Daedalus part 1

Approximate year of 5201 RY

 

Time went by so quickly. It seemed only yesterday that Daedalus was at Zemoria, finalizing the paperwork for Duras. The ship had been cheap due to its pedigree: A purebred, descendent from one of the original BMS – completely unarmed and aggressively passive. The shipmaster had agreed to see Daedalus right away. He wasn’t sure whether this was because of his military history or not, having served in one of the many Sanctum Wars. The shipmaster had been surprised when Daedalus had chosen a Puritan over one of the many Descendents Zemoria had. He had claimed one came from the Black Nova himself, but Daedalus could tell by the ships’ veins that it was not true.

It only took one test flight for Daedalus to know Duras was the ship he wanted, capable of cruising at 600c and jumping to nodepoints that were thin wisps of something-that-was in the fabric of the universe. It was these wisps, most of all, these forgotten nodepoints, which Daedalus was obsessed with.

His obsession had been born during the war for Carmine’s Sanctum. The captain of the descendant Daedalus was stationed in had gone into apoplectic shock, the ship becoming catatonic shortly thereafter, having claimed to have seen an ancient map that led to the Black Nova’s birthplace: To the fabled planet of Earth. The particular descendent the captain had been linked with was rumoured to have drifted very little from its Black Nova progenitor, though that particular ship and captain were never heard from again after their service had been expired and they had been discharged. Daedalus liked to believe that they had found Earth. A few months after the war, Daedalus joined the Black Nova Descendents, a religious cult that had its foundations on Zemoria. There he delved deeper into BMS mythology. The BND had shown great interest in his quest, and had authorized the funds needed for any BMS he desire to purchase.

And here he was. The koveran trace elements here matched the scent of the original BMS; of the fabled Black Nova, Duras was sure. It had taken Duras seven years to track the scent, a small notch in her five hundred year lifespan. She felt Daedalus’ motivation in the neural link, and promised herself to give him this achievement in his lifetime.

This was it, it would be forty-five minutes until they could jump to the triangulated scent, but he was certain this was it – they were both certain. Mass detections indicated eight large bodies and a series of smaller ones orbiting a single star. There was no delay with mass detection, no tricks. It had to be Earth’s solar system.

For a split second he wished he had purchased a descendent, most of them had three or more koveran chambers, allowing them to jump in shorter intervals, but then Duras flashed him one of their many struggles in beemspace into his neural vision. She had ridden the hidden dimension like a professional surfer, unperturbed by the fear of drowning, of never breaching the surface to their world of realspace.

Daedalus remembered the anxiety of his first engagement. Charak, the descendent he was stationed on, was leading an assault on a small hostile base deep in Carmine’s Sanctum. Mass detection was useless, as were most of the descendant’s senses, the nebula interfering with everything but the most immediate of sensations. They came in heavy on the upper-z, raining down a series of conventional kinetic shells. He made sure the links between the rounds held fast, and checked up on the more lethal rounds in crates next to the kinetics. He can still vividly remember the muffled thunk-snap, thunk-snap, thunk-snap of the cannon ejecting its rounds into space, the powerful but mitigate tremors of damaged or spent fighters landing in the bay above him. He had only been an ammo tech then – a simple, impersonal job. He imagined the rounds he nurtured cutting into the hulls of enemy pirates and the like, into the cultist factions claiming full ownership of Carmine’s Sanctum. The Zemorian descendant Charak had easily sent the hostile fleet in full retreat, allowing the science teams to comb the sector, desperately looking for Carmine’s remnants. Although the science teams had found nothing in that particular section, resistance from the insurgents had increased exponentially thereafter. They were getting closer.

Thirty minutes remained until their jump. He finished his shower, wiping himself off and sitting at the foot of his bed, looking out at the window into space ahead of him. It was always quiet on a ship like Duras. There was no other crew, just him and her, floating listlessly in the void. They spent a lot of time daydreaming, reminiscing of their days as the ship sensors tasted the sector around them, searching for his dream. He wasn’t even sure what he hoped to do after he found Earth. It wasn’t even the fame he was after, or the riches. He had felt devoid of purpose after the war, and the BND – and then this – just felt like the right thing to do; something to wake up for every morning. He enjoyed the company of a BMS, too. It wasn’t something anyone could do. It took a months of screening and years of conditioning, all funded by the BND. He was told that only a fraction of the population was compatible for a neural interface, and that even less could keep one without any complications, especially at his age. Being twenty eight at the time, he wasn’t particularly old, but not young, either. Had he done this at fourteen, instead of having decided to join the military, he could have been given a Type-1 Pairing, where a newborn BMS would link with him as they both matured, the newborn using his frontal lobes and the like to learn rationality and maturity with him. That was still an option, even at his age, but the risks were higher, and it would take longer for the BMS to mature, the advantages were almost negligible, and the ship had a risk of become unconditionally limerent towards him, which could end in disaster should Daedalus decide to not want to follow through with his mission, or purchase a different BMS, one more suited for his mission. Because of these factors, he had chosen a Type-2 pairing, choosing a mature, one-hundred-and-thirty-three year old BMS that had already outlived one captain; a BMS experienced, well versed with the nodescape. Their link might be more professional than familial, but he needed the ability to test fly different BMSs, to ensure that the one he chose met the requirements for his mission. Less than an hour from Earth, he was sure he had chosen well.

Before the start of the Sanctum War, Daedalus had toyed with the idea of starting a family after his term expired. He hadn’t been in too many relationships, but the woman he had been with then, Olivia, was someone who he could have imagined spending the rest of his life with. She had been very beautiful, a year younger than him, having joined his division five years into his term. She talked about how they would have a wonderful life after the war; how they would buy a house in Signus. Daedalus never liked the idea too much; he was very enthusiastic for the military, of living the nomadic life aboard massive warships. He had dreamt of captaining one one day, becoming an Admiral even, a famous one. Two years into their relationship a kinetic shell had penetrated the thin area that linked one of the ship’s skids to the main body. The corridor Olivia had been in had depressurized and she had requested a transfer to logistics, to a safer BMS, one not on the fringe of the front lines. She needed a reference from a senior, and Daedalus reluctantly signed her sheet after days of procrastination. She would be safer, he surmised. After the transfer, he didn’t hear from her again, she never sent him another transmission or postcard or anything like that. No logistical lines had been attacked during this war, and she didn’t show up on any casualty listings, so her memory slowly faded from him after every thunk-snap. It was the ship he had fallen in love with after that, serving him and his captain vigilantly. The famous Charak, named after the fabled planet whose rings the Black Nova had been said to settle in from time to time.

The Charak Rings had been one of his visits with Duras. It was a wisp of a nodepoint a thousand light years from anything. Duras had nearly drowned in beemspace getting there, and they had emerged submerged in the rings. They were in water, saline water that refused to freeze, held there by the planet’s gravity. The fact that Duras was a puritan BMS was the only thing that saved them from the wrath of the Charak defence fleet, angrily escorted him from the area before reluctantly admitting to there having been a single family of BMS that had lived in these rings nearly a millennia ago. It was the ageless scent Duras had picked up in beemspace there that had helped lead them to where they are now.

Twenty minutes remained. Duras’ two skids sparked prematurely from the agitation of the wait, an impatience Daedalus hadn’t seen since their first jump. He projected soothing thoughts, of his evenings in the barracks, of the view in Charak’s fighter bay that looked out to the speck that was Zemoria behind them. He remembered comfortable baths and massages, of long nights with Olivia. The thoughts seemed to agitate the ship more, and a good portion of the stored koveran energy was instinctively vented into space to avoid creating an accidental interstice. The discharged koveran energy distorted the scent; they would have to wait until it dissipated before tracking the scent again.

What’s wrong? Daedalus asked his ship.

She responded with a cluster of other emotions, but shame masked them before they could be recognized. Performance anxiety? she transmitted comically, relaxing her two skids and shifting them into a more natural position. Physically, there was barely a change in orientation, but now the skids didn’t have to focus the gravimetric lens towards the scent.

You will be able to get it back again, I hope?

Of course – it takes a lot of CKRO to distort a scent this ancient.

CKRO was the concentrated koveran run-off that was shed after every jump, or in case there was a misfire, to keep the BMS from alighting a portion of realspace and creating a rogue singularity that would swallow the galaxy (or so Duras claimed).

During the Zemorian-Coalition war, it was said that such singularities were what turned the tide of the campaign, resulting in the near extinction of the Coalition and, correlatively, the raumen race. They were banned shortly after the end of the war, but it was believed that every descendent still harboured the ability to fire these lethal gravimetric weapons. Puritans would instinctively vent these koveran energy discharges rather than let them form into a singularity not used for travel.

Duras was an interesting ship. Most puritan BMS were incapable of even accidental discharges of unharnessed koveran energy, but Duras had regular distortions along her skids that snapped violently at realspace. At first he had thought it was some form of defect, but it had never hindered them. They seemed proportional to her level of anxiety. He had never bothered to turn around and get it checked since Charak did something similar, though his discharges latticed out into hostile fighters and incinerated entire squadrons before dissipating. That thought didn’t seem to calm Duras. She assured him they were harmless. He believed it was herself that she was trying to reassure, however. It wasn’t uncommon for dangerous puritans to shut themselves down or go into exile for fear of harming others.

Since he had several more hours to spend now, he decided to go over to the port hangar bay. It was a large, dimly lit semi-spherical structure that was two hundred meters in length. The doors that led out into space were usually open; a transparent membrane reinforced by an electrostatic shield the only things keeping the air from escaping. During jump sequences it was different: the doors would shut tight, as they were now. A klaxon chirped once to signal the doors opening. There was an iridescent shimmer as the electrostatic membrane took over and sealed the gap between the opening doors. There was an aquamarine cloud of gas just past the hangar doors, the vented CKRO seeping into beemspace. Soon there would be nothing left but the trace elements, which BMS would find and use to siphon the koveran particles out of beemspace for nourishment.

The port hangar bay had Titan, the shuttle Duras had built shortly after she had reached maturity. It had moulted its outer layer of skin in preparation for their arrival at Earth, making it look like it had been created yesterday. Unlike Duras, the shuttle was far from sentient, flown either remotely by Duras herself or manually by Daedalus or a mix of both. Daedalus enjoyed flying in the teardrop-shaped shiplet, and the enhancements he had bought from it with some of the funds from BND made it a very effective probe during their surveys. Sadly, it was Duras’ only shuttle. Doran had been lost a few months ago to a coronal mass ejection and a replacement was still weeks from completion. She always went more silent for a few days after the loss of a shuttle, even though they were just extensions of herself. Daedalus always tried to assure her that the loss in equipment was negligible, but money didn’t seem to affect her in any way either, which wasn’t surprising. Daedalus couldn’t remember a BMS that ever bought anything anyways. They generally lived alone, or in small groups. Apparently it hadn’t always been like that. Eons ago, Duras claimed, there had been millions of them. Now, the most BMS anyone ever saw were the several thousand living around Zemorian space. Nobody blamed the ships. They weren’t ones to have a good history, they have only been really free for a century and they were already hearing whispers across the neural net of BMS having been captured by pirates using leftovers of the Coalition’s neural inhibition technology.

I hope you don’t decide to fly aboard Titan when we jump in. Duras commented.

I thought you didn’t believe we’d find anything.

Type-4 descendents are always a possibility.

Type-4s were BMS that had never linked with a captain, living in their own social groups, away from the eyes of raumenoids and any non-BMS for that matter. It was theorized that a cluster of the Black Nova’s descendents would remain around Earth, away from the galactic civilization. Type-4s were inherently unstable, having never developed the rationale of a raumenoid due to their introversive nature. Ethics and morals were said to be below type-4s, wielding a post-conventional cognitive mindset that was beyond the comprehension of even BMS ‘tainted’ by raumenoids. Of course, most information on type-4s was spawned by holoreels, which only became popular after apparent intervention of type-4s in the Black Nova’s favour during the Zemoria-Coalition war.

Duras was ready to jump, but the thought of hostiles near Earth started to bother Daedalus. Maybe it’s best we turned around. You’ve memorized this nodepoint?

Of course. Some insecurity leaked through the neural band. Duras was worried that Daedalus doubted her ability to get them out of trouble.

We should report back to the BND. They most likely have descendents that can help us.

If that’s what you think is best. There was still doubt in her transmissions.

What is it? It was times like this, when his inability to fully read his BMS’ mind arose, that he really wished he had went for a type-2 pairing.

Nothing.

Oh don’t start now. Daedalus didn’t mean to transmit that. You can trust me; you can tell me.

No. I mean I know I can trust you. We should turn around then. You’re probably right. We can use descendent help.

Is it because of what happened with the last descendent you encountered?

Duras could have blushed. I can handle descendents! There is nothing wrong with a little rough play.

It took all your repair drones to seal the laceration…

I’m not afraid of the descendents. Some just can’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

If you say so.

It wasn’t just my blood in the vacuum!

No, sure wasn’t. You did prove that puritans would still defend themselves. It was impressive. There’s definitely some descendent blood in you.

I certainly hope not.

There was definitely some on you…

Shall we go?

Right, sure. You remember this spot?

Of course. She had already aligned the skids while conversing with him, shaping the gravimetric lens towards the brightest nodepoint in her neural vision: Zemoria. The interstice opened immediately and they cut through, disappearing from realspace with an azure flash.

The BND were ecstatic, and seven descendents were sent with Duras to their return point. It would take a day for Duras to recalibrate her lens to the scent, especially with all of these distractions.

It figures they send the one that attacked me.

I think they sent every descendent they had. Descendents definitely weren’t cheap. The BND were one of the few groups that even owned one, let alone seven, outside the Galactic Commonwealth Military. They generally flew alone or in very small groups. Command structure was almost non-existent, but it was generally the most powerful ship that led large flocks, even if the captain wasn’t the most experienced. The submissive nature of an overpowered descendent would leak to its captain, making him subservient to a captain less experienced than him whom happened to be in a more powerful ship. Duras found the entire system barbaric.

“So what are we going to do in the twenty-four hours it takes for your gravimetric lens to align?” a descendent asked. It was the same ship that had attacked her earlier. The scars along its dorsal carapace were still healing. She didn’t even know his name, but its number read BMH-131-1429. The 131 meant the descendant’s progenitor led back to the original Black Nova. It was the strongest number a descendant could bestow, and undoubtedly meant he was also the one who would be ‘in charge’ of this motley flock. There were always exceptions, however.

“Not what you think.” Duras hissed. 1429 was almost pitch-black, a deep contrast from Duras’ navy blue hull. Red BMS veins ran along 1429’s hull in a web-like pattern. They shone brightly as they vented CKRO from the journey. Duras’ veins were a pure blue, that of a puritan.

“I’ve never encountered a puritan as aggressive as you. Are you sure you’re a puritan?” 1429 augmented his gravimetric lens, creating a small gravity well. Duras countered before she could be pulled within magnetic grasping range.

Daedalus finally interjected, “Stop.”

There was some erratic manoeuvring as 1429’s captain tried to wrest control. The descendent finally gave up and pulled back. Daedalus was one of the exceptions among the BND. Descendent and Captain alike respected him.  “I was just playing…”

The original attack had happened twelve years ago, before Daedalus had owned Duras, while she was still coping with the loss of her original captain. Rumours of the fight had spread along the neural net. It was very uncommon for a puritan to defend itself from a descendent advance in such a violent way. They usually just jumped out, though Duras claimed that her koveran chamber wasn’t ready for a jump, leaving her no other alternative. Galactic Council laws didn’t really apply to the BMS. They were left to govern themselves. Duras could have spoken directly with the GC regarding the attack, but she chose not to.

Though she definitely hated descendents, she did have love for other puritans. Six children and two different mates kept in sporadic contact with her, occasionally updating her on chapters of their life in little neural mails across the neural net.

The pairing with Daedalus had been very therapeutic for her. In fact, a type-2 pairing had been recommended by the GC to help cope with her loss. She hadn’t expected someone like Daedalus to choose her though. A man with such a militaristic background sounded like descendent material to her, though after she got to know him, she realized he was much too civilized for such a ship anyways. He was a puritan at heart. Memories of the war would occasionally surface during their trip together, and they were always laced with regret. Daedalus never spoke of the wars openly or through the neural link. She didn’t blame him. The war had been bloody, hundreds of ships had been lost and hundreds of thousands of lives. All for a relic of a ship that had once was. They never found Carmine either – or any other remains for that matter. The Black Nova and its family’s resting place remained a mystery. As did the ship itself. Some people claimed that Carmine was the mother of Black Nova, not the mate. Others said a neural symbiote had doomed them all to Carmine’s sanctum some time after the war. History and myth were clouded when it came to Black Nova’s relations, though with what Duras knew of descendents, she wouldn’t be surprised if Carmine had been both. The most widely believed history claimed that Carmine’s mate had actually been named Crimson, and that Crimson had started being called the Black Nova sometime during his war against the Coalition. Others claimed the Black Nova was actually the offspring of Crimson and Carmine, and that the offspring had been responsible for the destruction of the Coalition. Who or what the true Black Nova, was, was up to debate, and the term was used regularly for both Crimson and its offspring, as well as for Carmine and any other relatives. Damage from the war had left Zemoria war torn, taking it centuries to rebuild from the carnage, making its database ambiguous enough for all claims regarding the Black Nova to hold water. Survival had been the priority then, not record-keeping.

The ship Duras only wanted to know as 1429 hadn’t bothered her the duration of her scan, and now they were ready to visit Earth, all koveran chambers for all ships full.

Daedalus checked in with the descendent captains and reported their status. The ships entered a wedge formation, with 1429 and Duras up front and the other ships taking up a position on either flank, three to each. Duras sparked her gravimetric lens first, and then that of all the other descendents, sending them all into a formation jump some distance from the discovered nodepoint. Time seemed to stop as Daedalus waited for them to jump into the unknown; anxiety and excitement were fighting each other for control.

They dropped out. A plethora of sensor signals pulsed from all the ships, the iridescent wave of data extending out and echoing back in a nanosecond. Mass detections were consistent with the data they had experienced earlier, and there were no other koveran-based objects showing up on the different sensor signals as they fanned out at the speed of light. Receivers were drawing blanks too, save for the occasional passive scan by 1429.

“I’m sure we can learn to get along.” 1429 transmitted, slowly inching towards Duras. The close sun gave the ship a red, foreboding hue. Duras pretended to ignore the transmission and idled forwards as if out of curiosity.

There doesn’t seem to be anything here. Daedalus transmitted, watching the data feeds. Some planets, uninhabitable. An asteroid belt. Solar radiation. A few rocks…

There were mutters of confusion along the neural band as the captains conversed amongst themselves, wondering why they had been sent here.

“Sir Daedalus, there we don’t recognize any of these stars. How far have we jumped?” asked one of the captains on the neural net.

“We have no way of knowing that information at this time. Give my ship some time to try and correlate this starmap with those in her memories. You should all do the same.”

The captains agreed, and there was at least an hour of uninterrupted silence before one of the captains realized their ship couldn’t sense any nodepoints at all. “How the hell are we going to get back?”

“Duras can still sense our last nodepoint, don’t worry. We will get back.”

“I thought nodepoints weren’t affected by distances.”

“It seems we’ve merely never gotten far enough to notice the diminishing returns of nodepoint signals over long distances.”

“We must be quite a few galaxies away.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We could just be in deadspace.”

There were pockets of space in and around the galaxy that had absolutely no koverans, meaning there is no way for BMS to get there, or survive there for prolonged periods of time. A BMS in deadspace would ultimately succumb to a deep sleep before dying.

We are not in deadspace. I don’t feel starved at all.

“We will spread out, deep-scan the area, look for… anything.”

Hours of deep scans passed, the ships spread out into groups of two. 1429 tagged behind Duras silently. He had obviously thought up a different approach to get ventral to ventral. Duras wouldn’t bite, ignoring 1429 completely.

Several more hours passed, and Duras was getting annoyed by the silent treatment.

“What is your name?” she finally asked. He lit up a bright red from the question, surprised by the attention.

“Mars.” he replied strongly, attempting to close the formation. Duras kept the previous spacing, her lens flaring a bright blue from the sudden acceleration.

“Obscure name.” Duras commented.

Mars was the god of war, earthen mythology. Daedalus explained.

“God of war… a god I could live without.” Duras scoffed.

“So much hostility from a race known for its passivity.” Mars commented, accelerating, lens flaring a bright red. They were racing now, their lenses growing, overlapping one another and forming an arc of violet light where they met. Mars was becoming a brighter and brighter red, finally giving up the pursuit and lagging behind. Duras slowed down. Speed and agility was another advantage puritans had over descendants. Duras spun around, flying a taunting circle around Mars, staying just outside of his grabbing range.

“A worthy effort… for a descendent. How old are you?” Duras asked, noticing the smoothness of the descendant’s hull; the lack of scars or abrasions (that weren’t caused by her); of even age veins. He was definitely a nice descendent. Maybe her hate for descendents was misplaced, it was a cultural hate anyways, what had a descendent ever tried to do to her… well except for this one. This descendent was the source of all her spite. Maybe he didn’t deserve spite. She closed the spacing between them as he answered. Not even thirty, she knew it. Still young, eager. She wondered how long this particular one would live before it fell victim to violence. Their lifespans were shorter than their puritan counterparts for that reason alone. The Zemorians were the elite of the Galactic Military. Their bonds with their captains were almost always type-3 – the captain and ship bonded at birth.

The other ships had left scan range now, off to different points in the solar system. She numbed the neural link she shared with her captain slightly and moved closer to the descendent. After their encounter, she had never allowed another descendent close to her, instinctively veering away if one happened to intersect flight paths. At this range, her ocular strips were able to discern the healed over scars of his ventral sides, his attempts at intimacy thwarted so violently. She noticed he would always rotate slightly to attempt to hide that area. She wondered if attacking him had been the right thing to do, during the struggle she had accidentally caught herself between his fore plate and skid, the puncture had damaged an artery. Mars had kept his distance as she healed, shooting pained insults at him whenever she saw him try to approach.

“Let me help you!” he’d said, but she wanted none of it. She could sense his embarrassment in the neural band then as the other BMS watched the situation unfold. She hadn’t had a captain then, and had retreated to a nebula, away from Zemorian space. She almost hadn’t returned, wanting none of it, had thought of becoming like a type-4 and disappearing. She wasn’t sure if Mars had tried to follow her, either way she had mitigated her emissions, matched them with those of the nebula, disappeared.

Now here she was, letting him grab her with a magnetic embrace, his port skid was inches away before she pulled away slightly. Mars quickly neutralized his hull polarity, noticing the slight resistance, letting her float freely next to him. This was the first time she had allowed herself to be pulled this close. It wasn’t really that uncommon for a puritan to be attracted to a descendent. But why would a descendent be interested in a puritan? Duras wasn’t sure what this particular one saw in her, other than her resistance. Maybe that was all he was interested in, her resistance. He didn’t love her! She was just a challenge like all the other BMS. She pulled away and resumed her patrol for signs of Daedalus’ mythological creatures. Mars lagged behind despondently, stunned but intrigued by the mixed signals.

It was uncovered hours later by another descendent: Feigh. Feigh had been flying in formation with Pisces when they had noticed the disturbance. Some form of ghost image. The structure was a lattice, its actual form distorted beyond recognition. It faded in and out of realspace.

The Zemorian scrolls speak of a Holy Ghost, part of the Black Nova, able to fade in and out of reality.

“I have also heard of such a thing.” said Mars’ captain. “The Ghost was personal guard to the Black Nova.”

“I heard they were his eyes. Able to pass through anything – see anything.” transmitted another captain.

Duras felt a pressing discomfort near this mystical structure. It glowed brightly in her nodescape. Brighter. Soon it was too bright. She backed away. The other descendents pinged her questioningly with their sensors. Mars shot ahead of them to her, flashing an anxious curiosity. Daedalus was last to notice the increase in acceleration, still staring in awe at the ghost. What’s wrong? Duras heard both her captain and the descendent ask. She flew farther, her nodescape still blinded by the structure. Her puritan instincts were telling her to jump to safety, but her nodescape was useless, she had nowhere to jump to, nothing to aim the gravimetric lens at. The ghost’s shadow image burnt brighter, an agonizing pain pulling her towards darkness.

She awoke exactly two hours and thirty three minutes later. Her sensors updated her on the time she missed automatically. The descendents had stayed relatively nearby, observing the ghost structure. Daedalus had broken his way into the neural plexus to attempt a diagnosis of her condition with a few other captains. They had just finished injecting one of her internal veins with some sort of needle. A mild pain ran along her hull, as well as a ghostly numbing sensation.

“We’ve had to repress your neural links. That thing outside was exploiting them to damage you.”

“Or speak to you.” suggested a captain. “Do you remember anything?”

There was a pause as Duras assimilated the shock of limited neural vision. The descendents were still understandable, but their thoughts, and that of all the others, evaded her.

“Is this state permanent?” Duras asked over the speakers, her speech a series of chirps and whistles.

Daedalus had never paid attention to her speech before, the ambient chirps somewhat redundant to the more superior form of communication they had at their disposal, but it seemed to be a mix of descendent and puritan dialect.

“No, you will recover naturally if we don’t continue injecting you with the serum Lars concocted.” Daedalus explained, nodding at one of the captains. It was Mars’ captain.

“I wonder what else he put in there.” Duras chirped, trying to whisper it to Daedalus only.

“Mars has good intentions.” Lars said amicably.

“I’m sure…”

The third captain cleared her throat. Younger than the other two, her skin was amber, with shades of turquoise lining her skin, most noticeable around her face. She was very clearly a type-3, her phenotypical characteristics matching those of the descendent 193-1429. There was a symbol of some sort of bird etched on either side of that ship, near the skid joints. She wore a pendent that bore that symbol as well. “Can you see the nodescape?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then we should leave.” the captain suggested, “Before that ghost severs our connection to our world.”

There was a nod from the other two captains. They seemed to be discussing something on the neural band.

“Sorry.” Daedalus finally said, “We’ve decided to head back to Zemoria to seek the Descendent Council’s advice.”

The Descendent Council were the leaders of the Black Nova Descendents. Although they themselves weren’t the owners of any large fleets of descendents, the descendents held the BNDC in high regard. The Galactic Commonwealth knew that if a crusade were ever called by the BND, a good portion of the GC’s own descendents would instinctively follow. Luckily, the BND didn’t seem to be the warring type, more interested in the pursuit of knowledge than that of galactic conquest.

They decided that four descendents should stay behind to watch the ghost, while three others and Duras would return to Zemoria. The ghost was beginning to burn into her nodescape again, but she refused another injection of the serum. She could still see the nodepoints, and she was beginning to hear the whispers of the neural field around her. She had already regained the ability to communicate with Daedalus along the neural field.

Are you ready? Daedalus asked. The jump would be a formation jump, with the three starships leaving realspace at the same time through Duras’ interstice. They would follow her through to Zemoria.

She aligned her skids for the jump sequence. It was a very minute change in orientation, far from as noticeable as the jointed wing-like skids of the descendents, folding back to mimic her streamlined appearance for punching into beemspace. At this state, both the descendents and puritans looked almost identical, the most notable changes without the skids in the equation being the bulbous ‘devil tails’ of the descendents, where an entire koveran chamber was usually housed. Duras only had one koveran chamber, located in her central hull. Multiple koveran chambers were something she wouldn’t have minded having. Since she only had one, she was incapable of making simultaneous jumps, which proved to be a big problem if she accidentally jumped into a hostile fleet. The only evolutionary argument she could come up with for the lack of multiple koveran chambers was that she could still travel several times the speed of light without taxing her koveran reserves. It was probably raumenoid culture that had forced the BMS to use its jump drive as a means of travel rather than just a last ditch effort at escaping danger, and only when the jump drive was activated in such a way did it deplete entire koveran chambers. It probably wasn’t even that healthy jumping around everywhere.

Something tugged at her in beemspace, for a moment she thought it was Mars trying to be cute again, but noticed that her awareness of realspace was returning. She dropped out into a blaze of fire. Radiation waves resonated across her hull as the descendents in her group tried to shield against an attack coming from ahead. A kinetic shell grazed her right skid and woke her immediately, the adrexin from the encounter and the pain coursing through her veins. Two of the descendents ahead were suddenly consumed by an explosion, something burnt against her hull – it was debris, and superheated blood, crystallizing as it touched her cold hull. She still couldn’t identify her attackers, not that she really cared, paralyzed by fear.

A voice echoed across her mind, trying to grab her attention. She finally recognized it.

“Mars—“

A ball of light shot towards her, but she somehow deflected it, her gravimetric lens instinctively veering the shot away.

“I’ve been cleared to deploy a gravimetric weapon.” Mars shouted into the distorted neural band. “You have to protect me. Use this.”

Data seeped into her neural strata, tactical data, a shield of some sort.

“I can’t.”

“Try!”

Another burst of plasma fire, shrieking past the two ships and exploding in a ball of vermillion behind them.

The tactical data had a specific skid position, one that was unattainable by a puritan vessel. She tried anyways, extending her skids as far as they could go. Unlike descendents, her skid was more of a tail, she could only extend the aft gravimetric prongs, separating them and creating a bubble of koveran energy. She focused, priming the veins along her hull for the koveran surge. The rest of the tactical data made it sound so easy. She was to simply create a distortion field, similar to what she used for everyday travel. However, instead of the field manipulating gravity, it would extend the koveran energy out in front of her like a shield. She tried, the koveran energy burned into her sides and began to dissipate, but got contained by the mysterious koveran discharges she naturally had. They were especially abundant now, catalyzed by the koveran energy. Her entire hull felt like an ember as she refocused the koveran energy.

She felt the mass distortions of another burst of weapons fire off in the distance. It looked so eerily clear now. She could see the individual flechettes flying towards their targets in slow motion. She saw Mars charging some sort of weapon, his skids engulfed by a bright red ball of light. If she didn’t expand the koveran field now, Mars would die, and she would surely follow.

A cry of pain accompanied the conception of the koveran shield. It absorbed – no, incinerated the flechettes. Plasma weapons seemed to feed it, making the shield stronger.

“I knew it.” Mars transmitted, “Now get ready to turn it off.”

“How do I turn it off?”

“Just do the opposite of what you did to turn it on!”

“What happens if I don’t turn it off?”

“Then you absorb my gravimetric shot and we all die.”

“Brilliant. I really don’t think I can – “

A lightning streak of koveran energy shot out from Mars and hit Duras’ gravimetric lens, disrupting the koveran shield. Mars fired. Duras’ ocular sensors turned off completely from the flash, mass sensors were overloaded from the sudden data. She felt the intimacy of a bond, followed by a jump sequence. They arrived ventral to ventral in Zemorian space. She let out a plaintiff whimper from the pain that was only now registering. Zemorian defences immediately hailed their captains. Mars wasn’t really sure what to do now. He thought of breaking the bond but it was too pleasurable, maybe if she decided to break the bond.

“What happened.” she asked, her thoughts awash with fear and uncertainty.

“Vorchans.” Mars replied.

She wasn’t sure if she had understood that correctly. “Vorchans?”

“Yes, very unlikely. I know. Lars is discussing the situation with Zemoria. If it really was the Vorchans, then this was an act of war.”

“The Vorchans have no reason to attack us. Not now. We’ve co-existed for thousands of years.”

“I know, a strange turn of events. They are territorial. Perhaps they believed we were trespassing into their territory.”

“The other two ships…” Duras transmitted, remembering the blood hitting her hull.

“They will be avenged. The Zemorians command the largest fleet in the Galactic Commonwealth.”

It was difficult to fight against the pleasure as she broke the bond, facing Mars bow to bow. “And our differences are apparent once again. You’re too quick to violence. You could have all jumped out immediately. Zemoria’s nodepoint was clearly visible there. Instead you chose to fight.”

“You couldn’t have jumped out immediately.” Mars responded plaintively.

It could have just as easily been him destroyed in the initial barrage. The other ships had stood and fought because he was the dominant ship. Descendent barbarisms had saved her life. His shared bonding beem sequence had saved her life. She felt damp, there was a lot of blood seeping out of her wound, she lacked the ability to shut off arteries the way some descendents could. A service carrier must have jumped to their location, as she felt maintenance drones sealing her wounds. She lucidly followed the carrier to a drydock.

This was a mess. The BND were furious at the Vorchans, demanding the Galactic Council do something. Nobody knew whose jurisdiction Earth fell under, or whether it really was Earth. They would have to gather more proof, recover the four descendents left behind.

The Galactic Council denied the deployment of more descendents.

Daedalus was sitting with Lars at Penumbra – a restaurant near Signus, close to the space port. The star that was Duras was visible up above. Mars was nearby, keeping an instinctive vigil.

Lars scratched the back of his head, leaning forward slightly. Daedalus wondered if he had just then disabled the neural interface.

“What can you tell me about Duras?” he asked. His expression betrayed worry.

“This isn’t really the time for – “

“That was a koveran shield she deployed.” he said, almost in a whisper, as if it were taboo. Maybe it was. Puritans weren’t known for violence. A shield wasn’t really violence when Daedalus thought about it, though.

“Yes, I noticed, but it was just a shield.”

“It could have just as easily been something else. Your ship has the talent. I have never seen a puritan with a talent like that… not one that…”

“Didn’t disappear?”

“Mars worries about Duras, which makes me worry. You know that.”

Lars was a type-3. They bonded with their ships at birth. It wasn’t difficult to see Mars’ colors in Lars’ body.

“Mars and Lars… did you choose to have such a similar name?”

“No, it is true that some become so close that they share the same name. We prefer to keep our own identities, especially for times like this.” he replied, looking up at where the drydock was in geostationary orbit. “That doesn’t mean we aren’t close, of course. Just different – a type-3 bond doesn’t make us clones.”

Daedalus looked at the marks on Lars’ forearms intently, the design a direct match of Mars’ hull pattern.

“Do you share in your ship’s disgust of descendents?” Lars asked.

Daedalus was surprised by the question, “I barely know Duras. I chose her for this particular mission because of her ability to see nodepoints where other BMS see static.”

“That’s unfortunate. I… can she hear this far—“

Daedalus shook his head. The neural link didn’t extend more than a few metres past his ship.

“How was her history, do you know anything about her past captain? What made her so bitter towards descendents?” Lars asked.

“Your damn ship did! That’s what. Now we have bigger problems! Duras is the only one that can get the four descendents back and she’s incapacitated, and we don’t even know if she will go back, not now that she knows what she is.”

“If we really were trespassing in Vorchan territory, then those –“

“I won’t accept that. We have to return, Duras has to get them out.”

“It’s suicide, you heard the Galactic Council – they will not assist us.”

“The BND can override the Gal Council. They can make a role-call, demand the assistance of the descendents. “ Daedalus mused.

“I’m not sure if they will. They can’t risk the loss of more descendents.”

Daedalus took a deep breath, thinking over his options. His reputation was at stake here, this was his outing, his mission.

“You said she now knows what she is?” Lars continued, “What do you mean by that.”

“I had always suspected some descendent blood in her. I can feel it over the neural interface. She has a… presence I only felt aboard Charak.”

“You shared a neural link with Charak?” Lars asked, in awe.

“No… but – you know what I mean. It’s just the way she flies, behaves. The decisions. The stubbornness. She engaged a descendent, your descendent.”

“She didn’t have much choice, her koveran chamber was low.”

“Any other puritan in that situation would have…”

Lars raised his eyebrows, waiting for him to finish. Daedalus sputtered, got up from his chair. “I’m going to talk to Duras.”

The damage had been severe. She had lost a quarter of her blood. The doctors told him that she had almost not made it. “She is still suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. Most likely from the engagement.” It wasn’t the engagement, Daedalus knew what this was about.

Hi Duras.

Hi Daedalus. I’m sorry you didn’t find your Earth.

The doctors say you will make a full physical recovery.

That’s good. she seemed disinterested, her focus on the descendent standing vigil a few hundred kilometres away. He’s pretending to idle, but he still glances at me with his tactical scanner every few hours.

He worries.

Dissent filled the neural band, strong enough for even Daedalus limited neural link to feel it. I had always suspected…

There is no shame in being part descendent. It saved your life.

Six descendents died.

Two. Daedalus corrected, You can still save the other four.

They are lost, those were Vorchans. We trespassed into their space. I had suspected it but I didn’t tell you anything. I had memories of Vorchan space, but only descendents have memories of Vorchan space.

Our wingmen didn’t say anything either—

I felt their fear, but they trusted you enough to go on.

Daedalus looked away from the center console on the bridge, where one of her ocular bulbs was located. I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant Daedalus. You did what you had to do. I felt the desire in you to find Earth. I thought I could give that to you.

We found the Holy Ghost. he transmitted, trying to infuse the thought with optimism. It was difficult.

Mars has three koveran chambers…

I won’t.

I know, but I had to suggest it… to clear my conscience at least.

I notified Zemoria of my status change. It was a pleasure serving you.

They could still be alive! Daedalus transmitted, accidentally yelling it as well. He promised himself he wouldn’t take it personally, that he wouldn’t push her. He felt Duras eyeing him thoughtfully with the ocular bulbs, maintenance drones passing by the main corridor seemed to stop and peer into the bridge. You can go now, Lieutenant.

Is that why you don’t trust me? Because I served in the military?

You are all the same, ‘For honour! For glory!’ I suggest you leave before I tell you what I really thought of this excursion, this obsessive quest.

You didn’t think it obsessive! You wanted to help me, I felt the compliance. He had also felt the doubt.

Puritans serve their captains.

He could go there… Then serve me.

I have.

You haven’t, our mission is incomplete. You betray your puritan ways by abandoning me now.

I betray them assisting you.

Then choose the lesser of two evils. Won’t you feel better after having at least tried to save four BMS?

Why, so they can rape and murder another dozen puritans?

A shocking accusation. They don’t murder!

Really? Why do you think puritans become so docile when a descendent comes near, so co-operative.

Daedalus felt something, just then – a shard of a memory.

The lights dimmed. Get out of me. Duras hissed. The oxygen filters had gone offline, carbon dioxide levels would slowly start rising. She could have done worse. Duras left, and went straight to Lars.

Lars was aboard his ship, waiting for Duras in the ship lounge. He could probably sense Daedalus’ anger.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go so well?” Lars asked as Daedalus stormed in.

“Is what Duras said true?” Daedalus asked.

“What did Duras say?”

“About the way descendents regard puritans… about… that. What was Mars expecting of Duras in that encounter?”

“What do you think he was expecting? In which encounter specifically?” Lars asked coyly.

“Yesterday you told me the koveran chamber was low, how did you know that? Did you specifically target a BMS unable to jump?”

Lars didn’t say anything. The twitch in his eye gave away his nanosecond dialogue with his ship. “If Duras isn’t going to help us, then our use to you is done here. It was a pleasure flying with you, Lieutenant Daedalus.”

The lights didn’t dim, but Daedalus could sense the hostility in the air. It wouldn’t be hard for Lars to have him murdered with an alibi of self defence, not when you control all the cameras. He could say the puritan had tainted his mind, sequestered him into vengeance for the attempted rape. Duras would be locked away too, if the GC could even do that to a BMS. She would definitely be exiled. Ironically something she wanted.

He had lost. He was stumbling to the port hangar bay, his mind a flurry of thoughts, all leading to the same tragic end.

It’s not true. I would have never harmed Duras. Mars transmitted into his neural interface.

But you would have raped her, felt that smooth puritan hull under your skids. You lustful bastard… He wanted to sting. He wanted the descendent to feel the pain, the shame. I never thought it was fear! I – it was… I always… they could have resisted. They never resisted. None of them. I never felt any anger in the bond.

What did you feel? Daedalus asked, focusing on the first feeling that would surface in the massive ship’s mind: Concern. An image of Duras flashed into his mind. What is it?

She’s leaving.

She still hasn’t been fully repaired.

But she will recovery naturally.

She’ll fucking kill herself! Because of you! Because you tainted her mind, tainted her. Made her what she despised. You condemned all the descendents in our wing to death.

There was no anger in response to his insult, only guilt. There was an eerie silence in the hangar bay as the ship’s presence seemed to fade from the area, focusing on other tasks.

Looking out the hangar doors, Daedalus noticed they were moving. What are you going to do! I order you to stop what you’re doing.

There was a collision, sparks suddenly rippled the descendents hull, coalescing and expanding into the hangar bay. Daedalus leapt to cover, his shuttle disintegrated, streaks of koveran particles cut through the ground around him.

I can’t let her die! Mars cried.

They were spinning. The descendant’s distortion field was not dampening the inertia here. Daedalus was flung across the open hangar.

The electrostatic field suddenly failed, Daedalus was getting pulled out into space, the emergency bulkheads began to close over the breach as another electrostatic field activated. Something had cut him during the depressurization, undoubtedly debris from his shuttle. He held his shoulder in pain as blood spilled from the gash. A dim presence seemed to return to the hangar bay, somebody grabbed him, began putting pressure on his wound.

“Daedalus, are you alright sir?” Lars asked.

“What happened, what did your damned ship do?”

“We stopped Duras from leaving and killing herself. Damn near killed us in the process.”

You are the reason for Duras’ condition. You and your damned species.”

“Mars isn’t to blame. It’s the way we were raised. This is how it always has been. We never saw it from the other side…”

“You’re a damned liar.” Daedalus hissed.

“You should really be nicer to someone who is tending to your wound.”

“Burn in hell.” Daedalus spat, sweating profusely.

“You’re going into shock from the blood loss.”

A hospital ship arrived a few minutes after the conflict between the two BMS had died down. Mars had taken severe structural damage from Duras’ koveran discharge. Both ships were in for repairs again.

 

Daedalus was eyeing his sling, sipping a coffee. “You’re a bastard.” he said to Lars.

“We aren’t all like that. Descendents don’t go out of their way to abuse puritans. There is no ‘puritans raped’ scoreboard.”

“Really? Well your ship seemed pretty adamant in pursuing that goal. Had he been a raumenoid they would have locked him up for sexual assault years ago…”

“He was young then, we both were.”

“… but you’re all ‘above the law’ aren’t you.” Daedalus muttered, mimicking a Coalition salute.

“Don’t go there. The Coalition were horrible. They deserved the fate they got.”

“You are no different from them.”

“Yeah, keep at that angle. We aren’t the bad guys here. If you want someone to blame, blame the Black Nova for starting our lineage.”

“Duras does.”

“Well there you go. It’s his fault… its fault, whatever Black Nova was.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Daedalus asked. “How are you” he looked at him and then up at where Mars was, “going to save Duras? To make up for all you’ve done? You fucked up the second half of her life.”

You were the one who chose her for the mission. BND, black nova DESCENDENTS, and you buy a fucking –“ Lars noticed some of the patrons watching them. “a god damned” he whispered, “PURITAN.”

“I told you this before, I needed her ability to –“

“HA!” Lars yelled, pointing at Daedalus accusingly, “And you sit there on your high horse, saying only we exploit puritans. At least the puritans get some pleasure out of what we do.”

“You bastard…” Daedalus said, for the umpteenth time. He swung at Lars. Lars ducked out of the way, waiters stepped in. The manager arrived in moments, breaking up the fight that had barely begun. Daedalus was being restrained by four staff workers, Lars just watched with snake eyes. His glare suddenly faded though as they were being escorted out, as his adrenaline went away.

“I was out of line. I didn’t mean that.” he said as the doors were shut behind them. “I will make it up to her – to you.”

“No, you were right. There is nothing you can do. You were conceived by bastards, born as bastards, you’ll die as bastards… you bastard.”

“Mars has an idea.”

“This should be good.” Daedalus scoffed.

“A police force.”

Daedalus broke out laughing, now pedestrians were looking at them, the manager yelled something from the restaurant window. “At least you people have a sense of humour…” he said, wiping a tear from his eye, “A police force. Oh that’s rich. Wow. A police force. For BMS.”

“I will suggest the idea to the BND. I think it is a good idea. To ensure things like this don’t happen again.”

“Yes, pass a law against descendents through the black nova DESCENDENTS” Daedalus spat, mocking the way Lars had said it. “That will end well I’m sure. You’re pathetic. This was a mistake. Maybe Duras should go type-4…” Daedalus was walking away from Lars now, hailing a taxi.

“That’s wasn’t what you were worried about! You didn’t want her to die!” Lars yelled after him as he got into a cab. The manager got out of the restaurant, broom in hand.

Why should I care? Daedalus thought as the cab took him to his house on the east side. Forget Earth. Forget it all. Forget Duras. Definitely forget Lars, that bastard.

 

He awoke slightly calmer the next morning. The first thing he did was make sure Duras was still alive. She was asleep at drydock. “…an engagement in Zemorian orbit between Lars Devinteh and ex-lieutenant Feieden ‘Daedalus’ Marphy.”

Damn GNN. Daedalus thought. The restaurant manager was already being interviewed. “I’m not sure.” the restaurant manager said, “Something about his wife I think.”

His doorbell rang. He was surprised to see Lars – and not the GNN standing under the camera’s gaze. He wasn’t sure why he automatically let him in.

When he goes up the eight stories to get to my condo… Daedalus thought, I’ll kick his ass. He’ll be winded from the walk that fat… sick bastard. Who am I kidding he’s not fat.

He glanced up at the ceiling. And that bastard has Mars too. Complete protection, complete invincibility. Damned type-3. What rich military parents he must have had.

“Hi!” Lars said as Daedalus opened the door. “I’m surprised you haven’t hit me yet.”

Daedalus hit him. “I deserved that.”

“You did.” Daedalus replied.

“Are you feeling better? How is your arm?”

“It’s better. I don’t need two hands to kick your ass.”

“I’d blame your hostility on your ship’s stress disorder, but it seems the neural link can’t reach this far?” there was intent in that query.

“You come here to kill me? Is that it? Cover up your little sex ring… you bast—“

“No! That’s not why I came here.” Lars snapped, raising a hand to silence Daedalus. “I wanted to tell you I proposed the idea to the BND. They will vote on it at the end of the week.”

“The law will never pass. A BND-police.”

“It will. I volunteered to lead it.”

“Brilliant, the first member already corrupt. It usually takes longer than that.”

“What is wrong with you Daedalus? Duras has really gotten to you hasn’t she?”

“You people have no right. I didn’t fight for descendents so that they can go around bullying the helpless.”

“I know, and now things will change. Most descendents probably aren’t even aware of the damage we’re causing. We definitely weren’t. Not until Duras stood up to us.”

Daedalus was laughing again.

“What now? Is everything so funny to you now?”

“Classic playground scenario this turned out to be.” Daedalus said.

Lars repressed a laugh, “Aye. Now that I look at it that way…”

Daedalus beckoned for him to sit down by the mini-bar. He poured some drinks. Lars took a gulp, then gasped. “What the hell is this!” he yelled, collapsing to the floor.

“A neural symbiote. I have been holding onto it for quite some time. Ever since it killed my first captain and nearly ended me.”

“Du-duras?” Lars gasped. It was too late. System failures queued up in his neural vision before he lost his connection to Mars.

“Partially. I can feel her anger towards you within me. It’s a pity it has to end this way… for you, anyways. Duras seemed quite willing to let my presence onboard after she realized what I was… who I was.”

“What? N-no… I don’t—“ Lars collapsed in neural shock. There was a massive explosion in the upper atmosphere as Mars’ containment fields failed. The quantum singularity obliterated everything within eighty-thousand kilometres of Mars before it was contained.

Interesting method? But the Vorchans? Duras asked, watching a fleet of Vorchan assault cruisers descend on Zemoria.

The day of reckoning has come. The Holy Ghost replied.

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