thought everyone used that word.”
cap_mal: is it an insult? never called anyone a hobbit
us_gwo: it’s not that bad
Legume shrugged. “What is it? Why ya wanna speak to me?”
“You know why, Navigator.”
The memory hit Legume like a wild relativistic drone.
otavio_br: the relativistic part is too much
builder_7: she would be dead if it was relativistic
8
Legume blinked, momentarily blinded by the sudden shift from the sterile corridor lights to the opulent chaos of Baron Mayor Drel's office. The recycled air of Habitat 67 in Subgroup 60, Group 81, Subcluster 56, Cluster 87, and Subsector 4 was thick with the cloying scent of some alien floral extract and a more pungent undercurrent of stale alcohol.
hatmaker_H: what is a subcluster
IE: habitats are organized in subgroups, groups, subclusters, clusters, subsectors, and sectors
The room was a riot of mismatched styles. Gleaming chrome furniture clashed with plush, moss-green carpets woven in an unfamiliar pattern. A holographic fireplace flickered on one wall, casting an orange glow on a collection of ornately carved figurines that Legume recognized (from countless holographic documentaries) as belonging to a pre-Dyson era civilization.
cosmos_boss: like ourselves, pre-Dyson means pre-historic to them
Baron Mayor Drel was a curious sight. A dwarf, his hands rested on the edge of a massive, antique-looking desk that dwarfed him. Despite his advanced age, evident in the spidery network of wrinkles etched on his skin, he sat with a surprising posture of authority. Though shorter than a human, he towered over Legume, his black eyes glinting with something akin to amusement.
prof_sparky: were the dwarves engineered like the giants
translator: apparently, yes humanity vanished and was resurrected by unknown entities
us_gwo: dwarves aren’t human. at least in LOTR, they ain’t
translator: IS40 claims they were created using human DNA
Empty crystal decanters littered the surface of the desk, their prismatic edges catching the holographic firelight. A half-eaten meal lay abandoned on a silver platter beside an overflowing ashtray with glowing cigar stubs.
Legume was drawn to a massive viewport dominating the far wall. It showed a breathtaking vista of the Dyson swarm itself. An intricate collection of metallic structures surrounded the star, its corona bleeding into the inky blackness of space.
Legume forced her gaze away from the window and straightened her rumpled jacket. This was her first interview, a chance to establish herself. She couldn't afford to be intimidated by a drunken baron and his ostentatiously cluttered office.
“Areh, have freaking scoop fer ya!” The Baron belched. “Count what’s his name tol’ me. Has it from… Suns and moons! Anyway, goes to the top. My Cosmos!” The Baron paused and stared at Legume for a moment. “Genocide!”
9
Brother Acolyte Theophilus of the First Distinction pried open his light-colored eyes, the familiar hum of the cryostasis pod a comforting lullaby after many Earth millennia of dreamless sleep. His vision swam for a moment, the harsh fluorescent lights of the awakening chamber assaulting his senses after millennia of darkness. A wave of nausea washed over him, a forgotten sensation from a bygone era.
cosmos_boss: I would love to hibernate too
gwo_fr_5: to infinity and beyond
Memories flickered, faint embers rekindled by the jolt of reawakening. The Great Pilgrimage. The colossal vessel, the Ark of Salvation, carried the chosen few toward Planet X7. The rhythmic pulse of artificial gravity mimicked Earth. And the excruciating burn of relativistic travel, time warping around them as they hurtled towards the galactic core at speeds that defied mortal comprehension.
prof_sparky: this must be an exaggeration again
translator: I would have expected them to use wormholes
Theophilus flexed his limbs. He rose, his muscles protesting after their eons of inactivity. Through the reinforced viewport, a sight unlike any he'd ever witnessed filled his vision. No familiar blue marble hung in the sky, and no comforting expanse of stars dotted the blackness. Instead, a swirling inferno of reds, oranges, and yellows dominated the view. The planet they orbited, a desolate rock chosen for its stability, was a speck against the backdrop of the supermassive black hole at the galaxy's heart.
prof_sparky: you wouldn’t be able to see the black hole itself
IE: that was probably implied
The churning mass, the Sagittarius A*, pulsed with an otherworldly power. Its immense gravity, warping the fabric of spacetime, had caused the stars around it to dance in a macabre ballet. Some stretched into grotesque, elongated shapes, their light distorted by the black hole's pull. Others orbited at impossible speeds, defying the celestial mechanics Theophilus had studied in his youth before focusing solely on history and the cult.
hatmaker_H: is this guy a hobbit or a dwarf?
IE: a human like us
A tremor ran through the chamber. The Ark, a marvel of ancient engineering, held its position at a precarious Lagrange point, but even here, the gravitational forces were immense. Theophilus steadied himself.
He knelt, the cold metal floor biting through his thin robes. A silent prayer escaped his lips, a hymn to the great St. Trillian, Big Sister and Savior.