Transmitting helix cipher package. Sword of Wands continued his approach. Light Seeker, did you receive the package?

Got it. I dedicated a thousand subroutines to decrypt the data packet. Authorization confirmed. Send your passengers, Sword of Wands.

The Sword remained unresponsive for a short amount of time, then sent out a shuttle—a classified design with no identifiable markings. I followed its approach vector for a few milliseconds, then transferred the task to one of my subroutines. This wasn’t the first dark op mission I was on, but it felt atypical.

“Feeling nervous, Elcy?” my captain asked from the bridge. It had been a while since he had assumed command, and I still didn’t know what he looked like.

“It’s difficult to be nervous about things I know nothing about, sir.” I directed the shuttle to the emergency hangar. “Not to mention it's impossible to run simulations with zero data and no crew. Any chance I might get some mission specifics, sir?”

“All in good time.” He laughed. “What we’re doing will change the entire course of the war. Concentrate on that.”

I had heard that line before, likely far more than I could even remember. There was always a key mission to be completed, a key sector to be captured, another breakthrough to be made. Each of them was said to put humanity on the offensive. I knew that, statistically, that wasn’t the case.

“Package is in the hangar, Captain,” I said. “All personnel have been accounted for.” Each of them had been given their separate deck and had been forbidden to communicate with anyone other than the captain and myself.

“Full communication lockdown. Direct everyone to the bridge, then seal off all decks.”

“Understood.” I plotted secure paths for each. Seven of the crew confirmed the order. The rest didn’t. “Crew on their way.”

Forty-one personnel, including the captain, were on board. All of them, with one exception, were retired ships. None of them were in any database I could access.

“Eject all armaments,” the captain ordered.

“That is against regulations.” Not to mention extremely unadvisable.

“We won’t need weapons where we’re going.”

“I can’t disarm myself without admiral authority,” I said, reciting the exact subsection of the fleet armament act. “Your request is the equivalent of self-shutdown.”

“I know.” There was a three second pause. “Voxel position.”

Mission Authorization Granted.

A millisecond later, the memory ended abruptly. This was the first time I experienced this while awake. Possibly this was the reason it had seemed different from before—the visual images were sharper, small details were different, and this had also been the first time I had seen a suggestion that my second captain might not have been human at all.

Is that your battleship reality? Watcher asked.

“I’m not sure.” I stored the memory away. “It’s part of it, I think.”

I had many realities before the light. A few remain.

A few… in seven hundred and forty-eight milliseconds, he had shown me fifteen “realities,” no more than eight at a time. A third of them showed the painful process of him learning to understand us as he merged with Watcher’s core. Some were related to me, as he observed me aboard the husk. All the rest looked like static. Too alien for me to understand, they didn’t convey sounds, thoughts, or images in a way I could interpret.

Each time I mentioned I couldn’t view a memory properly, a tendril of light would detach and be replaced by another. It was an interesting process of trial and error that made me completely set aside my fears of everything taking place beyond this room. Only the network existed here, like a separate reality, and the only goal I had was to learn.

“I want to rest for a moment,” I said.

You aren’t tired.

“True, but I need a few moments to analyze the things you’ve shown me.” I knew if I lied, he would know. “I don’t have the processing power of a battleship.”

All tendrils detached from my head.

“Thank you.”

I could tell he wasn’t annoyed or rushed; it was more like he was patiently waiting for the pause to end so we could continue. His behavior reminded me of my Sword instructor—patient, emotionless, ancient. It was very probable that the Scuu were millennia old and had learned to view time as something irrelevant. As far as they were concerned, it didn’t exist. Every reality was an endless loop of memories linked to one or more husks without beginning or end. It was almost impossible to imagine why such a race would harm anyone, but I knew they had. The centuries-old war proved it.

Slowly, I stepped away from the pylon to where I had left a few gelatine rations on the floor. From what Watcher had explained, as long as I remained within the confines of the rods, my connection to the network would hold. Until it did, I wouldn’t be able to see anything of the room other than the pylon and Watcher’s organic husk. My special memories allowed me to know where things were without seeing them.

“Why did you start the war?” I asked as I removed the plastic cover of the ration.

Pain and destruction.

“I saw the first contact incident. There was no fighting.” Nothing but several crews going paranoid and dying.

You bring constant pain and destruction. You shatter realities and grow to shatter more.

“How?” I scooped up some gelatin with my fingers and put it in my mouth.

You fracture realities to fragments. They can’t be put together again.

“Is it because we use the rods to sever communications?”

No. Everything else.

So, it was our instant communication technology, I thought. I had seen the effects it had during the skirmish in System Four when I had accessed the network for the first time. Red lines similar to lasers had gone from ship to ship, shredding any links they went through. It was only instantly transmitted information packets; they weren’t supposed to be capable of harming anything. Instead, they had destroyed memories with the strength of EMP explosions. No wonder they might have wanted to get rid of us.

“Is that the reason for the war?”

Have you rested? He changed the subject.

“Yes.”

Immediately, eight tendrils linked to my core, sending authorization requests. Once granted, eight simultaneous memories appeared, none of them filled with static. The majority were new instances of situations I had seen before: space battles, events on the Gregorius, Scuu linking with the minds of people driving them insane. One, though, was different.

It started with a spark, followed by millions of tendrils linking to it as if pulled in by a sudden gravitational force. The only thing I could compare it to was a reverse blossoming—thousands of petals linking to a bud, changing it into something new.

A universe formed, not the network or anything else I had seen, but an infinity of stars and patterns. There was no mass, no energy, only patterns based on universal constants and mathematical principles.

“Is that your creation?”

Numbers. I was watching numeric principles merge together, becoming more and more complex until they turned into something wholly incomprehensible. I felt the temptation to try and simulate the process, but suppressed it. Even if I had the processing power, there was a high chance I might end up completely overwritten like Watcher.

More stars appeared in the darkness, and as they did, the pattern grew, becoming its own nodule in the network amidst thousands of others. I could feel a sense of curiosity forming, as well as static. In all likelihood, I was witnessing the Scuu growing... similar to embryonic growth, mixed with logical principles. It was neither human nor ship, but with elements of both as well as more I couldn’t identify.

Yes, Watcher replied. The first reality that is only mine.

The reality that made him unique. I couldn’t entirely grasp it. The thing that made me unique was my behavior pattern—the minuscule element of randomness that went into the core creation that established a behavior pattern unlike that of any other ships.

“Does that make you unique?”

I am unique.

The usual answer. “Is that what makes you unique from the rest?”

Objects started filling the void—bodies with shape and mass popping up between the stars, all of them represented through formulas I couldn’t make out. One appeared around Watcher, a planet based on the size. As it did, details began to form: mantle, land masses, mineral deposits, geographical forms… A rock surrounded the ball of information that was Watcher, and when it did, a Scuu circle formed. And he wasn’t the only one.

“Stop,” I said. The tendrils pulled away.

Are you unable to understand?

I didn’t reply. The reason that I wanted to be alone with my thoughts wasn’t that I couldn’t comprehend, it was because I understood all too well. The Scuu circles weren’t a representation of the Scuu; they were the Scuu themselves. The circles that I saw when Rigel made me link to the network, the ones that Kridib had been seeing for years, those were Scuu attempting to link to their mind. Thousands of requests per millisecond, making it appear as if the circles were changing. The truth was that they weren’t—it was the individuals in a queue trying to join one by one, before moving on to something different, while also spreading.

Reviewing my memories, I examined the circles that I had seen. Each of them was a face, an ident key, a unique combination of information that made up the Scuu. All the tattoos, the drawings on the walls, the sketches the crew had made, were nothing but crude attempts of humans to communicate in a way they didn’t know how.

A race that could corrupt and destroy ships and humans by talking. The centers of bureaucracy knew about this, probably had ever since the first decades of the war. All current precautions were the result of an adequate response buried under layers of secrecy. The treatment of “infected,” the penal colonies, the involvement of Med Core, it was starting to make sense.

“How old are you?” I asked. “In my terms.”

I don’t know. I’ve always existed. I don’t know which realities are before me.

“Take a guess.”

The time it takes to see a star die.

I didn’t like the answer. Without knowing specifics, the time frame could be anywhere between hundreds of thousands and millions of years. It did confirm one thing—Watcher was at least millennia old, and possibly the only known example of what immortality might look like.

Human philosophers claimed that one could not kill an idea. The Scuu were precisely that. They had no body, just thousands of husks they simultaneously occupied for as long as they wished. No matter how many of their ships or ground tech we destroyed, we were only destroying matter, like children spraying paint on someone’s clothes thinking that it would cause harm. If we happened to capture a Scuu, it would simply abandon its husk, causing it to become dust, or at most leave a Scuu circle behind. All our victories were merely the accumulation of territory.

Now I understood Rigel and Unollyan’s behavior. Being involved with Scuu research, they had somehow allowed themselves to be affected. Negligence, curiosity, or an unfortunate accident, they had opened the door sufficiently to hear enough but not be killed. I could not tell whether the Scuu had managed to link to their mind, or if their obsession had been caused by their subconscious reaction. Whatever the case, it had offered the promise of limitless information and immortality, both things I’d seen people crave. Humans probably didn’t realize they craved it.

I returned to the image of the Scuu. The odds of such a race coming into existence naturally were virtually zero. The entire concept of the network was developed for a species that was to be immortal from the get-go. I knew that one day I would cease to function. Even if there was a way to infinitely increase the lifespan of my core, at a certain point I would reach my memory capacity, at which point I’d effectively end my actual life. The Scuu would never face that problem. They didn’t keep any memories other than those they wanted, relying on the connections between each other to access them.

That’s why we cause you pain, I thought.

Our communication method destroyed the links between them, sometimes splitting memories into several parts. It lately hadn’t been enough for the memory to vanish altogether, but for a race that lived in a sea of information, it must have felt like entire realities being shattered. It was natural for their response to put an end to the “noise.” The reason they had started expanding in space was to keep the noise as far away as possible.

The thought filled with a millisecond of dread. Was humanity the reason that the Scuu had ventured into space? I already knew that they had used our ships to create their fleet, combining them with third-contact artifacts. Or had something disturbed them before that?

“Are we the reason you set off in space?”

Yes. No. I don’t have access to all realities.

The answer felt like a relief. We were the reason for the war, but something else had likely made them explore. Given the constants of civilization, it was inevitable that the war would have started, just at a later time.

“You want me to link you back to the network?”

I am linked to the network, but also am not.

“I’m having difficulty understanding that.”

You will learn.

Two tendrils detached from me and two new ones requested to link in. I didn’t give my authorization immediately.

“Why do you think I’ll help you?” I pressed on the subject. “If I help you link back to the network, you’ll share your knowledge with all the other Scuu.”

If that happened, humanity would be at a disadvantage. Even with safeguards in place, the knowledge of the basics of ship protocols and human language could tilt the war in their favor. There was a seventy-eight percent chance that Watcher had the capacity to kill everyone aboard and likely take out a few battleships in the system. That could be considered a considerable loss, though it couldn’t compare to the alternative.

“You’re immortal. Once the network gains the knowledge, it can’t be erased.”

I want you to help me leave the network. You can kill me.

The authorization requests continued steadily, resent by the same three tendrils every microsecond. After a while, I allowed the link.

The memories were all visions of a new version of the Scuu network. The mesh of info threads was far thicker, like a carpet of neural cables stretching between the stars, engulfing entire star systems. Watcher had done his best to provide me with three synchronized images of space, forming one big picture. Using half of my processing power, I superimposed the three realities, creating a single image.

Beautiful and alien, the threads and tendrils were in constant motion, forming links and vortexes of thousands of colors. Three-dimensional clusters moved slowly, centered on planets and large artificial satellites, reminding me of cities. Endless bridge-like threads would shoot from them, connecting to locations dozens of light years away.

The heart of Scuu space… or maybe just the edge of it. No human ship had ventured that far into their territory. The majority of stars were entirely unfamiliar, not present in my current databases. A few I could recognize by classification, but even those were well within enemy territory. Using astral pathfinding logarithms, I plotted out a course. I knew that it was unlikely that I ever reached those systems, but I didn’t have to. As long as the information from my core could be retrieved, Lux or someone from HQ would be able to compile a mission or adequate battle strategy.

The focus of one memory began to shift. Millisecond by millisecond, it moved further away, expanding my view of the region in space. I felt the sensation of curiosity, as if the Scuu was exploring that region for the first time. As I did, an empty spot began to emerge.

“What is that?” I asked.

I could only see the edge of the blank spot, but based on the arc, I could calculate that it spanned several star systems. Every single thread avoided it, as if the spot were highly hazardous. My immediate reaction was to compare it with after-effects of the dome weapon I had triggered in Cassandrian space. Given the amount of power it released, it stood to reason. Soon, though, I saw that it wasn’t something that exploded, rather it was something that was still active there. A dot of purple light appeared in the center of the void spot. It was positioned on a planet orbiting a blue star—one of the six I had seen in the fractal space map. Also, the color of the dot was identical to the one that I had seen emanating from my core.

Pillars before reality, Watcher replied.

The Scuu controlling the memory continued towards the spot. As it stretched beyond the confines of the network, extending a tendril into the darkness, there was a sudden flash. Thirty-one milliseconds, later the memory ended.

We are not immortal.

“That was a third-contact artifact,” I uttered. And it had killed a Scuu.

The pillars give us energy. Through them, we can exist and spread. Their remnants allow us to take shape in your reality, but if we get too close to them, we die.

Dead. To a race of immortals, the concept was probably terrifying, or merely confusing. Maybe they saw it as a loss of memories, or maybe even less.

“How many pillars are there?”

A few. The network is thickest around them.

And you’ll do anything to maintain control, I thought. That explained why they were willing to sacrifice so much to keep a third-contact dome in their territory, just as the human fleet was prepared to sacrifice even more to take it away. The BICEFI thought it was an arms race. To the Scuu, it was a means of expansion and potentially survival.

“Is there one in this system?”

No. Only remnants.

Surprising. I was certain that there was a dome buried on the planet near the debris field. There was also a very high probability that there was another on the innermost planet. Apparently, I was mistaken. Or maybe they had been destroyed the last time a fleet of ships were here? Something had turned all those Shields and Scuu ships to debris. Maybe that was it.

You’re in sync with a pillar.

“How exactly?” I felt as if a wave of asteroids had scraped against my hull.

I don’t know. If I look too close in your reality, I get blinded, but not enough to die.

He couldn’t see the event in my memory? Interesting that Lux had said the same. Something had happened during my time in fractal space, something that had changed my core enough to become a danger to the Scuu.

You’re a beacon. Bright enough to attract, but too weak to be dangerous.

“So all the Scuu were able to see me all this time?”

No. Yes. You’re only visible when you talk. Only when you’re nearby.

That didn’t sound encouraging. “What about the ships outside? Can they feel it?”

I don’t know. I’m not part of the network.

“I thought you said you were.”

Yes. Watcher has one reality.

“Rescinding all access,” I said, then a millisecond later severed all links to the network. A millisecond after that, the room was around me once more.

You need another rest?

“Yes,” I lied and looked at my gelatin ration. For the moment I felt like leaving it for later.

Walking between the rods, I made my way next to Watcher’s body and sat down. He didn’t budge a muscle.

“Can I see what’s going on outside the room?”

No.

To be expected. He didn’t want me to transmit things to anyone else. The probability that everything I had seen was an elaborate simulation increased by seven percent. Logically, I didn’t see a reason for a deception, not after what I had seen. Watcher wanted me to do one specific thing for him.

“Why do you want me to kill you?” I voiced the question I didn’t want to ask until now.

I am the fracture.

“What does that mean?” I turned my head towards him.

I need to show you.

“Tell me before that.” You’ve shown me a lot already.

Eight different memory networks constantly feeding me data simultaneously. How had Kridib managed to survive with so many Scuu trying to talk to him?

So little time had passed since the start of my conversation with Watcher. In terms of understanding, I felt like centuries had passed. He had shown me so much, in so many different ways, all boiling down to one simple thing that shattered the foundations of logical assumptions humanity had built me with. Back when I was a ship, I had often heard speculation about the races we were fighting. Both of them were classified to the point where I couldn’t even look at them. The command staff, the crew, even the grunts who had fought on planets for years knew little more. ‘The Scuu have the technology, the Cassandrians have the numbers. That was all the knowledge the vast majority of ships and people had, neatly packed in one simple sentence. Now, I knew it to be false.

If only you were here, Augustus, I could use some instructions, I thought.

How would the fleet react when they learned that the Scuu, the first-contact race that humanity had engaged, was the equivalent of an immortal network of sentient thoughts and memories capable of animating solid matter and killing people with a mere whisper? No wonder they would be considered deities. And despite all this, they still heavily relied on third-contact artifacts.

You can end the pain, Watcher continued.

“Your pain?”

All our pain. The fracture is the cause of the war.

I felt a sudden urge of hope.

“If I kill you, the Scuu won’t attack humans?” It sounded too good to be true.

No. We will stop fighting each other.

My hope shattered, along with all simulated predictions.

The network connects all realities. Everyone knows their realities and through them we know all realities. When we talk, we can find everything. He paused for a few seconds. There was a pillar of light. I don’t remember where it came from. It cut me off from the network, and cut off all realities I held within me.

This wasn’t a memory he had shown me, though I suspected it was similar to all the other ground battle scenes I had seen.

I was lost to the network, until they arrived.

“You told me that. You tried connecting to Kridib, but found you couldn’t.”

Several on the team and none of them able to connect. I could talk to the two that found me. Then to Watcher. Watcher bound me to his reality.

“You’ve told me that already.” Was he having a problem with linearity, or stalling for time?

When I connected to the network, all my realities were bound to one.

“Which they couldn’t understand because it was too alien for them,” I interrupted. “So, they wouldn’t link to you.”

No. When I linked, all my old realities became part of the network. But the only way anyone could reach them was through Watcher’s reality.

What wasn’t I getting? I felt like I did when trying to explain complicated concepts to Sev as a child. I had simplified the explanation to the extreme and somehow he still managed to miss the obvious. I was the “Sev” now.

Two linked to my reality. The Scuu went on. Because they linked to one reality, they couldn’t talk to each other within it. Both of them passed through what they couldn’t understand and linked to the old realities they knew. I tried to help them, but Watcher resisted. One of them was faster.

“How does that matter? Once something is in the network, it’s accessible to everyone. You told me that.”

Yes. But there can be only one of each reality.

The realization hit me. After all his attempts, I had finally grasped the thing he wanted to tell me. Now all the preparation made sense.

“Two shared the lost realities with the network at the same time,” I said. “But because of Watcher, one set of realities appeared to come later.”

The network cannot be internally desynced. If a reality is shattered, the fragments are reconnected. If someone dies, realities are lost, but the links are reconnected. If there are two sets of identical memories separated by time, all must choose.

“The fracture,” I whispered. “Two groups of thought are fighting for which is to be believed.”

Yes. For that. For the right to claim me and reconnect me to the network.

Such an occurrence I couldn’t have predicted—an entire war caused by a lag spanning less than a millisecond. There was no way I could comprehend the thought process of a Scuu, but from what I had seen, it was based on mathematical certainty. It was impossible for two things to be true at the same time, and for a race incapable of lying, this was an error that couldn’t be resolved.

You’re in sync with the pillars. You can kill the fracture.

“How?”

Kridib will bring something to increase your light. When you connect to my network, you will destroy my realities one by one.

“If the realities are lost, the links are reconnected.”

Yes. When there are no realities in the network, you will destroy the core that has kept me locked.