Awakening the alien had taken some doing, but it was no longer just a mindless slave. Or maybe she’d reached the Pathfinder in the past, long before it became the Corpse Ship. Either way, the former Seventh Circle Path Master was now trying to teach her everything it could.
“Everything is a matter of balance,” the ghost in the machine explained. Lisbeth and her new teacher were in a virtual space created by the alien’s memories. The huge three-eyed creature made her feel a bit like a child. So did the lecturing tone of the conversation.
“That’s not very useful,” Lisbeth complained. “And time is running out.”
“Not here. As long as you are with me, time is nearly irrelevant. Not wholly so, because your mind is still anchored to the physical realm, but enough. You can spare a few moments to listen, and learn.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“I will not bore you with the details of our philosophy,” the Pathfinder said. Its three eyes regarded her steadily as it spoke. It had no gender; one of the first modifications the Pathfinders had made on themselves was to remove sex from the equation. “We considered extremes to be the definition of evil. Everything can become lethally toxic, in high enough concentrations, whether it is a substance, a desire or a principle. Finding a middle ground between opposites was always our primary goal. We did not believe in a static point of balance, either. Circumstances change, and what was once perfectly balanced will eventually tilt one way or another, breaking the preferred state. And when confronted with extremism, we came to realize that the only way to counter it was with an equally-strong opposing force. Thus the use of extremes is permissible in order to achieve balance.”
“Makes sense, I guess,” Lisbeth said when the alien paused, apparently expecting some response from her. She’d quickly discovered that she didn’t like being lectured by million-year old aliens any more than she liked being lectured by anybody. “And that helped keep you sane when going in and out of warp.”
“Yes. Starless Beings feed on extremes. They take what they find inside us and intensify it, leading to much suffering. Too much light or too much darkness is equally blinding.”
I think I read that inside a fortune cookie while having dinner at Luna Base.
“Mock me if you must, but listen and learn.” Thinking was as good as talking out loud, as far as the Pathfinder was concerned.
“Sorry. I’ve had a couple really bad days.”
“I understand. Communing with the Marauders is agonizing. Even in my mostly unaware state, I could sense how unbalanced they were. A perfect example of extremes taken to their evil conclusion. Their malignancy affects this galaxy even now, millennia after their passing. Their tainted souls bred a legion of twisted entities, beings of darkness who continue to haunt the Starless Path long after the Marauders were no more. I was fortunate enough to live in a cleaner, better time, one far closer to the ideal balance than any era since, and possibly most cycles before it.”
“So what can we do?” she asked it. “I’d rather be like you guys than the Marauders.”
“Lead a balanced existence, or to tilt to the light if you must. In some ways, your species is better prepared than most to handle the trials ahead. For one, many of your cultures have a strong moral sense and believe in an absolutely-good entity that judges one’s deeds. That belief, while extreme, confers a measure of protection against the dark that more cynical civilizations cannot match.”
Guess I’m shit outta luck, then.
“Amusingly enough, your avowed atheism conceals a great deal of faith,” the alien answered her unvoiced thought. She might as well speak her mind.
“Sure. One can have a moral compass without believing in some Big Kahuna in the sky, you know.”
“Certainly. It just takes some additional effort to keep that compass in working order. Not that it is easy under any circumstances. At the moment, the balance between light and dark is skewed towards the dark. You will need to try to appeal to the light to counteract it.”
“Warp angels so we can fight off warp demons?”
“There are beings that closely correspond to those entities in the Starless Path.”
“I’m really not qualified for this. We need to get you in touch with a Catholic priest, or some Baptists and Mormons. Somebody who believes in this shit.”
“Unfortunately, you are the only one in a position to learn. Reaching entities on the light side of the morality spectrum will not be easy, for you or anybody of your kind. It will be particularly difficult for those who enter the Starless Path with violence and murder in their hearts.”
“In that case, we’re screwed. We are few in number, and most everyone hates or fears us. Murder in our hearts is kind of our default mode nowadays. First Contact put us in a proper killing mood, and this war hasn’t helped.”
“That is a problem. You are a warrior civilization, and they attract the kind of Starless Beings that fed upon the Marauders. You are at great risk of becoming just like them, unleashing a cult of death upon the entire galaxy.”
“Just like enemy propaganda likes to portray us. Well, if you call someone a monster long enough, that’s what you’ll end up with.”
“I would like to avoid such a thing. Even if that means allowing you, and by extension your entire species, to fade away.”
“To be killed, you mean. Fade away my ass. We are going to be murdered wholesale. I’d really like to avoid such a thing,” she told the alien, mocking its regretful tone and words.
“There is some hope that will not be necessary. Unlike your species, the Marauders had few moral restraints to begin with. Their dominion over the Starless Path only exacerbated those traits. By the time they found the ossuaries of my species and defiled our bodies, they had given themselves wholly to the dark.”
“Yeah, we would frown on that kind of thing, even in our current mega-violent mood. In fact, we mostly want to be left alone. Most people in the US would rather trade and build than fight. We won’t take any shit from people picking a fight from us, though.”
The Pathfinder considered her words, probably checking them against her thoughts and memories. It wasn’t as if she could hide anything from the jolly three-eyed giant. For a good while, the alien remained silent, lost in thought.
I’m being judged, and if I’m found guilty, the sentence is going to suck.
“Very well,” it finally said. “I will aid you. In part because I want nothing more than to end this miserable shade of an existence, this unbalanced torment. But also because I think you and your people are worth the gamble. If I am wrong, the universe will eventually balance itself. The Marauders were dealt with by the Peacekeepers. All things come to an end. If you surrender to the temptations of the extreme, something will eventually rise to oppose you. But here and now, you will have my help.”
“That’s great. Heather is trying to figure out a way to provide power to the Corpse-Sh… I mean, this ship.”
“I am aware my sole link to the physical realm is my now-dead shell,” the Pathfinder said. “Calling it a Corpse-Ship will not offend me.”
“That’s good to know.”
“In any case, both you and the Tah-Leen are laboring under a misapprehension. The missing components in this vessel are a life support system for the Marauders, who never learned how to survive in the vacuum between planets, and a set of secondary weapons designed to counter any Starless Beings that ventured into the material plane.”
“I thought warp demons were people who got possessed and stuff,” Heather said. “Are you saying the actual Warplings can cross over to this side?”
The Pathfinder nodded.
“Holy shit.”
“Holy shit indeed, Lisbeth Zhang. Such intrusions are rare, but devastating when they happen. My point, however, is that this ship is not missing a power source.”
“Then where is it? There are no active power plants anywhere. Inactive ones either, for that matter. Even a super-compact gluon plant would take some r
oom.”
“The answer to that question is also the reason the Marauders desecrated the bodies of my people for their purposes. We had learned how to tap the Starless Path itself to provide us with energy. All the power you need is but a thought away.”
“Holy shit.”
“Indeed.”
* * *
“On your feet, Marines!” Sergeant Fuller said. Similar orders were ringing out among the tattered remnants of Charlie Company. Time to get ready for whatever was next on the menu. It would have been nice if the menu had included some shut-eye, or even another hot meal, but all Russell expected was an extra serving of hard times.
“We shoulda brought along a field mess,” Gonzo said, popping his last protein chew into his mouth and working on it with half his jaw while he put on his helmet. “Been living on fucking snacks and MREs for like three days. And we’re running low on MREs,” he continued through the fireteam network.
“Yeah, something else we would have had to lug around on our backs,” Russell said. “No, thank you.”
“Try fighting after a week of short rations and bouncing around a cargo truck,” Grampa added.
“I’m sure it sucked balls, Army, but you’re in the Corps now,” Russell broke in before the goldie could get going. Nobody was in the mood to hear bitching about life after First Contact. Grampa got carried away sometimes, and his whole ‘back-in-the-day’ bullshit was getting pretty old.
“Oorah,” Grampa said in a sarcastic tone. That was something else Russell didn’t want to hear for a while. He figured the Devil Dogs’ battle cry was going to bring back bad memories from here on. Fighting primmie style had been rough. And they were about to do it again, except against a bunch of even more advanced ETs.
He checked his spear. He’d cleaned off the alien gunk, and the Ka-Bar blade all but gleamed. There were a few nicks here or there but it was ready for action. So was he, more or less. His damaged wrist was still pretty tender, even after a corpsman got some nanos to knit the bones back together, but he could use it.
Charlie Company started moving in column, which meant immediate trouble wasn’t likely; otherwise bunching up like that would have been suicidal. A single Lamprey with a laser on continuous beam could shoot down the entire column, especially now that their personal force fields were on their last legs. Russell did a quick headcount. A hundred and twenty-two Marines fit to fight, including Fourth Platoon, who without their Hellcats were just a squad’s worth of lightly armored spear carriers. This was going to be fun.
The steady march brought back comforting memories of PT, back when he’d been young, half-crazy and mean as a snake, before the first couple years of Ob-Serv and the much harder boot camp knocked most of the stupid out of him. Eventually, the lessons had begun to sink in: the people marching with him would have his back when the chips were down. He hadn’t believed any of it at first; he’d figured it’d be every man for himself as soon as shit got real. But he’d learned better, learned it well enough that on his first firefight as a Marine, he’d done his job and expected everyone else to do theirs. And most of them had; the few exceptions were punished for it, officially and unofficially. Knowing you could depend on your buddies was worth all the other bullshit you had to go through.
They came to a stop in front of a seemingly ordinary hill, which stopped being so ordinary when a section of it rose up and revealed an access corridor, narrower than the one they’d used to get there, but wide enough to fit four or five humans abreast. A squad from Second Platoon went first, then the Skipper and the headquarters section, and then Third Platoon, led by the assault section. Russell knew why. The assaultmen didn’t just fire missiles, they were trained in demo, and they might be out of ammo and almost out of juice, but he’d bet his life they’d saved up some explosive ordnance, just in case.
The aliens might be super-advanced sons of bitches, but when it came down to blowing shit up there was nobody better than a pissed-off Marine.
* * *
“I’m in the system. Still sorting through the Scholar’s files to find out his plan,” Heather lied to the Seeker. “I should have something for you within the hour.”
“Then get to it,” was the Snowflake’s curt reply. Heather caught a flash of sensory input: a Lamprey writhing in agony while half a dozen bizarre-looking creatures did something to it. She wasn’t sure if they were eating the unfortunate alien or having sex with it, but from the brief glimpse she got, it was probably a combination of both.
I so didn’t want to see that.
And she shouldn’t have seen it. That had been extrasensory perception. Clairvoyance. Tachyon waves. Magic, for lack of a better term.
“Do not bother me again until you have something concrete to offer,” the Seeker said before breaking the connection. He was clearly having too much fun to focus on anything else. You’d think someone who could literally be in multiple places at once could devote one of his personas to watching her work, but delaying gratification seemed to have become a lost art among the Snowflakes.
Peter and his Marines were moving through the maze of access tunnels beneath the huge park that had served as both prison and gladiatorial arena. The Tah-Leen had no idea their living toys had escaped their fifty square-kilometer cell. They were too busy finishing off the Lampreys now that their zombie drones had all been destroyed. Heather had made sure the automatic sensors in the simulated battlefield weren’t raising the alarm. She’d reached their control panels via her tachyon interface and used the Seeker’s own security codes to take them over. For the time being, any Tah-Leen spying on the American troops would be treated to a loop of them having dinner, repeated every forty minutes or so.
The subterfuge wouldn’t last very long. Fooling the sensors in the playground or the mostly-abandoned sectors the Marines were using to escape was relatively easy, but the moment they came close to the Tah-Leen’s quarters, active scanners would detect their presence, and those systems couldn’t be controlled at her access level.
Heather had to give herself full sysadmin privileges. She just couldn’t see a way to do it.
To reach the Master Conduit that ran all vital systems in the Tah-Leen habitat, you needed a security key, something roughly equivalent to pre-Contact usernames and passwords. Normal Starfarer keys were based on biometric IDs, using everything from DNA to brain waves to identify authorized users. There were ways around those defenses, and Heather had mastered most of them. Xanadu’s version was something completely different, however.
Tah-Leen identification codes couldn’t use biometrics, since the Snowflakes wore bodies like other species wore clothes. The aliens had developed technologies that could detect and analyze consciousness itself: what materialists would call the mind and the more mystically-inclined the soul. The Snowflakes believed that consciousness used the brain as a receiver of sorts but could exist independently from it, and even share multiple brains at once. And, unlike mere brain scans or other biological markers, consciousness couldn’t be counterfeited.
Heather soon realized that those consciousness markers were what her CIA benefactors had dubbed ‘tachyon particles.’ The Tah-Leen had learned to use t-wave signatures like a psychic version of fingerprints, but unlike the US, the aliens hadn’t developed any other technologies based on them. She suspected their inability to access warp space had something to do with it. In any case, her new super-implants wouldn’t help her gain access to the Master Conduit; those scanners were the one system that could detect her, as a matter of fact. Getting through was going to require some good old-fashioned hacking.
There were only four individuals with access to the Master Conduit: the Hierophant, the Priestess, the Seeker, and a fourth Snowflake known simply as the Monitor. The Monitor didn’t just have access to the Conduit; it ran the whole thing, the only Tah-Leen with full access to everything from life support to the single surviving energy cannon that defended the entire system from attack.
Heather rifled through Xanadu’s
archives, looking for information on the mysterious system administrator. From the looks of it, the Monitor didn’t have a leadership rank, even though it literally held the power of life and death over everyone inside the habitat. Its status wasn’t so much a secret as something the other Tah-Leen didn’t talk about very much, almost as if they were ashamed of it. After a few precious minutes of stealthy data-sorting, she found her answer.
The Monitor was a slave.
Take a Tah-Leen. Strip its consciousness from the things that make it an individual with volition or even self-awareness. Strap the mostly-mindless construct to your habitat, and use its brain as the Conduit’s sysadmin. That’s what the Snowflakes had done. The poor bastard was a biological computer, granted full access to everything because it could not deviate from its basic programming, which could be summarized as ‘observe, report and, when necessary, deal with any threats.’ The moment the alarm was raised, the Monitor would take action. There were Executioner devices located all over the inhabited sections of the station, smaller than the ones they had used on the Marines and Lampreys during the first game, but just as effective. One command, and every human in the habitat was as good as dead.
If Heather tried to reach the Master Conduit, she’d be immediately identified as an unauthorized user. At which point her life expectancy could be measured in nanoseconds. The enslaved alien could also be used to take over the habitat, however. Danger and opportunity rolled into one. If she could reach the Monitor, she might be able to trick it into granting her access. She might even figure out how to reprogram it.
She needed help, though, and she only knew of one person with experience in communicating with alien minds.
* * *
Time to change her mind. Literally.
Lisbeth Zhang lost all sense of time as she tried to apply the dead alien’s lessons.
Drawing power from warp space was theoretically possible, but creating an aperture consumed more energy than it could possibly generate, and the extraction process was dangerous and unreliable. Sort of like trying to power an electrical vehicle by having it struck by lightning. Using one’s mind to do so was the stuff of superhero and fantasy flicks, not physics. And yet the Pathfinders had done exactly that, and the Marauders had used their dead bodies to do the same. It could be done. The only problem was that only a Fifth Circle Master of the Starless Path could do it, and she was master of no damn circles at all.
Advance to Contact (Warp Marine Corps Book 3) Page 24
