‘Of course not. The neuroptics or micro-optical filaments are grown through naturally channelled neural imprints scanned from the cerebral cortex and mapped by sonic resolutions.’ The large bald tattoo’d body guard went on with leisured ease, ‘first we use Nanomes to insert a spliced wetware virus and contaminate the neurons with photo-sensitive reactions, then we build the web of micro-optics through the neuro-channels. The neural paths are mapped appropriately with sonic resolution scanners, it’s very safe. Then, surgical architects program the nanomes to create the micro-optical filaments from calcium plating based on the subject’s own DNA and the neuroptics are grown to reinforce those neural channels. Once neurophased, one can upload various programmed applications directly into the brain’s neurosphere software. They can speed or slow perceptions of time, contemporaneously storing vast amounts of trans-data translated by the Nexus, promoting implicit recall memory and, hence, completely eliminating any brain deficiencies such as dementia, hearing impairment, blindness and so on. Added benefits include higher IQ, and grade access to the cities. Most Titan subjects are born prepared, Neurophase ready, with the virus being introduced during infancy.
‘So are they dangerous? Well, there’s no evidence to suggest so. However, there is a risk of irreversible brain damage when the task is done poorly like some black-market merchants tend to do anonymously.’
‘Well, Titan or human, it’s still a controversial subject even today.’ Anton said dismissively. ‘I don’t understand why people want to play around with mild genetic alterations and so on just to work a computer? We stick to the Quantic parti-splicers and non-invasives here on Omicron.’
‘We’ve been playing with genetics since the twenty first century,’ Alker shrugged, ‘what’s the big deal? Bio-hacking is a multi-planetoid industry. Helps our soldiers kick bottom, helps our cosmonauts land in different gravitational environments. Our human ancestors were just fine, weren’t they? They spliced genetic codes to make their foods more efficient; they spliced their pets, their gardens, all sorts.’
‘We transentients do it because it helps to police a city and control it effectively,’ said JD O’ Three, ‘though I agree, sir, it challenges some ethical perspectives. The neuro-ligature hardware implants are a breach to some out-dated moral human rights conventions. But since the definition of human is now so vague it is difficult to prescribe it rights. Some claim that Neurophase interfaces are cause to contemporary problems concerning paranoia, reality distortions and in some cases extreme violence. Some legal problems too, with a small number of Old Oligarchy leaders still calling for the preservation of intellectual property on memory and information. We DNA stamp newly created information to protect and encrypt origin, similar to a quantic authenticity stamp on an ocular image. It’s not perfect but there are no alternatives since they’re not easy to forge.’
‘Well,’ Alker laughed looking at the large man over his shoulder, ‘not as dumb as he looks, is he? Incidentally, he is fitted with a military grade version of neuro-ligature which has exceedingly good combat efficiency as well as improved intelligence, so I’m told; also explains the old techno mumbo jumbo. He was reading from a neurophase catalogue downloaded into his memory. But still, not bad for a bodyguard, IMO.’
JD O’ Three picked up on the patronising tone in Alker, but it didn’t bother him. It wasn’t his job to be offended, his job was to break bones and protect his client. Though he itched to tell Alker his IQ level exceeded the politician’s by three times even before the neurophase was built in.
‘To conclude my argument,’ JD resumed. ‘In all cases of invasive neural integration not one report of dementia has ever been recorded...’
‘Would you be aware of it if there had been?’ Anton interjected. ‘Think left if you’re told to; think right if you’re told to. Now, believe you’re not under control. Now tell us you’re not demented. See where I’m going with this, computer head? Power is a wonderful thing when regulated and nuanced. Call me old-fashioned but that’s rarely the case I believe. I don’t trust the neuro-ligature because it’s a very invasive form of power.’ And he looked at Alker with a knowing smile. ‘Decentralised and feigning non-existence, since like all power it works best in the dark.’
*
Anton’s office and meeting room was more evenly lit than the dark corridors, illuminated only by the breach of blue light shining between the escalator’s gaps and the hand rails. The computer detected motion in the room and automatically raised the observation shields, letting the sun arrow brightly inside. Anton walked around the large, ovular, varnished oak table set dominating the middle of the room. He took a seat at the head of it and offered his guests to sit.
‘Please,’ he directed.
Alker eased into a chair and placed his palms down on the cool smooth surface. He was joined by the Lawyer to his left, while the guard stood obediently by the door; hands affronted one over the other.
‘Now,’ said Anton slowly and bluntly, ‘I apologise if I seem a little pressing, but this meeting for me has come at a price. I won’t cover the details of that because it’s irrelevant now. Your company has taken great interest in the station for security reasons and you’ve clearly wasted no time in prying into our operational methods here. What is it I can help you with, Mr Alker?’
‘Are you aware of the news coming in from the Kyklos disaster?’
‘I have heard of it, yes.’
‘What have you heard of it?’
‘It was an arc-station; one of the original space stations to exodus Earth’s orbit during the Solitaire wars.’ Anton explained, deliberately emphasising, ‘well over a century ago.’
‘Well, what have you heard about it recently?’
‘Not much, I’m afraid,’ Anton sighed, ‘The news is quite new to this system but I understand the Kyklos disaster occurred some twelve or thirteen years ago now. Something about a rescue attempt. The local system they chose to inhabit was going through a supernova, I think. The civilisation was wiped out. There’s not much more I know.’
‘Good,’ Alker nodded. ‘Sounds like you’re more up to speed on that than I am.’
‘I very much doubt that,’ Anton said levelly.
‘Well, perhaps I know a few specifics. But you see it’s my duty to deal with a more internal situation. Any tragedy to befall a drifter colony stands outside my jurisdiction. I can’t do much for them so I do what I can for the S.S.A.’
‘The Solar System Alliance,’ O’Three’s voice travelled on an echo from the distance of the room.
‘And is the nature of our meeting, Mr Regallio.’ Kintz added earnestly.
‘I run an astro-union on the solar system’s main resource hub.’ Anton said over to the guard. ‘I’m well aware of the S.S.A, now please go on.’
‘Gladly,’ Alker ebulliently remarked, ‘The Omicron is our main port, and dispatches deep space missions, as well as receives material from other areas...’
‘Look! There is literally nothing you can tell me about this station that I don’t already know, please get to the point.’
‘The S.S.A cooperating body are expecting a dreadful threat to Earth.’ Alker said darkly. ‘It has become apparent that the Kyklos’ host star was sabotaged.’
‘The Sun-tau star was somehow sent over the Chandrasekhar limit, essentially causing a fatal singularity.’ said the Lawyer.
‘I.O.W, a black hole.’
Anton took pains to absorb the conversation, confused by the way the Lawyer and politician complemented each other’s sentences.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Kintz, ‘a manufactured one using an already dense star. The process is called quanti-mangus.’
‘So there’s now a rogue black hole in the Milky Way?’ Anton asked, waiting for some hidden punch-line.
‘Fortunately not,’ Alker chuckled amiably, ‘the Sun-Tau is far on the galaxy’s arm, it’s incredible the Kyklos colony made it out as far as they did with such obsolete technology. The black hole hasn’t the power to
drag in anything outside the system, and it’s radiating Hawking counterparts rapidly or so the research reveals.’
‘We’re told she’ll dissolve before any damage can be done.’ Added the Lawyer, ‘admittedly in two thousand earth years but. Considering cosmic events, that really isn’t a big deal.’
‘What does this have to do with me?’ asked Anton impatiently.
‘The person or persons responsible for this are terrorists of a new breed. They are ruthless creatures. I want to see your logs for Kyklos refugees and immigrants returning to Sol.’
‘Well, that’s a no-brainer,’ said Anton, ‘the answer’s no, Mr Alker. I am not at liberty to divulge confidential and personal information of any individual coming into or leaving this station.’
‘Not even to save the world?’ Alker challenged. ‘F.Y.I Mr Regallio, destroying stars is a very serious matter.’
‘Well, excuse me for not biting my tongue here but don’t you guys make a living from it? I don’t know much about it, but it is common knowledge that Obsiduranium is harvested from black holes for massive profit? Without it, we can’t run our high energy pyro-catalyst cores for deep space starnavis. Correct me, if I got that wrong.’
‘No,’ Alker said tartly, sitting back into the chair. ‘You’re perfectly correct in what you say. We selectively identify suitable stars for harvesting on a safe and legitimate basis. But they are not random stars, sir. They are closely analysed and they are to have no inhabitable planets in the system, the stars also have to be very dense already, like a neutron star for instance.’ Alker spoke slowly and carefully, offering his words with hand gestures that made him seem he was pinching the syllables right out of the air before him, a morsel of control suited to his sensibilities. ‘What’s more is these quanti-magnus events are, as my lawyer has already made clear, uneconomical. It takes a lot of energy to create condensed Obsiduranium. Simply unaffordable and not a viable solution, hence only produced in an emergency. That’s our policy, now you accept that, do you?’ Alker waited for Anton’s response, but he never gave it. Alker went on.
‘This situation has been responsible for the loss of two starnavis rescue ships, three global ecologies and countless lives. This really is a no-brainer, Mr Regallio only the answer is yes.’
‘I’m afraid this will have to go through confidential requests first. I’ll also have to speak to my union, make sure everything I do is above board here. I don’t wish to step on any toes. Of course, if you had an official warrant this would be a lot easier. You understand our loyalty to earthly castaways must be respected. This station has a long history of providing sanctuary for the oppressed.’
‘That’s confirmed,’ said Kintz, dipping into his case and fetching a fibre optic polymer pad onto the table. Digital information began to spin and trickle over the material as the room’s table interacted with the transparent polymer and projected a hologram for them to visualise.
‘I have your warrant from the Solar System Alliance.’ The picayune Lawyer continued, ‘this is the very rare situation in which we have to by-pass confidentiality. We’re not looking for anything other than the perpetrators. This is a legitimate order supported by a Nexus consensus decision, and state enforced.’
Of course it is, Anton Regallio thought, you control the minds of billions, doubtless they’ll support the cause through a Nexus consensus.
‘Right…’ Regallio stated ‘you realise that some of the customers I work with here on my station operate outside of what you consider lawful.’
‘We’re privy to that,’ said Kintz, ‘Mr Alker and the Northern-Syridan Ameritropolis have no interest with implying any foreign policy here. We only wish to seek our terrorist. Consider this our guarantee.’
‘I can’t take a verbal guarantee,’ said Anton strictly. ‘I want it written. Just the terrorists, anything else you consider unlawful is not your business on this station. I want it in writing.’
‘Agree,’ Alker said. ‘I’ll conquer with the S.S.A.’
‘Can you provide me with a description of your terrorist?’ Anton requested.
Alker turned to the Lawyer, who opened up his small portmanteaux once more. He removed another polymer pad from a pouch inside the case. He looked through the transparent disk at the holographic display animating ghostly images within it, and set it on the table top. The table’s surface recognised the thin material, and its oak wood semblance fell away into a pool of light that filled the centre. The table projected two profile images. One of them was a huge man, his pale skinned face twisted with rage, his hair draped in thick damp threads down to his back. The image was frozen, as though it may have been the last image the photographer saw before experiencing the wrath of this Olympian monster.
‘This is Raven Protos,’ Alker introduced. ‘We believe he is responsible for the Sun-tau system’s untimely destruction.’ Alker intentionally omitted that Raven was an Olympian Nephilim-grade warrior. ‘He’s unusually tall, over six feet. This Olympian warrior is deadly to the most extreme.’
Anton leaned in, angling his elbows on the table and resting his mouth on his knuckles. The hologram image changed to a small girl. She was crouched holding a silvery talisman, her eyes wide and liquid, her skin equally as pale as Raven’s. The child’s hair was tied back in large locks running to her hip. She was wearing a blue jumpsuit and green pressure boots. Anton noticed her unusual eyes.
‘We don’t know her name,’ Alker said, ‘but the S.S.A are getting used to calling her Cassandra.’
‘The same Cassandra,’ Kintz chuckled, ‘from Trojan Greek mythology. Apparently she’s able to forecast the future.’
‘We have many of our own so called clairvoyants here,’ said Anton, ‘I don’t see how a child can pose much of a threat. But this Raven you speak of is a more striking menace, I feel. I’ll see what I can do. Let me run this through my people. In the meantime, feel free to look around. You’ll be staying in the penthouse suite on the northern tower.’
‘Splendid,’ Alker said.
‘I can’t promise I’ll find them, but a seven foot man can’t be hard to find can he?’
Alker stood and the Lawyer began putting away the hydrogel disks to their plate holsters and locking them up in his portmanteaux. ‘You’re right about that,’ said Alker in closing. ‘I’ve been told by reliable sources that it’s not the finding them that has been a problem in the past, but their capture. Do not approach this man. He makes himself palpable to attack teams. You can’t really miss a man as tall as this and he knows it. But he is lethal in unarmed combat and more than efficient on a surprisingly wide range of weapons. Most weapons use DNA biometrics to access, but he has hidden nanotech hacking abilities. He is considered by our most professional soldiers to be elite. Discretion is advised.’
There was a long silence before Anton finally asked if he was an Olympian genetic.
‘No.’ Alker flatly lied.
‘Are you certain? I have ways of finding out for myself if he is or not, and you know where my alliances stand on this matter.’
‘You are to inform Mr Alker directly of their presence,’ said Major JD O’ Three from the back of the room, his voice carrying on a slight echo. ‘From then on, I’ll be in charge of the incarceration. My team will take him down fast with respect to your property.’
Anton nodded, ‘I’ll keep it in mind.’
-40-
The C.A.L.C station Luminite hovered in the Lagrange point four zone near Telesto. The particle atomic clock operated automatically, and serviced as a refuel station for Zero-Point-Energy drives. A carrier vessel heading for Omicron had recently entered the system and docked with the C.A.L.C station. The SC Pontiac stopped to harness quantum energy in the local area and the crew boarded the Luminite. The C.A.L.C station Luminite was only two hundred cubic square meters in size, a large bulk of which was taken up by hardware and maintenance drones.
The SC Pontiac began signalling radar disturbances to the crew as they boarded the station, and a
strange phenomenon registered through space. The Captain hurried to his command seat, pulling his weight through the micro-gravity to float above the displays and he positioned himself to glare out of the window. Only the eternal blackness was out there, forever silent.
‘Captain?’ one of his crew members spoke across the terminal. ‘Disturbances on the Luminite station, getting some strange readings. Gravitational shifts.’
‘It’s the same on the Pontiac,’ he reported, occupied with what was outside. ‘Angels, can you identify?’
‘Negative identity, Captain,’ said the Pontiac’s AI systems. ‘Whatever the source is though, it’s fluctuating, altering speed and course.’
‘I can’t get a visual.’
He moved around to another window panel, his breath fogging the glass as he kept his nose to the cold surface, kicking around in his large padded grey space suit. The helmet collar clinked against the glass as he changed his position, moving his forehead to the window.
‘Captain…’ one of his crew reported. ‘I’ve got a visual from the station Captain.’
‘What can you see?’
‘Oh my Christ…’
His crew would never relay what was heading toward them. Through the dead of space a fire as bright as a star momentarily flashed on everything reflective as a chunk of the Hephaestus One slammed into the station, releasing antimatter from its containment and swallowing a thousand miles of space in light. Falling out of the expansive blast, which shone now through the silent cosmos, were three metallic cones. Wheeling in synchronicity, the assailant Xenotech closed in on their next target, Station Omicron.
Chaos Cipher Page 39
