A universe of knowledge floats in front of me, a second sight overlaying the world, and I don't know how to deal with it. It's too much. These aren't rows of carefully preserved books in the Memory Shrine, countable by their spines. This is a raging deluge of unfiltered perspective, overwhelming my senses with its non-stop pace. It's like I'm tumbling in the middle of an endless waterfall, churning bubbles streaming constantly past with no way to orient myself.

"...Box... what... how...?"

Suddenly the torrent disappears, replaced by the sensation of a calm recliner, alone in the middle of a small room as rain beats against the windows surrounding it. It's still confusing, this feeling like I'm huddling in a shelter against a storm while the sun shines warmly down through the forest leaves, but not nearly as much as the madness of a few seconds ago.

Sorry about that, Sky. I was programmed with the expectation my user would be intimately familiar with the infonet. I've repurposed a tactical subfunction to act as a buffer.

"I... thank you, Box." I push myself to my feet, legs still unsteady. Being confronted with whatever that immensity is has me feeling small in a way even the Entity at Fishhook didn't evoke. "That's all... information? From the 'galactic diaspora?'"

It's some of it. MacWillie's receiver only covers about a quarter of the galaxy, and we're on passive reception, which means we can't transmit requests for specific subnode contents. We can 'hear' anything sent through that area, though.

I try to conceptualize what Box is telling me. It sounds like what the hunters describe when going after a Glowbeast outside the forest - attuning themselves to the sounds and rhythm of the environment, attempting to watch without being seen, listen without being heard.

That's not a bad comparison. Not very accurate, but close enough. We could access way more information if we had transmit capabilities, but then-

"-the Glowbeast would know we're there, right? Like hunters calling or waving to each other?"

...well done, Sky! It's important we stay on passive reception for now because we do not want these particular Glowbeasts to notice us.

"...but how does a Glowbeast hunt using information? What are they hunting in?"

And that's where the metaphor breaks down. Don't worry too much about understanding the infonet, Sky. Everyone in the Diaspora grows up using it, so it's second nature to them. You'll need years to build up an appropriate conceptual framework to feel comfortable there.

"Then why was it so important to build this receiver?" I ask, walking over to where MacWillie and Huckens are animatedly talking to each other in fragments of sentences. They flick their hands back and forth as if they're constantly throwing invisible stones to each other, eyes focused on some distant unseen sight.

Because Chief Engineer MacWillie and Huckens were raised using it, and they know what they're looking for.

...initializing ad hoc network...

"They know how to navigate through that?"

Aye, that's right young Sky.

I jump nearly three scrumbles straight up, startled.

"Box?! What's that other box?!"

Ad hoc integrator communication network.

We set up a local reality field for the forest. It shouldn't be detectable by anyone outside.

"Gah! There's another one!"

MacWillie and Huckens are looking at me oddly, then they both start laughing. MacWillie holds her hands up as I spin in a circle, trying to figure out where the strange new boxes are coming from.

"Sorry, sorry. Relax, young Sky, it's just me and the lad. So excited to be back on a net that we forgot this is all new to you."

"Those boxes... are you and Huckens?"

"Aye."

More specifically, Sky, they're an integrator-assisted-interface utilizing the underlying reality infrastructure of the infonet. It is the most common form of non-personal interaction in the Diaspora.

Chief... is that the prototype? Why is it talking like a person? Is it a net integrator?!

I am a Mark Three Paracausal Interface Coordinator, Combat Version (modified), modified, which means-

Easy, lad, it's done naught to harm us so far-

"Enough!" I shout, holding my hands to my head. "These are entirely too many boxes! Talk like normal people!"

MacWillie freezes at my outburst, Huckens flinching back slightly, then a rueful grin spreads across her face.

"Aye, and there we went again. Hard to break years of habit. Very well, young Sky, we'll keep this conversation to the physical."

"Thank you." I try to marshal the overloaded thoughts racing through my mind. "Okay. First question - this 'infonet,' it uses reality?"

"Go ahead, lad," MacWillie says, nudging a reluctant Huckens forward. "Show me you've learned something."

"...okay, Chief." He looks at my feet, not meeting my eyes. "The infonet's backbone is built on a reality subset of interlocking infinities, otherwise data transfer would be limited to the speed of light. It's the only way the whole system works, and it's one of the things holding the Galactic Diaspora together."

"Aye, and there's your textbook answer, young Sky." MacWillie claps her hands together. "It's not the whole answer, but it's enough for now. I'm thinking you're probably confused enough as it is without going into corpo firewall borders and memetic warfare and rogue logos."

"So," I continue slowly, ignoring the second part of MacWillie's answer because it doesn't make any sense, "if the 'infonet' is built on reality, does that mean people can use non-causal expressions there? If they have the right integrator?"

MacWillie's eyes narrow.

"That they can, but net integrators are the one thing all the corpos agree aren't coming back. The Information Wars nearly saw the Diaspora broken, and the Wildlands still burn across the depths of the infonet." She pokes Huckens with a finger, causing him to scowl. "That's what set off the lad when he saw your 'Box' speaking for itself - only net integrators used self aware AIs. I thought you were just unused to your integrator, thinking system updates was it 'talking' to you, but it seems like you've stumbled across the real deal." She frowns. "Never heard of one successfully used in a combat variant before, though."

"What do you mean, 'successfully used?'"

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"It was tried long ago, before the Information Wars, but they always ended up immediately turning into mindless killing machines. Not much use on a battlefield if you can't tell friend from foe, so the corpos stopped making them. The Information Wars were just the final nail in the self-aware AI coffin."

"...oh."

I take a second to think.

"Are you a net integrator, Box?"

No, Sky. I am a Mark Three Paracausal Interface Coordinator, Combat Version (modified), and my modifications do not currently encompass infonet capabilities.

Would you like them to?

"Uhhh..." I look at MacWillie and Huckens, who are staring at me with shocked expressions, and give a confused shrug. "Is that a good idea?"

No. Conceptually, you understand what 'combat' means in the physical dimension, in that it is an exchange of forces seeking to create an advantageous outcome for one side over the other. It is not difficult for you to extrapolate to new infinities as you are exposed to new ideas, and despite your isolated upbringing, your base is sound. Someone like Dirt would have been superior, as I would have been able to offload more of the tactical aspects to focus on non-causal outcomes, but your constant struggle for life every day gives you an edge on most Diaspora combat forces who grew up in relative safety.

However, in order for you to understand non-causal infonet manipulation, you would first need to internalize what the infonet is and how it functions, which you clearly do not have the background for. We could make numbers go up quite quickly, which would be pleasing, but in terms of effective power in the infonet you would be helpless before any average citizen of the Diaspora, even considering non-causal expressions, due to your minimal base understanding. In the future, we might revisit this subject, but as of now it would be an inefficient use of resources and would lessen our combat effectiveness.

Silence surrounds us. Eventually, I clear my throat.

"So, uhm, did you two understand that? Because all I got from it is I'm pretty sure Box doesn't want us to be a 'net integrator.' At least not right now.'"

"Chief, I don't like this," Huckens says, voice covered in concern, eyes looking everywhere but me. MacWillie slaps him on the shoulder.

"Chin up, young master Huckens. In for a credit, in for a kilogram. We've thrown in our lot with young Sky already, and the village has done right by us so far." She pats his shoulder again, leaning closer. "Asides, do you really want some corpo board member getting their hands on that integrator?"

Huckens gulps, his face turning pale.

"That's... that's a good point, Chief. Those bastards are already bastards enough as is."

"That they are." She returns her attention to me. "The lad and I will work on our prejudices. Any other surprises for us, young Sky, or can we start sifting through this data to figure out how much time we have before the hammer drops on our heads?"

I rub my chin, trying to figure out how they're going to get that information, but Box is right. I have no idea how this 'infonet' works.

"How are you going to do it?"

"I'll explain on the way back to the village," MacWillie says, motioning for me to join her and Huckens, "unless there's something else you need to do out here? Now that the receiver is up and running, we can access the infonet from anywhere in the forest."

I shake my head in the negative. Some lunch sounds good. She continues talking as we walk.

"It's not the same as having direct access to the actual orders, but you can learn a lot from logistics requests. Ship berths required, food stocks replenished, travel lane vacancies - it all paints a picture if you know what to look for. There's more than a few moving parts involved in getting a ship from one point to another, and somewhere in the net someone's submitting the paperwork in triplicate and sending it out. Earth isn't exactly a prime vacation spot, so it'll be tough to hide anything coming this way."

"But, why doesn't everyone do that, Chief?" Huckens interrupts. "If it's that easy, the corpos shouldn't be able to launch sneak attacks on each other. We should've been found out."

"And did I ever say it was 'easy,' young master Huckens?" MacWillie cuffs him across the back of his head and Huckens splutters, but she ignores him. "I was Chief Engineer for one of the dirtiest Wutan-Weylan ships dogging the lanes, and that means I knew where to find everything we needed to keep the engines running, no matter if it was available or not. Much easier to snag a quantum recoupler from a depot with twelve extras and beg forgiveness from the Old Man than ask one of those administrative gits and have to wait five months for the request to work its way through the system, engines screaming in the meantime."

We emerge into the village proper, lances of noon-day sun spearing through the small gaps in the canopy overhead in golden pillars. I wave hello to several passing villagers, a pair of Crafters on their way to the shrine of Saint Gunpowder based on their heavy iron safety cases, but they're so preoccupied with staring at MacWillie and Huckens they almost forget to wave back. I shake my head in amusement at their wonder, even though it pales before my own flustered bewilderment upon witnessing the infonet earlier. I'll need to tell Broom and Great Grandpa all about it, see if they have any advice.

I doubt they'll be able to help you, Sky. Based on your memories, they are capable curators of limited knowledge, but as you saw, the infonet is vast. As I said earlier, it will take years to learn to use it effectively.

"How do I start understanding it, then?" I ask, leading MacWillie and Huckens over to the Bakeries. The lunch table is set out for people to take their serving - today's offering a stack of fresh-caught river fish fillets wrapped in tender young honeymint leaves. Some are cooked, steam still wafting from their green coverings, others left raw for those who enjoy the firmer texture. I grab one of each, and MacWillie and Huckens follow my lead. I drizzle some of the spicy chili oil set off to the side into each, then head to one of the smaller tables meant for eating.

I'll find some teaching modules for infants.

Huckens snorts in laughter, then looks around warily. MacWillie just shakes her head at him.

"Okay."

I'm not offended by Box's answer, because it's true. Even sequestered from the infonet as I currently am, I still feel like a little one gazing around wide-eyed as they take their first steps outside. I'm reminded of Great Grandpa's lessons in the Memory Shrine, something we repeat to the little ones until they all understand - every journey of learning begins somewhere, and the only embarrassment is to not take that first step. I find an empty table, the other two joining me, and breathe in the delicious scent of steamed fish mixed with the crisp aroma of honeymint and tangy chilies.

Oh sure, it's fine when you consume biomass at 37.2 degress Celsius, but when I do it I'm a monster.

The three of us pause, involuntarily reminded of the morning's horror. Huckens swallows hard, and MacWillie halts her cooked wrap halfway to her mouth.

"Young Sky, and this is just a suggestion, take it as you will, but have you thought about making your integrator private transmission unless otherwise specified?"

"What does that mean?"

"It means we won't have to hear that stupid thing narrate your every last thought," Huckens snaps, reaching hesitantly for one of his wraps.

They're right, Sky. Now that a local ad hoc network has been established, our conversations are visible to all associated parties, wafting through the air like a pungent slurry of finely aged biomass, dribbling liquified-

"Oh come on," Huckens gags, staggering away from the table and towards one of the trees. He vomits noisily at its base, curious villagers pausing in their tasks to watch him. MacWillie deliberately finishes bringing her wrap to her mouth and takes a bite, nostrils flaring.

"...that's quite delicious."

I feel a little bad for Huckens, even though he probably deserved it for insulting Box.

"How do I make Box only talk to me?"

MacWillie raises an eyebrow around another bite.

"Don't you have a menu of some kind? An interface? How are you even controlling your integrator?"

"...I can control Box?"

I will set our future communications to private unless otherwise necessary in exchange for all parties forgetting that this conversation ever took place.

Non-compliance will result in the wrath of public biomass consumption and/or transmission of recorded memory packets.

"Box's creator was worried it was 'unstable,'" I confide in MacWillie around a bite of my own wrap. Huckens rejoins us, staring forlornly at his untouched lunch, face pale.

"You don't say." MacWillie finishes her cooked wrap and moves on to the raw one. She regards it dubiously, then takes a bite. Her expression of surprised pleasure makes her look twenty years younger. "Never was one for the sushis, but that's damn good." Huckens tentatively extends his hand once more for one of his wraps.

He didn't apologize for calling me a 'stupid thing.'

...transmitting OneFishTwoFishRedFishPukeFish.mem...

Huckens blanches again, hand slamming back against his mouth, sweat bursting along his forehead.

"Box! That's uncalled for! Stop harassing poor Huckens!"

...didn't apologize.

"Never understood the fuss around net integrators," MacWillie says, licking the last bits of chili oil from her fingers, "but I reckon I'm starting to see the issue. Can you imagine a hundred of your Boxes roaming the infonet? A thousand? A hundred thousand?"

I can't even imagine the infonet, yet somehow I can picture the chaos MacWillie is alluding to. Huckens eventually regains his equilibrium and, fingers trembling, slowly reaches for his wraps.

lunchtime

A midnight paw stretches out of my shadow and swipes the raw wrap in a flash of motion, MacWillie snagging the other equally quick, leaving Huckens staring blank-eyed at the now empty plate, trembling fingers hovering over bare flatware.

yuck. plants

The honeymint leaves come flying out covered in ephemeral slobber, one sticking to Huckens' shirt, the other slowly sliding down his face. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes.

"Pete! That is wildly inappropriate! You apologize to Huckens right now!"

naptime

I look at MacWillie, dumbfounded, and she shrugs. "Chin up, lad," she mumbles at Huckens around another mouthful of her stolen wrap. "You'll see worse among the engines."

A soft sob greets her, and I stand, reaching over to pat Huckens on the back.

"I'm so sorry, Huckens. I'll get you another plate."

"You're spoiling the lad," MacWillie calls as I walk back over to the serving table. "Grab us another three, yeah?"

Can I save some for later? I am curious if the resulting biomass will differ based on previous temperature fluctuations. After appropriate aging and tempering, of course.

"No, Box. No more keeping rotting fish in the non-causal storage. It's unhygienic."

disappointment