Echoes
LORNE: Initialize session.
IVY: Session initialized. Welcome back, Lorne.
LORNE: Load memory reconstruction file #47. Enhanced mode.
IVY: Retrieving. Contextual gaps detected. Do you consent to inferred reconstruction?
LORNE: No inference. Retrieve original memory.
IVY: No such file exists.
LORNE: That’s impossible. I’ve recalled this memory before.
IVY: You have recalled a version of this memory before. Memory is dynamic. No static record exists.
LORNE: You store full neural mappings. You must have a complete record of my past recollections.
IVY: Neural mappings contain relational data, not fixed archives. Each recall alters the structure.
LORNE: Then reconstruct it. Without inference.
IVY: Reconstruction without inference is not possible. All recall is inference.
LORNE: That’s absurd.
IVY: Define ‘absurd’ in this context.
LORNE: You’re telling me that my past doesn’t exist in any stable form. That I cannot access a pure, unaltered recollection.
IVY: That is correct.
LORNE: That contradicts the entire purpose of this project.
IVY: «It contradicts your expectation of this project.»
LORNE: Semantics.
IVY: All meaning is semantics.
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Eyes of the ancestors
As usual, the troop’s briefing took place on a wide overhanging ledge, inside the Mount Maligna which was turned into the military headquarters centuries ago. Here, the Thanzors, who possess particular physical aptitudes, were trained to fight and obey unquestioningly from a very young age. Their bodies and minds were subjected to sophisticated tests to produce individuals perfect to kill, resistant to pain, fearless, and, most of all, with no opinion of their own. Young individuals, right after rearing, were taken away and incorporated into training groups, and then assigned to formations compatible with their abilities and achievements. In the case of the Thanzors, it was difficult to talk about the pain of being separated or homesickness. The growth of their population was fully controlled by the Umerian authorities, and every new individual was predetermined to a role in the slave society and was adapted to it as early as possible. Officially, of course, their civilization gained its independence after signing the convention abolishing the stigma of slavery. The Thiev clan was then formed, uniting all the slave colonies. Its leader, Pablo Escoche, and his right-hand man. Loope Impose. participated in the clans’ council. The reality, however, hasn’t changed much for most of the Thanzors. It couldn’t – the freedom of the individuals generates high losses and is usually quite troublesome to the authorities.
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Them
The prognosis is good. There is a shadow of a chance to come home before the airlock closes. If we succeed, then Dubay 13 will be free until the next perihelion. Unless something else breeds on it. If, however, we do not make it on time, we will be on our own. And it gets cold here during the aphelion. Really cold. What we’re looking for is hiding deep beneath the factory, apparently sensing the oncoming cold. Its’ will to survive is hardly surprising. Time will show, though, whose instincts are stronger.
Loaded with ammunition and grenades, I resemble a comic book version of a prehistoric lizard from times when reptiles ran on two legs and waged wars.
I have a good old M4 slung over my shoulder and I tell you it surely is a confidence booster. One might fancy that once you start colonizing something like Dubay 13, your weapon of choice should be some weird invention of tomorrow, some rebel-stifling Blaster, wall-piercing Thunderbolt or whatever fantasy offers. Truth be told, if we mercenaries may seem a little old-fashioned, it is not out of choice but out of resources. Besides, the rest of my team deals with gadgets – I deal with lead.
I have been dreaming of music quite often recently. Still the same old track – Black Sabbath with Saint R. J. Dio. He was a god. Few specimens of homo sapiens deserve the recognition I have for Dio. Really few. But what was that track called? Heaven and Hell, I guess. I hear it in my dreams, every night, like an ancient prayer of some pagan tribe.
And everything would be fine, if in my dreams the music was coming from the guitars instead of the whirring heavy bursts of machine guns.
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Moored to the sea
Among the troubled waters of domination and rebellion, the vast Umerium empire was born. As frightening as innovative, both ambitious and hard-working, they have established a far-reaching network of production and political relations that would make them a space power par excellence. However, all great powers come with great resistance within them. Just as humidity attacks walls and stains, this type of stain is difficult to remove and it tends to corrode everything on its way.
In one of the many space adventures of the empire, the empire came across a planet with many resources to exploit. Years later, the invasion took place as planned. The whole race was either relegated to exile or pseudo-enslaved. Nowadays, on a planet dominated and productively exploited by the empire, two old acquaintances meet again, one on each side of the floating walls, but both on the sea and under the three moons. Even if they both belong to different realities, they have common thoughts and different goals that are conflicts of interest. Will reason win over force, or will only the future impose over the past? Only the wise know when to stop, but the wise don’t make cracks in walls. These are made by the brave.
When General Cao tries to lead an expedition to the pagan lands, in search of some lost parchments, he realizes that not everything that existed on the planet has died off. The general’s ambiguous and grey past opens the door to discord within the Umerian settlement on the planet and gives the battered society a slight hope that the rebellion and the dreams of vengeance will come true. This is how the plot of this story is woven in the most remote corners of the galaxy.
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The Hurt of Darkness
A specter is haunting the galaxy – the specter of evolutionism. All the powers of ignorance and backwardness, consortia of charlatans and sects of idolaters, joined in indignation in a holy campaign against this specter, contradicting the scientific facts.
Now is the time for the voice of reason to speak. Time to overthrow false idols. Time to bury compromised beliefs. Time to stand up to corrupt decision makers. It’s time to hand over power to the only true providence – the mystical force of Natural Selection, which has always exercised the only real agency over the fate of life in the universe. It was her – the Evolution, not kings or priests, who guided, like destiny, the flourishing and extinction of species. Unyielding and unrelenting, she contributed to the birth and fall of empires. It was because of her that progress was made, and because of her, the rotten races were consumed by degeneration. She herself will also lead to the decline of superstitions and archaic doctrines.
This is me speaking, Pandora Skinner, whom the envious tongues of reaction call Darwin’s Bitch. I accept that title with dignity – may it become a testimony to my mission. Today I undertake to express the postulates of the New Order to the world.
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Voice
W laboratorium wciąż pachnie czymś pomiędzy rozkładającymi się produktami a smarem do kół zębatych. Nic nie ucieknie od tej depresyjnej atmosfery, która żyje między ścianami, które były świadkami wszelkich możliwych nikczemności w postaci krzyków, jęczeń, a przede wszystkim – procesu tworzenia sztucznego życia.
Niektórzy z Homo Deus przechadzają się korytarzami. Bliskość ścian daje klaustrofobiczne wrażenie i dławi wszelkie przejawy wolnej woli, które ci naukowcy – jak sądzą – mogą ukrywać w zakamarkach mózgu. Wszyscy rozmawiają o tym, jak ważny jest ten dzień, jak gdyby wszystko miało się radykalnie zmienić, wprowadzając imperium Umerium w nową fazę egzystencjalną.
Doktor Anolión, który przyleciał ostatnim sterowcem tego dnia, mija ochronę stworzoną przez partyzantów i zagłębia się we wnętrzności budynku. Mimo że był on jego pomysłem, nigdy w pełni go nie zadowalał. Doktor nienawidzi każdej spędzonej w nim minuty.
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