Chaos Cipher

by Den Harrington

  ‘Looking good Commander’ he cheered, ‘damn well pulled this thing apart.’

  ‘I’m caught up,’ he heard Estelle’s voice on the network. ‘I’m caught up in it…shit!’

  ‘I got you, Bennett,’ Mortel’s voice joined.

  Object is clear, The Deathwind neurophased. We got another problem.

  Ripley realised the mechanical tentacles they pulled away were still latched to the hull and working into the ship’s armour.

  Those things are compromising the integral fuselage.

  ‘Weapons online,’ Ace Ripley breathed as the acceleration forces diminished.

  They’re fusing my quantics, commander, said the AI in a worried tone. There’s some sort of hacking going on here, I’m detecting code…code I’ve never seen before, it doesn’t translate and it’s mutating to meld with my computational language.

  ‘Show me!’

  Ace witnessed in the neurosphere a whole range of code infesting the space outside his spherical information membrane. He watched it take away spatial visuals and swallow the ship’s system functionality, slowly cutting off responsive mechanisms from the pilot. The code was not binary, nor did it represent any known quantic calibration, rather it represented itself in X’s and zero’s and ampersands and phi symbols.

  This code is malicious, said the AI, I can’t trace its source, the virus is polymorphic and disguising itself as directives. It’s utilising my programming code to hide its origin.

  ‘Run new diagnostic,’ said Ripley, ‘give me full band feedback.’

  Ace Ripley analysed the new data and shook his head in confusion. In the neurosphere, discriminatory programs shaved off the complicated codes to make him aware of the other two Stymphalions, his associates, battling their own viral problems. Estelle Bennett was caught up in the same nanome wires and cables that almost snagged The Deathwind.

  ‘I want manual access control of the warhead.’

  Access granted, Ace, you sure you want to detonate that thing at close range?

  ‘You can take it right?’ he asked, releasing the Warhead beneath the ship.

  I can, but we need to make some considerable distance.

  ‘Full throttle, Deathwind.’ He ordered.

  Roger, retros at full throttle.

  ‘All crew, stand by for phoenix warhead detonation.’

  ‘Make it quick, sir!’ Estelle came back through the network in a panic.

  The ship’s engines purred as the retro boosters arrowed them forth, a winding sound that suddenly ground to a stop.

  Bad news Ace, those things got into my engines, said D.W, I put as much distance as I could between us and the phoenix, but they’re cutting off retros.

  ‘We at a good distance?’

  I don’t think so, the damage won’t be superficial.

  ‘We can survive it!’

  What choice do we have, Ace? Said the ship. Better hope this works. You’re a gambling man, right? If we let these things win, we won’t survive. We’ll suffer the same fate those Adamoss avatars did.

  ‘Right,’ said Ripley, leaning back and shutting his eyes. He set the detonation key and signalled the Warhead. ‘The electro-magnetic pulsar from the blast will knock out your systems. How long do you think it will take you to reboot?’

  That depends on the efficiency of my magnetic shielding, said D.W. On a good day, and presuming my memory banks aren’t scrambled, I’d say about five or six minutes.

  ‘Good luck Deathwind.’

  You too Commander. Detonation key confirmed - brace yourselves!

  And a burgeoning star was born, swallowing The Deathwind in its expanding blast. Ace Ripley was plunged into immediate darkness. Power to the Solitaire Deathwind abruptly deactivated and he groaned as the blast from outside shook him around in the dark confines of the vessel. Windows blacked out the radiation, control panels sounded fierce alarms and the heads-up display blinked with malfunctions. There was no neurosphere, no AI, no quantic feedback at all, he was riding the veritable tides of fire and magnetism out from the epicentre, hoping the fuselage won’t crack as it baked in the heat. He heard now the tick and pop of metal, the ruptures of the shields compressing and expanding as he was thrown into spin and the heads-up display crackled with gamma charges breaking in through the shields. The temperature started to rise, and Ace Ripley screamed against the turbulent inertial forces with the wilful effort of survival.

  -55-

  Kintz rocked back and forth in the levitation chair plucking his eyebrow as Alker stood glaring obstinately through the observation wall at the extent of the station’s enormous curvature arching up and above and looping somewhere overhead. A white flare still flashed from the damaged Cosmo tower near Beta Gate, while repair drones and engineers worked in the spread of debris circling around the station’s orbit. Alker watched the moving trams servicing the many sections of the station sliding in and out of their mag-tubes, the hundreds of ships swarming local space and the service elevators sliding up and down the struts from the docking sphere to its surrounding habitation ring. It all seemed like microscopic clockwork from the frame of his window. Alker remained reticent, stirring the green tinted liquid in his brandy glass with a plastic toothpick. The door slid open and Regallio entered the room with two of his masked soldiers and ascended the steps to reach Alker’s conservatory space.

  ‘I thought we had an arrangement?’ said Alker.

  Regallio didn’t respond, he stood firmly and quietly, giving Alker all the time he needed to express his disappointment and maybe reveal to Regallio some discretion to his character, yet unknown to him.

  ‘You have no idea what shit storm you’ve just unleashed.’ Alker drank from the glass, the warm malachite liquid sent coasting over his tongue, and returned the tumbler by his waist, rocking what was left of the liquor in his palm to spin as he spoke with contemplative solicitude. ‘You have no idea, do you? You should never have let them depart from the tower. You could have shot them down and destroyed them. Why didn’t you? Instead you let them velox out of orbit. And how did they manage that, I thought you shut down your saltus-carousels?’

  ‘They had one integrated,’ said Anton.

  ‘That’s illegal, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘Does this base care for legalities of any kind? Why didn’t you tell me the starnavis shuttle had an integrated carousel?’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me the terrorist was an Olympian back when I first asked you?’

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

  ‘You didn’t worry me, Mr Alker. You misinformed me. Now I have the Royal Twilight owners barking down my ear and a handful of people dead while serving your bodyguard and staff general. I suppose he knew what he was dealing with?’

  ‘JD O’ Three knew exactly what he was dealing with, yes. And he was prepared to lead your men. Sadly, killing Olympians is not an easy feat.’

  ‘The information was on a need to know basis,’ said Kintz, relaxing in his chair ‘and you didn’t need to know.’

  ‘I did need to know!’ Regallio stated rubbernecking shoulder-way, not giving Kintz the respect of a frontal confrontation, ‘did you see the surveillance recordings?’ and he turned his head back to Alker, ‘did you see what he did to those soldiers? That monster tore them apart. Even armed to the teeth, they didn’t stand a chance. And as for my Eastern Cosmo tower, well…I sense there’s much more to that story too. Initially, it looked like an accident. In fact, The Griffin’s Claw gained almost three mega tons of mass out of nowhere. We’re guessing Obsiduranium was involved.’

  ‘We can’t let this threat reach Earth.’ Alker stated.

  ‘Earth is not my home. Our business is concluded,’ Regallio digressed after a few moments. ‘You may leave, when you’re ready.’

  And as Regallio headed for the door, Alker told him that he hopes nobody else lives to regret this. ‘I’d have thought you may have been interested in the capture of this degenerate, if anything to bring him to justice after destroying your hotel,
your Cosmo tower and the men, you so dutifully feel indebted to after they were K.I.A.’

  Regallio nodded. ‘I could equally say the same for your men. Wherever he was, so were your sweeper RIG. They were continually using excessive firepower on my station like petulant fucking gun-slingers on a shooting range. You’ve overstayed your welcome, Mr Alker. Now, leave.’

  Regallio departed, leading the two soldiers back into the corridor and the door closed behind them. Alker scrunched his face bitterly and finished his brandy, tossing the glass over his shoulder, which hit the ground with a dull thud and rolled away somewhere behind him.

  ‘What now?’ Kintz asked.

  And he could have said anything but he didn’t.

  I.O.W, he wasn’t sure what now.

  And then sirens began to ring throughout the entire station. Outside the habitat, a long array of crimson light pulsed around the perimeter centrifuge, and screens displayed Anton Regallio’s emergency recorded message.

  ‘Omicron citizens, this is an emergency,’ his voice filtered through every room on the station. ‘Proceed to evacuate the station via emergency launch tubes and the axel docking sphere. A code three, one, one, nine emergency is in effect. This is not a drill. All hands abandon Omicron, immediately.’

  Alker stared in horror as explosions pulsed through space, micro detonations popping like distant winks of light in the turning sky. The message replayed in three minute intervals, and Kintz was already making pace for the exits.

  -56-

  Anton heard his pre-recorded message playing on the displays, repeating itself over and over. He hurried through walkway conduits, following a pre-programmed breadcrumb hologram that would lead to his escape shuttle.

  ‘Any news from Archimedes station?’ he asked one of his security officers who marched with him.

  ‘Negative, sir,’ he responded. ‘We’ve just been told there are thermo-nuclear explosions a couple thousand clicks away and they’re getting closer.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Anton said, reserving his panic. ‘Nuclear?’

  ‘Phoenix Warheads, we think.’

  ‘Keep the emergency alarms running; make sure the drones, holograms and Mechs are working to get people out of here.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Mister Regallio,’ one of the women shouted, marching up fast to the front of the line. ‘Shield of Spheres sent a message, sir.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Chief Claudia Noble says she knows the men responsible for liberating The Griffin’s Claw.’

  Anton’s eyes lit with interest, his countenance turning from dour to malignant.

  ‘Patch her through my oculars,’ he said. A moment later the Shield of Spheres insignia appeared on the ocular display in Anton’s eyes, a limited ghostly field that appeared semi-transparent and carried with it various information about the message downlink speed.

  ‘Who the hell are you people?’ he said. ‘Was it you who did that to my station?’

  ‘It was,’ The Chief came clear, the symbol circling where normally an image of her avatar would appear. ‘But this one isn’t us. There’s something heading your way Anton. I have just received an update from Wing Commander, Ace Ripley of the Plato Wing. What we’re dealing with, is very advanced technology. Most likely, it wants the station for some reason.’

  ‘What reason?’ Anton barked.

  ‘Do not wait around to find out, sir. Get as many out of there as you can. We’re holding them back but our efforts to stop these things have been so far nugatory.’

  And Anton was shouting in a blind rage at the woman where a symbol for the company logo spun in the avatar space like a digital medal. Doggedly, he pushed by others on the same route, pushing people out of his direction as he made haste with his armed marching security team. With the yammering heads he grimaced at spiritualists humming and singing about the presence of God come from the eternal darkness beyond the habitation field. He heard the ring of bicycle bells as cyclists raced along the cycle lane on his left, shooting into the up-curving walkway to their assigned emergency port. He heard the yells from behind as Alker and Kintz hurried after them.

  ‘What is all this?’ Alker demanded.

  ‘Didn’t you hear?’ Anton growled, irritated that the reality still hadn’t sunk in. ‘Evacuation, don’t you get it? This place is going to hell.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Alker tried. ‘I don’t see what is wrong. Did something happen to the Cosmo tower? I thought all that was under control.’

  ‘It was,’ said Anton, leading them down a new isle. ‘There’s another danger fast approaching.’

  ‘What danger?’ his voice a passing moment as a whistling sound echoed and stirred, the sound of voices screaming in unison, each voice joining the moment their horror was realised, like a Mexican wave. Alker craned his head and gaped in astonishment. Anton Regallio could only do the same, staring with a dumbfounded look beset on his face, as the axel sphere split apart like a flaming rose budding from a basalt shell. The black and white alloys sprung apart slowly, widening in a beautiful and dazzling orb. Initial shockwaves burst out in dust, pulsing against the habitation and sending dull vibrations through the station’s ringular hull, and the growing scarlet petals of fire reached out faster, chasing the shockwaves. The Xenotech leader raced from the blast, its long mechanical tentacles trailing far behind it as it vanished into space. Fragments from the axel sphere smashed into the Omicron’s centrifuge habitation as it continued to wheel, gradually grinding itself into pieces. Another Xenotech crashed through the habitation ring, obliterating shield barricades and elevation spokes. The destructive machines left the Jovian orbit littered with burning debris, vying for the remote sunlight beyond the field of chaos. The station’s destruction would leave no survivors save those who evacuated before the impact. And for the few fortunate souls who did, their voyage home would be one of terror, as each became enslaved in the cybernetic tendrils of the Xenotech visitors.

  -57-

  Enaya Chahuán had been with the local schools most of the day. The art classes were learning to paint geographical regions in interesting new ways. Today’s class had been about expressing countries, tropes and stereotypes. It was common knowledge that Atominii society had wiped out a lot of cultural individuality for sameness, variations that only existed in the mirrored universe of digital representations expressed in the quasilands. Most hardland cultures were survivalists. The students usually referred to history books to get their imaginations going. She’d also visited the mathematics schools. The students in those schools, similarly, learned about other subjects through mathematics skills, and she had seen how students played music using algorithms, and art using angles. The pupils and students were laughing and joking as she walked around looking at paintings and then someone began shouting. And a child screamed. Enaya hurried to the commotion as Berengar stalked into the building, and a man was trying to hold him back.

  ‘Enaya!’ Berengar shouted at the teacher, ‘not you!’

  ‘Get that out of here!’

  Berengar was carrying something in his arms. And he dumped the carcass of a dog across a table already set up with oils and pastels, and a spill of rainbow colours spread across its fur.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Enaya cried angrily as some of the children began to whimper and the older kids squalled angrily.

  ‘GET OUT!’ They yelled.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Others cried. ‘Is he crazy?’

  ‘That is for you,’ said Berengar the Bear fiercely. ‘A gift from your friend, Edge Fenris.’

  ‘Get that dog out of here this instant!’ Enaya flared, gnashing her teeth.

  ‘I can’t,’ he replied, an insincere smirk upon his face. ‘The dog doesn’t walk because it was poisoned. Maybe you should talk to Edge. We want him out.’

  And the Bear looked down on the younger members of the group and smiled.

  ‘That’s right, kids,’ he said, ‘your teacher is protecting dog-killers!’


  ‘Get out!’ Enaya snapped. ‘OUT NOW!’

  And a series of voices chimed vocally, screaming Berengar away. But The Bear was already leaving, absorbed in a proud countenance, carrying himself on a confident stride that evinced graciously in the reflection of the corporeal bomb, he’d just landed in the art studio. It took the whole day to calm the younger children down. It wasn’t usual to have the carcass of animals dropped in their presence, and the vulgarities made even more disturbing by the Bear’s overwhelming size, aggression and threatening demeanour. She herself had been deeply disturbed by it all, and sought Daryl’s council later in the evening. Daryl had been brushing up on his language skills. In his spare time, he found it pleasurable to learn old languages left unused by most of the world, which were once common across Europe. Languages once very popular and used around these parts called English, French and German. He’d considered it part of his diplomatic position in Cerise Timbers, in case people from the hardlands came from these regions. Language was not as common in the Atominii since the neurophase fulfilled communication services, a stream of information delivered instantly which expressed reasoning via neurological-network strengths. Daryl didn’t know much about it, since he’d never had a neuro-linguist explain the complexities and there was no printed literature on it. However, he’d heard that stronger networks won out on the neuro-reasoning aspect, so when two opinions conflicted, the weaker reasoning would surrender to the mind with stronger reasoning power. This, apparently, was how the Atominii functioned, shifting consciousness to a singularity that was primed, from the start to be a tailored reasoning, a programmed pattern that was simply taken as correct because it was a popular premise, and who knows, maybe they were correct. Try and argue with anybody from the Atominii that their exclusive life-styles come at the cost of pain and suffering to others, they would say the price was more than necessary for reasons the hardlanders and those not wired up can ever understand. It was a consciousness that won by default. For Daryl, he was hoping quite nostalgically to preserve some memory of language, some culture and way of thinking that was neglected, in the hope of finding some knowledge that may save humanity from their miserable state. He’d come across some wonderful words in his time.