The camp had become a marshland.
The rains were relentless, coming down in solid sheets that had to be experienced to be believed. The winds accompanying them were even worse, often driving the rains sideways and tearing apart any structure not soundly constructed with almost contemptuous ease. As the river continued to rise, it forced them to relocate many of the refugees to higher ground, an arduous exercise even under the best of conditions. With housing nowhere near complete, they crammed the refugees into existing spaces designed to house far fewer numbers to shelter them from the incessant storm.
Despite gallant efforts under horrific conditions, Akuum Wuzah couldn’t prevent the camp’s groundwater from becoming contaminated with bodily waste. Intestinal diseases skyrocketed as their crude sanitation system flooded and overflowed, with patients suffering from the alien equivalents of Typhus and Cholera filling their sickbeds. Thankfully, Gaia was now providing them with an alternate source of hydration, with every available bucket and barrel pressed into service to catch the rain. The few roads that allowed the food convoys access had quickly become mud-choked bogs, hampering their attempts to keep the camp fed even as they struggled to free lorries buried down to their axles.
The Knights stared in dismay at the muck and mire, at the torrential non-stop rain, as Blye struggled to maintain a stoic demeanor, while Prash simply shook his head. “And here I thought hell was the realm of fire,” he said grimly.
“Hell is what you make it,” she replied, sighing as she turned away from the gray and dismal scene. “Any word from the Taing’zem government?”
“Same old story; ‘We’re doing the best we can’, coupled with ‘You’re not the only one’s suffering’,” Amar said in disgust. “They’ve known the rains were coming for months, and they did nothing.”
“They’re looking after their own,” Blye said lightly. “As much as it pains me, I can’t blame them for that. Not everyone has our… unique perspective.” She thought for a moment, then asked, “Can we increase our logging efforts to compensate?”
“Forget it,” Prash said unhappily, “the timber crews are all saying the same thing, that trying to operate under these conditions is simply too hazardous. We’re not going to make up the difference there.”
Shaking her head, Blye led the others back inside, the sound of steady drips landing in a dozen scattered pots and pans filling their ears. “We won’t get what we need from the Tsengju, at least not in time, and logging has become too dangerous. So what does that leave us with? How are we going to keep the rain off the refugees?”
Prash just shrugged, while a stray thought struck Amar. “Well, this might sound a little odd, but…” he began.
“... if it’s a viable option, I’ll take it,” Blye interrupted. “What’s your idea?”
“I was just thinking about this op we did a couple of years ago when I was still with the Valkyries,” he continued, scratching his head. “The locals were pretty primitive, not much past the hunter-gatherer stage, though they also did some farming. They were a minority species on their planet, and they wanted nothing to do with modern technology. Everything they had, they made themselves.”
“Go on,” she said encouragingly.
“Well, I remember they used to weave these big canvas tarps from plants,” he explained. “I mean, it’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”
Blye and Prash looked at one another. “I don’t suppose you know how to build a loom,” Prash asked her.
“Well, no,” she admitted, “but there has to be someone in this camp who does. Of course, that’s only half the battle, we’d also need to find the plants best suited for making woven mats. Otherwise, we’re looking at a lot of trial and error.”
“Can’t we ask the Tsengju?” Amar suggested. “It’s their world, after all. Surely somewhere in the distant past, their ancestors did that sort of thing. They must have kept records somewhere about it.”
“Get on the horn then,” Blye grinned, “and see what you can find out.”
“Me?” Amar said in surprise.
“It was your idea,” Prash chuckled.
“... next time, I’m keeping my mouth shut,” he grumbled, before shuffling off towards the commo room.
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Sometime later, the clinic was rattled by the all-too-familiar sound of an Aggaaddub shuttle coming in for a landing. Bowing to the inevitable, Blye urged the others to remain inside the clinic, while she went out to meet Kaihautu Yugha, or whichever of his minions he’d sent to make their lives miserable. Better whatever displeasure he was feeling landed on her shoulders, instead of someone else's.
As the shuttle’s hatchway opened and the commander himself appeared, Blye steeled herself for what was coming. Either he wanted to take another crack at Aleph, or he had some new punishment in mind for them. Frustrated by his inability to locate the Precursor homeworld, the Kaihautu went out of his way to make their lives a living hell. There had been no new executions, but every man, woman, and child within the camp was all too aware of the Sword of Damocles that dangled over their heads.
The massive aliens tromped towards her through the mud, their bulk sending splashes of mire in all directions as they neared. The rain didn’t seem to bother the Aggaaddub; the water sluicing easily off their reptilian scales. Hell, for all she knew, they actually preferred it.
The Kaihautu barely paused as he grabbed her arm. “We are going to the vault,” he informed her, dragging her alongside him as she struggled to keep her feet. Inwardly, she breathed a small sigh of relief. At least none of the refugees would be mistreated today. Outwardly, she tried to shrug off his grasp, with no success. The big lizard easily possessed twice her strength, if not more, but there was no way in hell she’d simply go along meekly with his plans. It was a dangerously thin tightrope she walked; too little resistance and both the refugees and the Troika would see her as their lackey, too much, and the nearby river would run thick with innocent blood.
She’d buried far too many of those already.
Blye finally pulled free as they arrived at the vault, rubbing her arm while glaring daggers at him. “What are we here for?” she demanded.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“Since you seem incapable of locating their home planet, I thought we might try a different approach,” he growled. “A race as advanced as they must have had weapons of unimaginable power,” he continued, gazing down at her from his full height. “And I want you to procure one for me.”
She all but sagged in defeat. Not only did the thought of giving him access to that kind of technology flat out terrify her, but there were more immediate concerns as well. “I’m no Tinker,” she protested, “I wouldn’t understand the first thing about a weapon’s schematic.”
“Then I suggest you give it your very best effort,” he snapped, shoving her inside the vault as he entered behind her.
There was no sense in arguing. She’d brought a scalpel along with her and made a small cut on her thumb, smearing the blood on the elevator’s controls as they began their descent. Blye had no idea what a Precursor weapon might look like, or what one might be capable of, but the possibilities were absolutely frightening. Something that could vaporize a ship, or worse… an entire world? And if they got their hands on that sort of technology, what then? How long would the Alliance last, facing that kind of power?
How long would her fellow Terrans?
There had to be a way out of this. She just needed to find it. As the elevator reached the bottom, she and the Kaihautu stepped off, making their way to the raised sarcophagus-like platform that marked the interface to link with Aleph. Neither of them spoke as she ascended the dais, laying down and setting in as the connections snapped into place.
Once again, Blye walked through the gray fog, her feet easily finding their way as she neared the ancient construct.
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… USER RECOGNIZED. WELCOME, CHEVALIER DEUXIÈME BLYE TAGATA. AUXILIARY DATA ARCHIVE 17Ω-ALEPH9 ONLINE, AWAITING INPUT.
“Hello Aleph,” she said gently. “How are you?”
SYSTEM IS OPERATING WITHIN SPECIFIED PARAMETERS.
“Right,” she sighed. “Guess I was hoping for a more original answer.”
RESPONSE NOT RECOGNIZED. PLEASE RESTATE QUERY.
“Never mind,” she answered. She really needed to stop treating it like it had a mind of its own. “Do you possess schematics of your creator's technology in your database?” Blye asked, getting down to business.
AFFIRMATIVE.
“... All their technology?” she queried it apprehensively.
AFFIRMATIVE.
“So much for that dodge,” Blye grimaced. “All right… access your weapons files. What’s something big and nasty that will keep a bloodthirsty conqueror happy, without permanently enslaving the galaxy?”
QUERY INDETERMINATE. PLEASE INPUT TECHNOLOGICAL BASELINE LEVEL.
That caught her by surprise. “What do you mean?” she asked.
INTERREGNUM DETECTED DURING INITIAL INTERFACE. CRISIS CONCORDANT PROTOCOL IN EFFECT. TECHNOLOGICAL BASELINE LEVEL REQUIRED TO DESIGN APPROPRIATE SCHEMATICS.
“Uh… I don't know what kind of scale you use for that,” Blye admitted. “And what exactly is an ‘Interregnum’?”
ANY PERIOD OF DISCONTINUITY THAT INCLUDES LOSS OF TECHNOLOGICAL AND/OR SOCIAL PROFICIENCY IS DEFINED AS AN INTERREGNUM.
“Period of discontinuity?” Blye puzzled over that one for a moment until she blinked in realization. “Wait, you mean like a Dark Age? A time when society collapsed?”
AFFIRMATIVE.
“Wait… so… your creators actually planned for that?” she said in amazement.
AFFIRMATIVE.
“Holy Mother Terra,” Blye whispered, as the reality of that simple statement slammed into her. What kind of mind plans in advance for the collapse of society? Not only that, but has a backup plan in place ready to pick up where they left off? She couldn’t begin to imagine a creature capable of cold-bloodedly assessing the likelihood of their descendants’ eventual downfall, in order to prepare the way for the Renaissance that would eventually… inevitably… follow.
Blye’s psyche balked at the foresight necessary to engage in that sort of long-term planning. Her opinion of those distant ancestors took yet another quantum leap, as she tried to envision even the tiniest fraction of faith required for such an act.
“... I suppose we’ll always be in their shadow,” she said wonderingly, before shaking it off as she remembered why she was here. “Aleph, can you show me a visual representation of the various technological baseline levels?” she asked it.
AFFIRMATIVE.
The gray fog vanished, as Blye found herself on a savannah. A band of half-naked men and women stalked through the tall grass, dressed in ragged animal skins and carrying crude spears as they stalked their prey. To her surprise, they were human, not the bluish-skinned amphibians Aleph had shown her. It must have scanned her and updated its files, she reasoned, as she realized it was showing her a band of hunter-gatherers.
“I’d like to think we’re a bit more advanced than that,” she sighed. “What’s next?”
The scene shifted, as she found herself now on a fertile plain. A wide river meandered nearby, as simple farmers clad in woven fibers tilled the soil and harvested crops. They were none that she recognized, but that was to be expected. Blacksmiths hammered away on rudimentary forges, as they discovered the hidden secrets of metal.
“... Agriculture,” whispered in wonder. It was incredible, so rich and lifelike, she felt she could step into the setting and join them, even though she knew it had to be some form of mental projection. With a silent thought, she nixed that one as well.
Another shift, as she fought back a cough, staring wide-eyed at a smoke-filled tableau. Chimneys dotted the landscape, belching out thick clouds of soot as cast iron beasts gasped and wheezed, freeing man from his labors as they performed his tasks for him.
“... steam power,” she said with a start. Was it going to take her through all the developments man had experienced? And the ones he had yet to see?
A brief blur, as the scene shifted yet again. The steam engines vanished, to be replaced by self-propelled vehicles on land and in the sky. Skyscrapers appeared, reaching for the heavens, while metal towers radiated energy as far as the eye could see.
“Internal combustion,” she realized, heralding the Machine Age, along with electricity, radios… the early beginnings of the world she now knew.
Another blur, as it forced her to shield her eyes and look away from a massive burst of energy, brighter than even the sun. It didn’t take a genius to recognize that.
“The Atomic Age,” she said hoarsely, as the scene shifted once more.
The thick power lines transformed into fiber-optic cable as a massive network of computers crisscrossed the landscape. Primitive automatons shambled their way through the obstacles, pausing occasionally to download new updates.
“The Digital Revolution,” she said in wonder, gazing with rapt attention. It was as if Aleph was showing her the history of man, gifting her with images not seen in centuries.
It was… incredible.
Blye gasped as she watched rockets escape their planet’s gravity, making their way to the nearby moons and planets. Explorers landed on those inhospitable worlds and planted their flags, as the curiosity of Man surged ever forward.
“... the New Frontier,” she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest.
The small interplanetary craft suddenly expanded, growing massive as they surged past the solar boundaries, reaching out for distant stars. A galactic empire arose, bright and shining, even though she knew it was a lie. It was a universe filled with possibility, the way things should have been, not the dark, dreary reality of Terran existence that she knew all too well. But despite the glaring discrepancies, something locked into place inside her mind; a sense of recognition, as Aleph got his answer.
After twenty thousand years, she’d found her way back home.
TECHNOLOGICAL BASELINE LEVEL SELECTED, Aleph reported. WEAPONRY DATA FILES OPEN.
Her jaw dropped, staring in horror at brand new ways to rain down death and destruction.
----------------------------------------
Blye’s eyes fluttered back open, only to find herself gazing up at Kaihautu Yugha’s ominous expression.
“... Well?” he growled.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice, “... I didn’t understand any of it.”