Claye Eligah
Claye sighed, leaning back in his chair as he tried to gather his thoughts.
He wondered if he had managed to truly get his point across in his last conversation with Ethan.
The magnitude of the experience he had gone through felt impossible to convey fully, but he knew he had done everything in his power to protect Ethan and by extension, his daughter.
All he could do now was relay the information he could and provide Ethan with a couple of data slates filled with inconsequential data to analyze.
The memory of the data slate dissolving in Ethan’s artificial hand came to mind, consumed by the nanites, much to Ethan’s apparent dismay.
The ease with which Ethan could then recall the information, despite not even glimpsing at the data, unnerved Claye.
Ethan seemed annoyed by the loss of the physical slate, but the ability to perfectly absorb that much data so quickly was a precious, and dangerous, skill.
Claye couldn't shake the feeling that Ethan’s AI was on par with Athena and other AIs his late wife had helped design, if not superior.
Athena and the others were still confined to their chosen designs, but Ethan’s AI was adapting to new functions.
Claye’s thoughts drifted to the past, to a time when he and his wife, Elara, were just beginning to understand the scope of their respective work after the official end of the long war.
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The Psionic Research branch of the Ceti Trade Pact Institute loomed on the outskirts of the city, its cold, metallic structure a stark contrast to the natural beauty surrounding it.
Most of the city’s architecture was in harmony with nature, featuring curved lines that blended seamlessly with the planet’s strange vegetation.
But the Institute’s building was different; its streamlined, essential lines bordered on a militaristic purely functional design, even though it was supposedly a civilian facility.
Tall, imposing gates opened to an inner courtyard lined with meticulously trimmed hedges, creating a simple but straightforward maze leading to the building’s main entrance.
Claye had to wonder why they bothered with a maze if they were going to offer a direct path, a question that still lingered in his mind.
Inside, the air was filled with the faint hum of advanced machinery and the strong scent of antiseptic, more reminiscent of a hospital than a research center.
Scientists from all fields had been selected for their exceptional abilities and keen intellect and were now granted the rare opportunity to tour the facility.
Claye glanced at his wife, Elara, whose excitement was palpable, though he could see a touch of apprehension in her expression as they stepped into the lobby.
Elara’s beauty was striking, even as her illness wore her down.
Her hair, a cascade of rich, red waves, caught the light like fire on water, framing the delicate features that had captivated Claye at first sight.
Her deep, enchanting gray eyes held a quiet wisdom, tempered by a life of both love and hardship. Despite her petite figure, there was a strength in her that belied her size; a resilience born from years of battling a disease that even the most advanced medicine and nanites couldn’t cure.
Elara wasn’t just Claye’s wife and the love of his life; she was a genius in computer programming and the mother of several AI programs that now stood side by side with humanity.
Years later, Claye knew she would have been most proud of their daughter, Tessa, a more tangible and affectionate miracle of creation.
As they entered the lobby, they were greeted by a towering statue whose intricate design cast eerie shadows on the walls and floor.
-A neuron?- Elara muttered, raising an eyebrow at the peculiar choice for a symbol of their work. Claye couldn’t help but share her bewilderment.
Before they could dwell on it, a stern-faced female Sarlaccian in a crisp white lab coat approached them, introducing herself as the director’s assistant.
She was a sight to behold, though a bit short for her species, standing at a mere nine feet tall.
The iridescent green of her chitinous plates gave her an appearance both sleek and robust, with subtle shades of violet rippling across her body as she moved.
Her large, multifaceted amber eyes were at the sides of her elongated, triangular head and gave her an unsettling quality, while her long, whip-like tendrils, lined with sensory cilia, extended from the back of her head like a naturally moving ponytail.
Her mouth opened as she spoke, revealing four triangular mandibles that pushed outward, each lined with rows of sharp, needle-like teeth as she spoke.
Claye couldn’t help but wonder how this creature, who appeared so predatory, could sustain itself on large fruits and tree sap.
But then again, they weren’t limited to Earth’s biome, so anything was possible when encountering extra-terrestrial sentient lifeforms.
As they waited, the air buzzed with quiet conversations, most filled with speculation about what they were about to witness.
The Institute was renowned for its research results, but it was also notorious for its controversial and often unethical practices.
Claye had heard rumors, but being there in person made the reality of those whispers all the more unsettling.
Moments later, Dr. Karl Wilhelm Jundt, the director of the Institute, joined them.
He was a tall human, with sharp features and an air of authority that demanded attention.
His hazel eyes scanned the group with cold calculation, and an amused smirk played on his lips as he noticed the human visitors.
-Welcome to the Ceti Trade Pact Institute branch dedicated to Psionic Research- Dr. Jundt began, his voice smooth yet commanding.
-You are here today to witness the full potential of the mind. I hope to show you that the mind is our greatest tool and, perhaps, the greatest weapon that would end the need for conflict altogether.-
Dr. Jundt led them through a series of corridors lined with glass walls, offering glimpses into various labs where researchers in white coats worked diligently over complex machinery and glowing screens.
As they passed, Claye caught sight of a few unsettling scenes, researchers conducting experiments that involved invasive procedures, with subjects connected to strange devices by wires and tubes.
He had seen countless battlefields, and the wounded and dying, still the sight made his stomach churn, and he forced himself to keep moving.
The tour culminated in a large auditorium where they were invited to take their seats. Dr. Jundt stood at the podium, his expression intense as he began to speak.
-Our research here at this branch of the CTP Institute revolves around the concept of psionics—the ability of the mind to influence the physical world- Dr. Jundt explained.
-It is an exciting and often misunderstood field, where the boundaries of science and philosophy blur. The creation endowed various species with abilities that border on the uncanny, like Myar’s and Ṿëšťæŕöß’s natural empathy and ability to show their feelings with bioluminescence and skin color changes.-
He paused, letting his words settle in the room, before continuing -To truly grasp the nature of our work, one must understand the profound impact of mental interactions with different subjects.-
Dr. Jundt’s eyes seemed to glimmer with a hint of zeal as he continued.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
-Allow me to share a thought with you: ‘The contact of two minds is like the contact of two chemical substances; if there’s any reaction, both are forever transformed. No longer can we tell what was one or the other, nor can we explain the presence of a substance neither originally possessed, but now both share. What would happen if this newborn synthesis became the dominant force in those same minds?’-
A heavy silence followed his words. The scientists exchanged glances, some intrigued, others puzzled.
Claye, as the mere spouse of a scientist, had no idea of the implications, but he didn’t like how Dr. Jundt smiled at the varied reactions.
-This- Dr. Jundt continued, his tone almost reverent -This is the essence of our research. When two minds interact on a psionic level, they are irrevocably changed. They share a new understanding, a new force that neither possessed before. This synthesis, this new entity, can become a dominant force within both minds.-
Elara’s hand shot up almost immediately, making Claye wish he could disappear into the floor. He had always hated being at the center of attention, preferring to work behind the scenes, but there was no hiding now.
-Dr. Jundt- she began, her voice steady -isn’t there a logical fallacy in the quote? If a new substance appears as a result of the reaction between two chemical substances, it’s clear that the reaction caused it to appear. So, wouldn’t it be the same for mental interactions?-
Dr. Jundt’s smile didn’t falter, though his eyes gleamed with something close to excitement.
-Ah, an astute observation. In a purely chemical sense, yes, the new substance is a direct result of the reaction. But when we speak of minds, we delve into a realm where causality isn’t so straightforward. The new synthesis isn’t merely a byproduct; it’s an emergent property, something more profound and complex than a simple chemical reaction. After all, a mind is a blend of chemistry and electrical interactions to begin with. What we call a soul is but a casual emergence.-
He began to pace slowly across the stage, his hands clasped behind his back. -Think of it as music. When two musicians play together, the music they create cannot be attributed solely to one or the other.
It is something new, something greater, born of their interaction and the way the instruments complete or contrast each other.-
Dr. Jundt returned to the podium, his expression more intense, as if he were riding a wave of emotion that only he could feel.
-Imagine now two individuals, their thoughts and experiences merging, creating a new entity that guides both their actions. We have managed to replicate the process that led to the birth of Retribution in our experiments. But rather than creating a deadly cloud, we created a host of bodies.-
He paused, letting his words sink in again against a growing sense of unease.
-This is what we strive to understand and harness: the synthesis of minds. We have the technology to explore it, to control it, and perhaps even to master it.-
Claye felt a chill run down his spine. He could see the fascination in Elara’s eyes, but he could also sense she shared his unease. This wasn’t just about scientific curiosity: it was about playing with forces that no one fully understood.
The rest of the presentation faded into a blur as Claye’s mind raced.
The implications of Dr. Jundt’s words were terrifying.
What if this ‘synthesis’ he spoke of wasn’t just an abstract concept?
What if it was something they were already experimenting with, something that could have catastrophic consequences if not controlled?
The tour ended shortly after the presentation, and as Claye and Elara walked through the cold, sterile halls of the Institute, he could see the tension on her face. She had always been a rational thinker, but even she was disturbed by what they had seen and heard.
-I don’t like this, Claye, dear- Elara whispered as they left the building, her voice trembling slightly. -This isn’t science. Not any longer-
Claye nodded, his unease mirroring hers. -We should be careful, Elara. We are getting involved in something that can go wrong. Very wrong, very fast.-
Elara squeezed his hand, her grip tighter than usual. -Promise me, Claye. Promise that we won’t let this go too far. We need to find a balance between our ambition to obtain immortality and our humanity.-
-I promise- Claye said, his voice firm.
But even as he spoke the words, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Institute had already crossed that line.
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Claye snapped out of his reverie, feeling the weight of the memories pressing down on him.
He glanced at his reflection in the window of his office, noting the deep lines etched into his face, the result of years of worry and regret.
Elara had been right to be concerned.
The Institute had gone too far, he had been naïve to think that he could stop or contain it, that he could protect his family from the consequences of their work.
Behind Ethan and Lemela he saw that eerie quote, the actions and way to speak of the Versel mirroring Ethan’s to a degree where only his experience could tell she was never in the army to begin with.
A less experienced officer could’ve fallen for the illusion she served in the human military for a time, but not him.
Claye knew that he had to be more vigilant than ever.
The past was catching up, eager to exact a toll for the mistakes that were allowed when the dust of the war was settling.
He couldn’t afford to let history repeat itself, he had to avoid another war.
He needed to be sure that Ethan understood the stakes, and that he was prepared for what lay ahead. For the future of his daughter and everything he held dear, Claye had to make sure that the Institute didn’t catch wind of Ethan’s existence.
If it wasn’t the one that initiated it all in the first place,
With a heavy heart, Claye turned back to his work, the past still haunting him like a shadow he couldn’t escape, like the incoming call from Dexton.
Dexton
Dexton's quarters were dimly lit, the soft glow from the holographic displays casting long shadows across the ornate carvings on the walls.
His cybernetic eye flared a deep red as he scanned the battle report, his brow furrowing with each line he read, the unfortunate attendant that had to deliver this laid dead of simple fear on the floor.
Dexton hated losing men, but if someone wasn’t able to handle the simple presence of a pissed-off human, then the pirate life wasn’t meant for them.
His left hand, the cybernetic one, clenched into a fist, the metallic claws retracting and extending rhythmically as he processed the numbers.
-451 lost... 77 captured… How the heck was this possible? As fortified his position was, he had but 10 men, including himself -
His voice was low, a rumbling growl that filled the room, his words addressed at the three-headed holographic dog that stood silent in the room.
-The issue lies probably in 1452 slinking away like whipped pups. Pitiful, really. I hoped Kess was able to make them at least show teeth back. Yet the first hurdle they flee, and worse. I will have to trace and personally punish those who acted like they were still on the battlefield.-
Dexton’s icy blue biological eye sparkled with cold calculation as he looked through the report again, as he leaned back in his chair, his mind racing through possibilities.
-Claye should've been an easy target. Nine men plus a relic from a bygone era. Yet... he's now holding prisoners, my men.-
He shook his head there was something that didn’t add up, it was the effectiveness of that new faction. Enhanced by machines... Dexton's scowl deepened.
-Who dares meddle in my domain? To whom do these creatures respond to?-
He growled, fingers tapping on the armrest.
-The usual gangs wouldn't have the resources for such enhancements. Not the Purple Haze, nor the Crimson Swords… besides they can’t act against me… and lost men in this too.-
He dismissed the usual suspects quickly, his mind shifting to more elusive threats.
-Perhaps the Cyber Brigands? That ridiculous bunch has been quiet for too long, but this... no, they lack the subtlety for something like this. -
His eyes narrowed as he thought deeper, the potential alliances forming and dissolving in his mind.
-The scavengers have been silent for a long, with no re-supplies of bodies and no attempt at deep space communications-
Even that possibility seemed too far-fetched, he had but to surrender to the Idea he lacked too much intel.
-Whoever they are, they’re organized. Precise. Military precision to booth. This isn't just some upstart crew trying to carve out territory; this is a calculated move. -
Dexton sighed, a low, frustrated growl escaping his lips. The irritation of knowing something was slipping through his fingers gnawed at him. His pride screamed to deal with the situation with brute force, to make an example of those who dared oppose him.
He wanted to have Këßtræ to make an example of, in front of his other lieutenants but of course, she had to go and die, that maniac of a woman.
-Claye….-
He muttered the name like a curse.
Reluctantly, he reached for the communicator embedded in his desk, the idea of calling Claye, of all people, left a bitter taste in his mouth.
But the situation demanded it, information was key, and as much as he despised it, Claye was likely his best source right now.
He pressed the button, establishing a secure line. The screen flickered, and soon, Claye’s face appeared, as gruff and unflappable as ever.
-Old man- Dexton began, his voice a low, controlled rumble, masking his irritation with a veneer of civility.
-It seems we have a situation. Something is prowling around Taboo that I should know about?-
He leaned backward, letting his cybernetic eye glow ominously out the light projected by the camera, his tone carrying the weight of both an unspoken threat and the expectation of answers.
-And don’t lie to me, I will know, like how I know that your little princess is here.-