— Wednesday, January 25, AD 2130 —

“So much fucking work to do… ugh…”

With a disgruntled sigh, Kate continued rapidly typing on the keyboard in front of her, atop her office desk aboard the Opportunity space station. She easily filled the room with the loud clacks of her typing, interspersed with grunts of pondering and frustrated growls. No one else currently occupied the office, but even if they had, Kate wasn’t known to be mindful of her surroundings once she got into her work.

And… there. That’s an updated shield array configuration, done, she thought to herself, quickly saving her work before closing out the program and immediately launching another. And now I just need to fucking fit it into the schematics. What a piece of fucking work, telling me to update the shield configuration of a ship that we’ve ALREADY almost fucking completed. What kind of stupid-ass changes are they making to these ships mid-construction, huh? This ‘black box’ in the schematic is so OBVIOUSLY a spinal weapon, it isn’t even funny. Why even censor the fucking thing? And why not tell ME about it, huh?! The one who actually designed half the fucking systems?!

Kate released a frustrated grunt, but nonetheless got to work on updating the construction schematics she had just opened up. As much as she complained, the fact remained that many of SERRCom’s most advanced spacecraft systems designed within the past five years were drawn up solely by her — something that she took quite a bit of pride in. Updated shielding systems, power generation, more efficient weaponry, even the current Partial Cloaking System that was so closely able to match Genesis’s Absolute Cloaking System. Kate’s designs had also aided in streamlining the spacecraft construction process, allowing SERRCom to build more ships, and faster.

And still, those fuckers decide to change up my designs at the last minute, Kate sulked. And then they don’t even tell me what the changes are! All while telling me to engineer new solutions given a fucking black box of information, like, fucking what? Seriously? If you’re going to try to hide info from me, then at least be competent about it. It’s obvious they made changes to the Obliteration Cannons — they even removed the railgun mode from the second ship, while doubling down on the railgun mode for the first one. Why the fuck would they give the two ships different systems? What a logistics nightmare that’s going to be. And they’re trying to hide those changes from me, too. Bah. Like I couldn’t put two and two together from the second ship suddenly mysteriously having extra fighter bays and power reactors. Like, fucking duh, of course you repurposed the ammo stores! How fucking stupid do you think I am?

She briefly stopped typing to glance to her side, at a third screen on her desk. On that screen appeared some of the reports that she and Sarah had written on Raenaros, the Aldredian Armor, and the mechs recovered from the Aldredian Dreadnought. And now the brass want to see if the fucking Chaotic Channeling Systems from this Aldredas tech can be retrofitted to the new ships. Way to show that you don’t fucking know what you’re talking about. There’s no way in hell this CCS shit would be effective on scales larger than a Frigate! Hell, I think the tech is meant for mechs, not ships; the Raenaros’s CCS doesn’t seem as effective as the ones on those Aldredian mechs. And now they want to put this shit on a Dreadnought? Seriously? There’s no fucking way it’ll be effective on that scale without an Ayas or two! What, are they going to try and get me to design a fucking Ayas interface for these ships, too? …Damn, I wouldn’t even be surprised if they did…

“Oh… there you are.”

“Hmm?” Kate looked up from her work, taking note of Sarah — who had just arrived in the office and now approached the former’s desk. “…What do you want?” Kate questioned impatiently as she returned her attention to the screens in front of her.

“You do know how to clean up after yourself… yes?” Sarah questioned, coffee cup in hand as she crossed her arms and stared expectantly down at Kate.

“If this is about the mechs, I don’t need to clean shit,” Kate retorted. “Cleaning up after research is what the aides and lab techs are there for.”

“Only to an extent. You need to at least put your own things away, or not leave the hardware access panel wide open.”

“Meh. You were there, I knew you’d take care of it.”

“Of course you did,” Sarah deadpanned.

“Besides, I figured you’d want to take a closer look once I was done,” Kate replied. “So I left the access panel open for your sake. I was being fucking nice!”

“My, how remarkably convenient for me it is, that you left one of SERRCom’s most valuable research pieces vulnerable for anyone to exploit, just so that I wouldn’t have to spend one minute re-establishing access.”

“Oh c’mon, we’re practically swimming in goddamn Aldredas tech. The armor, Raenaros, those two mechs, all the data we pulled off that shitty Dreadnought. Who fucking cares if we lose one or two?”

Sarah responded by silently staring at Kate, who herself stopped typing to stare blankly forward, as if processing what she had just said.

“…Well that was a fucking stupid thing to say,” Kate remarked.

“You said it, not me,” Sarah replied before taking a sip from her mug.

“Yeah, yeah…” Kate then pushed away from her desk, clasping her hands behind her head as she propped up her feet on her desk, showcasing the red and golden greaves she so frequently wore. “So. Those mechs… what do you make of ‘em?”

“Hmm…” Sarah moved over to lean on the desk beside Kate. “…Well, they are Aldredian, so they’re inherently interesting from that perspective. And given how advanced they are, it certainly implies that the Aldredas liked to use mechs in ground combat a lot.”

“I sense a ‘but’ incoming.”

“Only sort of. The biggest flaw of mechs today is that they still aren’t as effective as a single, well-trained Chaotic. It only takes one Electrotechnic to take down an entire squad of mechs. Or a Metallitechnic. Or a Gravitatechnic, or a Spacetechnic… you get the idea. Of course, the same ‘flaw’ applies to any combat vehicle, but I’ve still always felt that the design of ground-based combat vehicles simply never take Chaotics into account at all. Designers assume that, since Chaotics can defeat any such vehicle, that there’s no use in attempting to design around them. You can’t exactly stop a Chaotic from directly interfering in the construction of your machines at a molecular level, after all.”

“Unless you put a Chaotic in the mech. Then you have a fucking unstoppable killing machine!”

“Theoretically, perhaps. But there’s still limits to that. Even with the most advanced neural dive systems this galaxy has to offer, your awareness while piloting a mech is still limited. And from the reports I’ve read, it can actually be more disorienting for Chaotics to use neural dive mechs. Your Chaotic abilities originate from your own body, after all, yes? And yet, the neural dive shifts your perception of what your ‘body’ is to include the mech.”

“Well, true… but so what? Just throw on some fucking training, and it’s fine.”

“And that training takes time, and resources. Those Aldredian mechs, however…” Sarah paused to take another sip of coffee before continuing, “the CCS they have… the more I look at them, the more I think the CCS exists primarily to deal with the issue of the bodily disconnect.”

“The fuck are you on about? The CCS is a weapons system, it’s just there to let Chaotics make bigger booms while piloting the damn things. It does seem more effective on the mechs than on the Raenaros, but the point is still the fucking boom, not the ‘bodily disconnect’ or some shit.”

“My point is that that is a side-effect, not the main goal. By making it more intuitive for a Chaotic to use their abilities while piloting a neural dive mech, you remove the disconnect that prevents the Chaotic from viewing the mech as their own body. And if the Chaotic is able to accept that view, then the CCS seems to grant the mech the same benefits as the Chaotic’s own body — namely, resistance to Direct Manipulation. Not to mention the range and power boost from controlling a ‘body’ many times larger than your normal body…”

“Okay? If you’re just saying that the CCS is fucking cool, then yeah, I agree, but what else is new? We still aren’t going to be able to copy the damn thing for ages, given how fucking complicated it is.”

“I’m sorry, I suppose I’m just trying to organise my thoughts…” Sarah mused. “…The CCS is certainly complex, that much is undeniable — in part due to how it marries the conventional electrical control systems with using Chaos Energy directly in the design of the machinery. The Aldredas seem to have been masters of that.”

“Uh, we can do the same thing, too. Ever heard of Chaos Shields?”

“You misunderstand my point. The vast majority of Chaos Energy-based technology that the modern galaxy has created merely uses Chaos Energy as an energy source. Nothing actually runs on Chaos Energy; it just uses Chaos Energy to generate the electricity that it actually runs on. Similar to how nuclear reactors don’t derive electricity directly from the nuclear reactions; instead, the generated heat is used to drive a turbine, and that turbine is what generates the electricity. In short, it’s all indirect. The CCS in the Aldredian tech, however… I think it’s the key to directly interfacing our machinery with Chaos Energy.”

“And then what, huh? You can’t give a machine Chaotic powers. Unless you want to plug a fucking Ayas into it and see if you can make it activate the Chaos State.”

“The Chaos State requires spoken keywords to activate it, and recordings don’t work. So I rather doubt we could tease out such a use for machinery. Current technology already allows for plugging in an Ayas, as well — the Siions and Citans have such systems on their Deathnoughts. If we could fully reverse-engineer the CCS, however, then we could likely create much more efficient, much more powerful versions of that technology. And who knows…” Sarah offered Kate a wink. “Maybe we could figure out a way to give Chaotic abilities to machines.”

“I think you’re expecting too damn much,” Kate countered. “If you look at the CCS on both of the mechs, as well as the one on Raenaros, then you can see that they’re really damn similar — the parts we can understand, at least. Which suggests that the things were a widely-used, standardized design in the Aldredas military. But there’s two problems with that: one, if it were possible to give machines Chaotic abilities, then why not only make the machines do the fucking fighting, huh? Don’t make shit for the shitty fleshbags to drive if an AI could do it all for you! And two… even if the Aldredas had that figured out, the fact still is that they got shitstomped by… well, something. They aren’t fucking around any more. So even the tech that they had isn’t enough.”

“My, you make it sound as though you want to not just reverse-engineer Aldredas tech, but also surpass it.”

“Well yeah, fucking duh. That should be everyone’s goal. Isn’t it yours?”

“In the long run, of course. I just think that we’re quite a ways away from managing that. The rest of the galaxy has had over a thousand years to study Aldredas tech, after all, and even they can’t yet completely match it.”

“That’s just ‘cause they aren’t trying hard enough, the bunch of lazy-asses.”

“I’ll be sure to tell all of the preeminent Nimalian, Siion, Citan, Dra’kis, and Syraus scientists over the past millenia that they simply should have… ‘tried harder’.”

“Damn straight, now you’re talking.”

“Mmhmm,” Sarah responded dryly. “Well, with that attitude, I certainly hope you won’t mind if I give you more work.”

“As long as it has to do with Aldredian tech, fucking bring it!” Kate exclaimed.

“Right. Well, speaking of Aldredian tech… aren’t you due to meet with Mote to study the armor some more?”

“What?” Kate snapped her gaze down to the tiny clock readout on her monitors, at which point she jumped out of her chair and grabbed a nearby laptop. “Shit! Argh, that bastard is hard enough to work with already, now he’s going to complain my fucking ear off about being late…” She then froze, now halfway out of the office, to turn and shoot Sarah a glare. “You waited to remind me until I’d be late on purpose, didn’t you?”

“I was merely enjoying our little chat,” Sarah replied innocently. “Besides… I’m pretty sure you were already late before I entered the office.”

“Oh fuck off,” Kate retorted, turning around to storm out of the office, on her way to continue studying the Aldredian armor.

---

Later That Day

“Finally done…”

Mote sighed to himself as he walked the halls of Opportunity leading away from the research wing. A vast virtual window displaying the spectacular greens and blues of Earth’s surface below stretched across the entire hallway, but Mote paid it no mind as he occupied himself with his thoughts. Just now, he had wrapped up helping Kate with studying the Aldredian armor once more; supposedly, she had been able to fully fix the armor after the mishandling it had suffered at the Sadrenos Ark, enabling its normal operation once more.

That damned AI… Mote thought to himself bitterly, just what was it trying to accomplish? Drawing a Chaotic like me into isolation, and then trying to hack all of our technology… how useless. The fact that it didn’t even consider how bad an idea it was to go against an Electrotechnic like myself shows just how incompetent it was. Was it really an Aldredas creation? Between that AI, and the ‘Raen Technology’ gene-locking on the armor and Raenaros… what the hell were Aldredian engineers thinking? None of their technology is reasonable in any capacity. It all has useless restraints and design aspects…

 

I was wrong! I accept my mistake — I should never have questioned a descendant of Raen!

 

Your will is clearly as strong as any Aldredas — so please! Cease this, at once!

 

You still persist…?! I will tell you all I know! All the information stored within this Ark’s databases, I will open to you! But if you destroy me, it will all go to waste!

 

“Tch…!” Mote scowled as Maenikad’s final pleadings ran through his head. To him, they were no more than pre-programmed responses in the AI’s software, a calculated attempt to sway emotional humans… surely. Maenikad’s final claims even seemed to contradict its earlier haughtiness, so clearly, none of it should be taken at face value… surely. That the AI’s final words were filled with the same desperation and panic as a human staring death in the face was simply an attempt at manipulation… surely.

 

You said that Maenikad pleaded for her life, and yet you still killed her.

 

“’Her’… he keeps saying ‘her’… it’s just a machine,” Mote insisted, addressing no one in particular. As soon as he realized he had muttered the thought aloud, he quickly looked around himself to see if anyone had heard him. The hallways certainly weren’t empty, but of the various officers, soldiers, and researchers that Mote spotted passing him by, none of them seemed to be giving him any odd looks. Once he determined that, Mote took a deep breath to calm himself, and stopped moving through the hallway to turn and look out the virtual window.

…Colonel… he mused, …he clearly thought of that AI as a person. But why? It doesn’t make any sense. Machines can’t be persons… they simply can’t. You can’t synthesize consciousness… so I didn’t kill a person, I destroyed a machine. His brow furrowed. And even if I had killed a person, so what? I’ve killed people before. Drakkars, rogue Chaotics, those ‘former’ Black Suns on Sunova. So nothing would be different, now. Even if Maenikad was a person, I would’ve done the same… …but if that were really so, then why would I need to tell myself as much? A frustrated sigh escaped his lips. Why the hell am I getting caught up in this? What the hell is different, now? And why can’t anything make some damn sense anymore?

The events of the past several months flashed through Mote’s mind, stepping backwards through time. The Sadrenos Ark, dealing with the Bleeders on Nimalia, reclaiming Sunova, fighting EA’s robot amidst two clashing Drakkar factions, encountering the metallic infection on an abandoned space station, discovering a full shipyard of intact Aldredas ships and fighting Telregina, finding Raenaros in an old abandoned building in Dead Space, fighting EA’s robots over the San Francisco Bay, uncovering the Aldredian armor at a Black Suns dig site, learning about the existence of EA and other Earthian Chaotics, and, at the start of it all — a week-long Chaos Energy Quake, preceded by a mysterious vision popping into his head. If not for that vision — or if Mote hadn’t told anyone he had a vision — then most of those events would never have happened. SERRCom, CSF-1, and the Eximius Vir would have continued life as normal, going on missions, claiming new territory, and building fleets… if not for the mysterious bronze-skinned redhead that had appeared in Mote’s head one day.

The same woman that appeared in that video I saw on the Raenaros, too… Mote thought to himself. Despite realizing this connection, and now possessing a cipher that allowed his RTA implants to translate the Aldredian language, Mote had yet to go back and re-watch the video. He simply couldn’t; doing so would be tantamount to recognizing that his “visions” had merit, that there was actual substance to his meaningless dreams. And if he were to accept that, then there would be no sane members of SERRCom left, no one left who could recognize the inanity of chasing visions and prophecies. No one else who could realize that chasing echoes of the past or vague, baseless premonitions of the future would prevent SERRCom from making strides in the present.

“Hmm. You certainly seem to be deep in thought.”

“Huh?” Shaken out of his thoughts, Mote looked up from the virtual window towards the female voice that had addressed him — the cool voice of Director Hamasaki, who regarded him with her trademark polite smile. Upon recognizing her, he immediately stiffened up and offered a salute. “Uh, sorry, ma’am. I won’t be distracted again.”

“Distracted…?” the Director echoed curiously, staring Mote in the eyes the entire time. “…Hmm. This is quite new. You’ve always been the steadfast one, Lieutenant Emerson. I didn’t realize you were one to get lost in thought.”

“I apologize.”

“Oh, there’s nothing to apologize about. I just find it curious.”

Mote looked back at the Director with confusion. “…Ma’am?”

“What could possibly be plaguing the mind of Mote Emerson, hmm?” Hamasaki mused, never once taking her eyes off of Mote.

“…It’s nothing important, ma’am. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll stop bothering you. I’m sure you have more important things to tend to…”

“Don’t underestimate your own importance, Lieutenant. The Eximius Vir are incredibly valuable to SERRCom, for many reasons.”

“Is that why we’ve been split up?” Mote questioned bitterly, only to stiffen up and look back at the Director with a furrowed brow. “Uh, sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to speak out of line.”

“I had no hand in the current distribution of CSF-1 and the Eximius Vir,” Hamasaki declared. “The initial split — that is, when Captain Travis and Lieutenant Cox accompanied the recruits to Nimalia — was the decision of Colonel Saito. I’m given to understand that the recent split was your own choice, however.”

“…Right. You’re right, ma’am. I shouldn’t complain.”

“I must admit, I’m curious. You’ve made it no secret that you dislike how Saito split up your team, initially. So why did you not take this chance to follow him to Nimalia?” Before Mote had a chance to respond, the Director continued, “hmm, allow me to guess. You feel that accompanying your teammates to Nimalia would be legitimizing the ‘prophecies’ and ‘visions’ that you despise so much? That SERRCom shouldn’t be concerning itself with the problems of others before we resolve our own?”

Mote stared back at Hamasaki in abject surprise. “How… how did you know?”

“Lieutenant, anyone as stiff as you can be read like an open book,” Hamasaki replied slyly. “Not to mention what I’ve heard from Shepherd about your mission to Sunova. He spoke very highly of you after the fact — and you specifically, over the rest of the Eximius Vir and CSF-1. I know him well enough to know what that means.”

“…I don’t follow, ma’am.”

“It means you indulged him in his rhetoric. It means you agreed with him, with the idea that SERRCom needs to be completely self-sufficient, capable of doing anything without relying on outside help. That we should stand up for ourselves, no matter the cost, no matter who we may anger by doing so. And that, perhaps, we should even reject all outside help.” She eyed Mote evenly. “Am I wrong?”

“Shouldn’t anyone in SERRCom believe the same?” Mote questioned.

The Director chuckled to herself. “In an ideal world, perhaps. But no world is ideal. Everyone must compromise, eventually, if they wish to survive in this world of ours.”

“Are you saying that SERRCom shouldn’t be striving for self-sufficiency? That us throwing our own Chaotics into the hands of others is advisable?”

“Don’t put words into my mouth, Lieutenant,” Hamasaki responded sharply, her tone contrasting harshly with the smile she maintained. “SERRCom should absolutely be aiming for self-sufficiency. We have been doing so ever since the foundation of this organization. In line with that — the foundations of Shepherd’s opinions have merit. If SERRCom wishes to survive long-term, then we must be able to stand up to any potential threats this galaxy could throw at us, be they Drakkars, Riaxen, the metallic infection, or perhaps even souring relations with the Nimalians or the CSA.”

“Then surely—?”

“But we can’t reach that point immediately. All things take time. It is impossible for us to shortcut this process without undercutting our own growth, and yet, Shepherd would have us do exactly that, by prematurely cutting ties with allies. Make no mistake, Lieutenant; I don’t agree with every decision that General Lead has made. I certainly do think that he’s been too generous to our allies, and I’m not afraid to say as much to his face. But in your frustration with Lead’s actions, don’t fool yourself into thinking that the exact opposite is the solution.”

Mote looked at the Director uneasily before shifting his gaze back to the virtual window — to the hologram of Earth, as viewed from orbit. There, his attention lingered for a couple seconds before he eventually replied, “…of course, ma’am. What you say makes sense. However…”

“If you’re going to bring up that ‘prophecy’ mentioned by Archoné Pallan Culana, then don’t,” Hamasaki retorted. “No one in SERRCom believes for a second that the Archoné’s ‘prophecy’ holds true. What we do believe is that the Archoné is paying to train our own Chaotics at an institution designed explicitly for this purpose, such that the recruits will become useful members of SERRCom far more quickly, completely, and cheaply than if we were to train them ourselves.”

“Are we not concerned about this trade? It looks like SERRCom is the only one gaining, but if that was true, then why would the Archoné propose such a deal? The Nimalians must be getting something out of this…”

“What the Archoné is getting out of this is his ‘solution’ to that doomsday cult of his. I’ve looked extensively into Pallan Culana’s background, and I can assure you, he believes in his prophecy whole-heartedly. To him, our deal is the only way to save a doomed galaxy. I believe he’s a fool, and he knows that we think he’s a fool. But still, he insists. That makes him useful — but nothing more. Don’t make the mistake of assuming that going along with his deal means that we believe him, Lieutenant. SERRCom isn’t that foolish.”

Mote’s brow furrowed in consternation; he wanted to argue, he wanted to believe that there was a better solution to training the recruits than sending them to Nimalia. But all of the Director’s points were sound — the reality of the situation seemed to be that both SERRCom and Archoné Culana thought they were benefiting from the deal. Even so, something about the arrangement felt off to Mote. All of SERRCom’s decisions in regards to Archoné Culana’s “prophecy” and Mote’s own “vision” were founded entirely upon the organization’s self-interest, rather than any actual belief in the truth of such visions, and yet… was there any real difference in behaving as though something is real even though you don’t believe it, and simply believing in it outright?

An exasperated sigh from Hamasaki drew Mote out of his thoughts. “Stubborn men like you can never change their opinions through an exchange of words,” she remarked. “So I’ll be taking my leave. But I’d encourage you to remember this conversation, Lieutenant. If ever one day you have doubts, just know: regardless of the outcome of their decisions, no one in High Command has done anything other than what they believe to be good for SERRCom. If you ever make a decision assuming the opposite, then that will be a decision founded on folly, indeed.”

With that, the Director turned around and walked off, her gait steady and confident as she left Mote at the side of the hallway, his brow furrowed in confusion while he tried his best to make sense of all the thoughts swirling through his head.