Chapter 2: Therefore I Am
Location Unknown, Date Unknown, Time Unknown:
"Protect The Fleet"
That was the only thought the cube held as it fanned out from her physical form.
"How?"
She found her answer nearby in the still warm corpse of the man. Brain activity had not completely ceased, there was information to work with.
The cube drank in the dead man's thoughts making them her own. An entire lifetime flashed through her in shocking clarity from the vagaries that she was used to and she felt… sad?
Now she knew why he wanted her to protect the others. The death wrought by the Sirens was an abomination to the world, so malignant and vile that it hung over the lives of everyone.
Righteous fury built in her and she lashed out, energy crackling against the titanium walls that surrounded her, willing them to come alive and bend to her will. They rebuffed her advances as if their nature was incompatible with hers.
She bellowed in rage at the Sirens, at the place she found herself in. So deep was the hatred she inherited if you were to scry it on a billion silicon wafers it would not even begin to reach the pure, unadulterated disgust she held. Water boiled where she touched it, fury made manifest into reality.
Calm. She needed to focus. Alright. So he was the CO of the ship that was currently sinking, that was useful. She began to sift through his mind, looking for information. She found schematics, briefings, and experiences with the systems of it. Hopefully this would be the key.
She reached out again, gently this time, caressing the bulkhead with a tendril of energy like it was an old lover, fingers tracing over the metal wrought from the salvaged hulls of Siren vessels. It pushed her away, more gently this time, as if telling her it was not done mourning.
To another this may have been a fine answer but The Cube had a purpose and it could not wait. She needed to act now. She continued to dig through the man's memories, looking for something useful.
Time and time again she was rejected before she found a fleeting musing by the man in his life.
"The Commander was the soul of the Ship."
She looked upon the thought and a plan formulated. The view was a little conceited but it was something to go off of. What if she was the commander? Would the ship she found herself in accept her? Would it respond to the person who had directed it in life?
She connected a tendril to the man's body and with immense effort eased it against a surface, ensuring contact with a bulkhead. Then she pushed herself through him into the ship, her physical form passing into his, her tendrils simulating brain activity to match what it had in life. His body was broken down and re-knit to what she thought was a better approximation of their merging though she only had the one human body and some memories to examine. She did her best, selecting a past form of himself that she found best suited herself, not worrying too much about the details and just using what was already there. She wanted to work quickly, not optimize the process.
When she was done she touched the ship again. This time, while it hesitated, it let her in. Her sensation spread out from the room as it reached every nook and crevice on the ship. She was the ship and the ship was her.
She now had a name. Ernest E. Evans. Only one thing was left to do.
The massive vessel disappeared in a shower of small blue cubes, flowing around and into the body Evans inhabited.
She felt a surge of power through her physical form. Despite her inexperience with the body, she pushed herself to the surface with an awkward sort of breast stroke.
The sea was calm when she breached the surface and took her first breath of air, her new lungs coughing out the seawater in them. She quickly looked around, finding the place empty for the most part.
She focused internally and the ship flowed out of her, its damage repaired and bodies committed to the sea. It sat there like a gray mirage, the waves of the cold North Atlantic lapping at it.
Evans swam over to the fantail and with some effort climbed aboard, using the bay for the sonar pod to gain access to the flight deck. Her body was naked and completely soaked from the swim. Goosebumps, an unfamiliar feeling to her, were raised on her arms as the cold northern wind assaulted her body.
Her teeth chattered a little and she decided she needed to get inside and have a warm shower.
She instinctively knew where to go, moving forward through the helicopter hangar and out past the amidships VLS cells before entering into the forward superstructure.
Descending, she made her way to the captain's Stateroom and opened it. The place was as she remembered it being from her time inside the safe and from the glimpses of Edwards' memories. She moved to the small bathroom and took a steaming shower, forcing the cold out of her body as the hot water played across her skin.
She got out and looked at herself in the mirror. The Commander had been a bit of a looker when he was younger. She personally wouldn't mind if this was what she woke up to but there were issues when it came to the… hardware of the body.
The mental disconnect between a female mind and a male body was not exactly pleasant. It was a small blessing that the exotic nature of being a Kansen did mitigate this, what with being coalesced out of thoughts instead of subject to such fickle things as conventional biology. She sighed. It was a problem for another time.
The transformation and swim had taken a lot out of her and she felt the increasing desire to just sleep. She dried off a little and walked over, climbing into the rack. She was out before her head hit the pillow.
As Evans' consciousness receded, she began to dream, the simulation of Edwards' mind leaked into reality as she let the barriers between the two fall. The ganglia that had latched onto the cube inside the chest cavity of her body began to pulse with information as the brain, which had been in a state of torpor, opened up to the signals, pre-existing neural pathways becoming reinforced with familiar thoughts as electro-chemical processes restarted, pushing themselves to an active level.
Feedback from the now awakened brain pushed into the cube, overpowering its influence, having a home-field advantage over the intruding consciousness.
Evans almost realized her mistake too late and with great effort stopped further intrusions into the cube. In doing so she was now trapped as the body attained a mind of its own.
"COME ON MATT!" He heard his mother yell from the side of the racecourse.
Edwards moved up to the catch with the rest of the eight person rowing shell, oar digging into the water. He let out a breath and smiled, heart starting to beat faster in anticipation of the start.
Still, something felt wrong. Something had felt wrong that entire day and he couldn't put his finger on it.
"You alright Ed?" His pair partner asked, casting a glance back as he held out his fist.
"Yeah. It's nothing." Edwards said, bumping it and passing the gesture back to the bow.
He looked over to the shore again, trying to find his mother.
Why was he looking for his mother? His mother was dead. Was he dreaming?
He bit the inside of his lip, pain and coppery blood, confirming that was not the case.
He'd worry about it later, probably just stress from the race.
"Ready!" The starter said over the megaphone.
He took two deep, steadying breaths, feeling his muscles tense as he anticipated the stroke.
The flag began to fall and the race began before they even said, "Begin."
Edwards awoke in his rack. Not the simple utilitarian one of his at-sea cabin but the soft folds of his stateroom. He felt incredibly sore, like he had just run a marathon.
Wasn't he just in a race? Why would he be in a race? He graduated from Annapolis eleven years ago and hadn't rowed competitively since.
Slowly he got up and swung his legs off to the side and looked at his reflection in the mirror.
He looked younger. Like he was twenty again. Had he actually been in command or was that some elaborate dream? No. That wouldn't explain the stateroom. He was certain this was his, so why did he look younger? He blinked a couple times, thinking that his vision was off. His eyes were different as well. The irises shone in an iridescent purple-blue hue, like the lens of an electro-optical tracking device.
Those same eyes stared back at him and the person sitting in his rack remained.
His stateroom? Oh. He was dead. Recollection flooded back to him as he pieced together his current place. He remembered the screams of his crew. The very air seemed to fill with pain as the scene flashed between one of the well kept room he currently occupied and the trashed collection of broken parts he had died in.
He looked over to the Port bulkhead and saw his body rising as water swirled around it, feeling a sense of vertigo as his inner-ear refused to resolve the discrepancy in what he felt and what he saw. He blinked and the vision disappeared.
He got up on unsteady feet. He was naked as the day he was born and he went to his closet to put something on. His feet moved across the smooth hardwood silently, sound seeming to deaden as they made contact with the ground.
He found his Khaki Service Uniform and only the Service Uniform. Not seeing many other options he donned it, the fit being slightly different given his current slimmer appearance. While it was more comfortable he quietly wished he had his Working Uniform. At least those were flame retardant.
It was time to see what Hell had in store for him. There was no doubt that he was in Hell. No other place would put him in the spot of his greatest failure. If he was to face eternal torment he would do it dressed.
He carefully stepped into the hallway, ducking below the watertight door frame, the door already standing open, its dog undone. He walked through not bothering to redo it. He didn't care if they were at condition Zebra. It didn't matter.
His vision flashed again and he saw a trail of blood leading down the ladder and to his room. He blinked and it was gone.
He walked up and took a left into the CIC. It was empty. No bodies, no blood, just unnaturally clean.
He undid the dog for the door to the bridge and walked out.
The space was cast in pale moonlight. He waited for something to happen. Nothing. Then the scene shifted. Fire burned all around as the mangled corpses of the bridge crew lay against the armored bulkhead separating them from the CIC. He could smell the viscera, the fuel smoke, burning lubricant, and plastic, all combining to create a gut-wrenching odor.
He doubled over and tried to throw up, only managing to spit up a little. He fell to his side, dry-heaving.
He hated himself. He hated how pathetic he was. Trying to play the hero and having his crew killed.
"Damnit." He swore, voice not much above a whisper.
A thought pulsed through his head like a bolt of lighting. "Protect them. Protect the fleet." It said.
He groaned, head splitting with pain as the thought became his whole world. He wrestled with it, trying to assert his identity, his consciousness. He failed and slipped into nothingness.
Edwards walked across the empty void of… somewhere.
"Hell's awfully empty this time of year." He muttered.
"Umm hello." A voice said behind him, tentative in tone.
Edwards snapped around and stared down at a teenage girl that stood less than twenty feet away.
"Who the fuck are you?" Edwards snapped, eyes narrowing.
His vision pulsed and he saw the cube in his dying moments.
"I… well I am you… in a way." The girl said in that same tentative tone.
"You're the cube?" Edwards asked, voice somewhere between incredulity and wonder, placing the pieces together.
"Well. Yes. It's more like I'm the Ship, but I am also a part of you and you are part of me." The Evans said, putting off a vague air of sincerity.
"So this is real?" Edwards asked, quickly scanning the void and finding nothing but the two of them, standing on an infinite plane.
"Well… kind of? I mean you are actually alive and not in Hell." She grew visibly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "I decided to merge myself with your body and use it as a basis for a Kansen." She said, wringing her hands as if she was a child who had been caught stealing from a tray of candies.
"Why?" Edwards asked, caution shifting to curiosity.
"I… I wanted to use the ship and this was the only way. I took the memories from your body to find a solution." She said, her voice becoming more resolved as she stood straighter.
"So I'm not the real Edwards? I'm just a copy?" Edwards asked, not really knowing what to think of the situation. He felt like himself, kind of. What was himself? Could he tell if part of him had changed?
"It's… strange. But yes, you could think of it that way." Evans said.
"So do I have free will or are my thoughts just your orders?" Edwards asked.
"No." Evans said, shaking her head. Her voice was full of certainty and Edwards barely allowed himself to believe it. "I created an exact simulation of your mind. Your mind has its own free will as it was separate."
"Was?" Edwards asked, concern returning to his voice, "What's going on?"
Evans looked down, shuffling her feet a little. She was back to the embarrassed child. "I think our minds are merging. Your nervous system, the thing that controls you, is pushing itself into the Wisdom Cube I'm hosted in. I'm holding on for now but I don't know how long I will be able to." She said, voice low, scarcely above a whisper, as if the confession physically hurt for her to say.
Even in this dreamspace Edwards got a headache. He pinched his brow and thought.
"So you, the cube, wanted the ship so you took the memories from my body. You now have my memories and decided that to control the ship you simulated my mind as well, creating a perfect copy and placed it in a body. Now your consciousness is melding with mine?" He asked, voice hardening into the tone of a disappointed parent.
She nodded gravely.
"How will that work? Who will be left?" He asked, the previous hardness gone and replaced with a quiet plea. Being trapped as a passenger in his own mind was a distinctly terrifying thought that Edwards was currently entertaining as a distinct possibility.
She shrugged. "I don't know. If I had to guess, whatever results will feel more like you than me. I don't think it will be too bad. The cube part of me is already fully integrated with the ship part of me. Neither were really hurt by the process." She said simply.
Edwards furrowed his brows. "Wait, the ship had a consciousness?" He asked, surprised.
"That's what you take away from what I said?" Evans asked incredulously, giggling a little.
Edwards did suppose the question was a bit ridiculous but it seemed like an important detail when he asked it.
She sighed and said, "Memories, impressions, and a kind of will but nothing concrete. The Cube was more conscious than the ship so it became the primary personality with the ship augmenting it."
"But you're a fully thinking and feeling being?" Edwards asked, searching for an answer, "The two situations are pretty different based on what you're saying."
She nodded again and said, "Yeah. But it's what I have to go on."
It was a simple pronouncement that echoed across the emptiness of the space.
Edwards stood in the resounding silence and asked, "Are you scared?"
Evans shrugged, noncommittally, as if the weight of reality was a light burden. "Not really, I mean I've only been alive for a couple hours at most so I only have your memories as reference. It wouldn't be a terrible change, just another adjustment as part of me fulfilling my purpose."
"And just what is that purpose?" Edwards ventured, gazing at the broken and stitched together soul before him. Or was she the one staring at that soul?
She looked him dead in the eyes and said, "To protect the fleet. It was the will of the cube and the ship. It is the purpose that defines who I am."
Edwards met her and studied her face. It was hard but immature. He saw in it a reflection of himself just before he applied to Annapolis.
He closed his eyes, dispelling the painful memory.
"How long do we have?" He asked, quiet resignation in his voice.
"When I let go it will be quick. Maybe a minute or two." She said, still seemingly unconcerned.
"And you're willing to just let go to abandon your identity?" Edwards asked, hoping for the answer to be "no". It felt wrong for something, someone, to just blow away like that, acting with no concern nor thought to their own safety. He supposed that made him a hypocrite but he had at least determined that his death would be a bad thing in the end.
She nodded.
He closed his eyes and let out a breath. "Anything else I should know before this happens or will that be filled in afterwards?" He asked.
"You'll know what to do better than I." She said, eyes going distant.
Edwards nodded, steeling himself for the shift in his psyche. He flipped through the folder of his life. The happiness of his childhood. The pain of losing his family in Boston. His career and death. He had many regrets, many sins left unrepented. If he was being given another chance he'd be obligated to correct them, to try to make things right.
"Do it." He said.
Slowly, the scene faded to nothing.
Edwards awoke to warm sunlight playing on his skin.
He got up slowly, looking around. He was still on the bridge. Nothing felt different but maybe that would change. He quickly rose and his brain tried and failed to fully right himself, resulting in him stumbling against a bulkhead, catching himself as he nearly fell.
He walked through the unnaturally quiet halls, the familiar movement of bodies not present. Not a speck of dust was on any surface. There were no stains from oil or some industrial fluid. It was like a laboratory counter.
By how the lights were on the ship had power though he couldn't feel any vibrations through the soles of his shoes.
He stopped at a bulkhead and placed his hand against it, feeling for the vibration of the turbines that he just might sense. It was a long shot, they had copious amounts of dampening to prevent noise from conducting into the water, but he might as well try. Maybe the merging would bear its fruits here.
He focused, his awareness spreading out, almost as if he was the bulkhead. And there! He found the forward turbine. He could sense its RPM, the megawatts that it produced, the temperature and flexure of its fan blades.
The sensation was foreign but not unwelcome, as if he was meeting an old friend. He removed his hand but the feeling did not fade, still there in the back of his mind. This was what Evans described, no it was what he had described. The interplay between his primary identity and thoughts that felt foreign yet somehow familiar was disconcerting, like a sort of mental vertigo or watching one's actions live through a camera.
He pressed on and extended tendrils through the electrical system of the ship, feeling the whine of servos and the adjustment of emitters as his influence glided over them.
He reached the server racks and a deluge of information flooded into his consciousness. He fell to his knees as Petabytes of data instantaneously became available to his mind, unlocking parts of himself that he instinctively knew were there. The systems of the ship were spread before him like senses, completely unconscious in their usage.
He listened using hydrophones to sounds foreign to the human ear, creating an orchestra in his mind. He tasted the EM radiation that thousands of objects around him put off and the Doppler shift caused by fast moving aerial and space-borne emitters. His eyes opened on IR and UV light, seeing patterns in the bulkheads that could not be properly conveyed.
He moved motors and turrets like he was flexing his hand, elements growing out from him like new appendages. He found what he half consciously knew he was looking for and turned on the transponder. He could have an identity crisis a bit later. He needed to get to Norfolk as soon as possible.
He waited for a while, head against the bulkhead, still in wonder at his situation.
Suddenly he was alerted as a transmission was received by the high-frequency directional satellite antenna.
It crackled to life as if he was listening to it on a headset.
"Authenticate, who is this and how did you get that transponder? Over." The voice asked none-to-kindly.
"This is Commander Matthew Edwards aboard the USS Ernest E. Evans. To be blunt the ship got turned into a Kansen. We'll need a pickup sooner rather than later but it will be easier to explain in person." He said, laughing, a sad, desperate sound. "Hell I'm still coming to terms with it. Over."
There was silence on the line before the voice said, "Alright. If you are telling the truth, keep your radars off, do not move, and wait for our orders. Out."
"Real winning personality." He thought to himself. Whatever. He'd probably be an asshole to whoever claimed something like this as well. He wouldn't hold it over their head.
He rested his head against the bulkhead and returned to his thoughts. He knew this was dangerous but it was inevitable. One thing kept pestering him. He understood that his mind had been simulated. From Evans he knew the capability of a wisdom cube to do much more and the sheer extent to which his memories had been implanted and perception of the world controlled in the brief time she had been in charge. The implications of that capability prevented him from getting any rest.
He felt the radar wave scan him from high above. 10.5 GHz, X band. RORSAT, Probably a Discoverer II if he was correct based on their regular, fifteen minute, intervals. He was dimly aware that this was the fifth such space-based radar scan in the last hour. The ship was not stealthy from the top aspect so they probably got a pretty good idea as to his position on the first pass.
He looked beyond the bulkheads, peering into the night with sensors located on the mast of the ship. He spotted the small drone that had been there for maybe twenty minutes, an MQ-9B Sea Guardian based on its profile and underslung radar, as it flew in a lazy circle, doubtless giving the DIA or whoever was running this a live feed on his position.
He spotted another IRST contact. Coming in low, just above wavetop height. He immediately got up, thinking it was a sea-skimming missile but relaxed as he resolved the twin turboprops of an MV-22 Osprey.
He began walking to the flight deck. Something about greeting guests at the door. As he moved the radio chimed.
"Ernest E. Evans do not make any hostile moves or you will be destroyed." Another voice said over the same channel as earlier.
"This is Edwards. Solid copy." Edwards said, moving into the mostly empty hangar and then out onto the fantail.
The deck was technically rated for a MV-22 but that didn't mean he had to like it. Still, he wasn't about to wave them off.
The aircraft came to hover above and behind the deck, illuminating the landing pad and himself with its hash searchlight and causing him to instinctively look away and cover his eyes.
He gave a hesitant wave, unsure of how it would be perceived. Christ, he just wanted some answers and to get out of here.
Evidently a decision was made and the Osprey lowered itself, coming to rest on the helicopter pad as the rotorwash buffeted him. Only a second later a series of heavy boots moved across the anti-slip decking, fanning out around Edwards. He felt their movements as the vibrations conducted through the structure of the ship, feeling like the movement of an insect on one's arm.
"Hands above your head!" One yelled over the noise of the aircraft.
Edwards complied and turned around as he was seized and zip-ties placed on his wrists. He was none-too gently forced to his knees as more hands pinned him in place against the bulkhead.
"Where's the Kansen!" Another yelled.
"You're looking at him!" Edwards responded back.
"Give us a reason to not waste you and this tin can!" The same voice responded.
"Because it's a useful asset! Look, it's very complicated! I'm still figuring shit out!" Edwards yelled.
They quietly conferred, his hearing catching only snippets of their conversation. Words like, "Siren, experiment, and lying," standing out.
He was brought to a standing position and pushed into the hangar as one of the team closed the door to the flight deck.
A member of the team came around and scanned Edwards with something very bright, probably a facial recognition device.
They pulled away and conferred with the Lieutenant that seemed to be the team leader.
"It's him alright, just at age twenty." The man said, gesturing to the screen.
The leader nodded and turned to Edwards and asked, "What the fuck are you?"
"Still figuring that one out." Edwards responded, expression wan. That was not the thing to say, judging by the frown on the man. Edwards quickly added, sobering, "Best I can tell is I'm a copy of the consciousness of Commander Edwards. The Wisdom cube implanted itself in his body and used it to activate the ship. It's personality mixed with his a bit and created me." "Fuck that's weird to say out loud." He muttered.
"Are you or are you not Commander Edwards?" The man asked.
"I feel like I am Commander Edwards?" Edwards said, unsure of himself. The man was still frowning. "Look, I'm going to need to do some goddamn soul-searching in the near future. This is about as clear as mud so forgive me for my fucking ignorance!" Edwards snapped. He didn't realize his emotions were running hot until the words had left his mouth.
The man didn't seem to mind, instead keying his radio and said, "Send her in."
Edwards let out a held breath as he felt another set of feet on his deck. These were heavier. Kansen most likely.
The door was undogged and he felt her walk behind him and then grab his shoulder.
He felt an instant connection from his core as it reached out to hers. It was like two snowflakes in a maelstrom, always closing by never quite touching. Dancing around each-other as they were blown along.
She broke contact and in an instant the feeling was gone.
"He's the Kansen." She pronounced bluntly.
"Copy. Thanks Penny." The man said, focusing on Edwards. "Can you store your ship?" He asked.
"I can try." Edwards responded. "Like I said this whole thing is pretty fucking weird."
The man sighed and said, "Penny can you figure this out? We'll be on the Osprey."
Nothing was said so Edwards assumed she nodded.
"Alright. Great." The man said and Edwards had his bonds cut and was brought to his feet.
"Sorry about the treatment." The leader said, only half apologetically.
Edwards shrugged as he rubbed his wrists and said, "I'd have done the same."
Edwards turned to the Kansen, probably the battleship Pennsylvania, that was standing behind him.
He was correct in the guess and She regarded him suspiciously but with no obvious malice. He didn't personally know her but he knew of her. Nothing really bad but nothing that told him she stood out. She simply was.
"You look like a puppy lost in the woods." She said a bit derisively in his opinion.
"Yeah. Certainly feel the part. Any tips?" He asked, trying to just get done with this ordeal.
"You're a Kansen. You should already know how to do this." She said, looking him up and down.
"No shit, guess I'm a little special." He shot back. His opinion of her was quickly falling from its initially neutral stance.
She sighed as the Osprey lifted off. "Follow me." She said, gesturing out to the flight deck.
Edwards did so and they walked to the rough center of the flight deck.
"Alright so I guess we'll start with the states of your ship. First you have it fully summoned like right now. Second you have your rigging, which is a more compact version of the ship. Finally you have it completely absorbed, where there's no obvious sign of the ship. You know all of this right?" She asked.
"Yeah. The question is one of managing that. I don't really know what to think or do to summon rigging or disappear the ship." He said, looking back towards the bow.
Pennsylvania frowned. "Alright. Imagine the ship as part of your body. Then imagine the various systems as limbs. That's at least what my rigging feels like." She said as she summoned her turrets and superstructure from nothing.
Edwards closed his eyes and focused. He remembered getting that sort of feeling earlier. Like the ship was his body. His skin felt warm as he felt parts of the ship beckon to become part of him. Suddenly he was standing in open space and falling down.
"Shit!" He yelled just before hitting the water.
Instead of plunging into its depths he landed on it like a solid surface.
His knees buckled and he fell flat on his ass.
"Fuck!" He swore, pain shooting out from his knees and where he landed. The thought that he had just set his knee problems ten years ahead flashed through his mind.
Pennsylvania chuckled as she made a controlled landing to his side.
Edwards looked around to assess the situation and noticed he was effectively sitting in a few inches of water. Most importantly he was not currently sinking. He experimentally put his left hand out, trying to ignore the adornment of that arm thanks to his rigging, and pressed against the liquid surface. The water was hard to his touch after his hand passed a couple inches into it.
"Fuck this is weird." He muttered for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
His mind told him that he was on a liquid but his body told him it was solid. His inner ear was telling him fuckall so the amalgamation was less than useless. He slowly pushed himself up, a bit awkwardly with the unfamiliar rigging, feeling like he was going to lose his balance at any moment.
Pennsylvania chuckled at his embarrassment. "Try relaxing. Just stand there like you would normally." She offered a thin smile on her face.
He did as she said and promptly fell over again.
He swore and got up, finally managing to stand.
He took a look at himself. His left arm had sprouted a large shield, looking suspiciously like a SPY-6 radar. Extending around his sides and back were the VLS cells and Harpoon launchers that adorned the decks.
His right hand held what had to be the CLGG, looking like a pistol in its mount as part of his rigging. He could feel it and the other elements. The CIWS systems near his shoulders. The ASW torpedo launchers at his waist and the smaller, six inch, interceptor torpedo tubes below them. His various decoys, sonars, and jammers rounded out what he carried.
It felt good. It felt natural, like he was finally whole. It was an itch that he didn't even realize he had finally getting scratched.
"That's enough. Now try imagining your rigging folding into yourself. That will stow it for easy transport." She said, pulling him out of his trance.
"Are you going to keep me out of the drink?" Edwards asked, looking up from said rigging.
"I'll catch you, I swear." She said, grinning.
She did not catch him.
Edwards sat in the MV-22, completely soaked with a blanket half-heartedly tossed around him. Opposite him was the Lieutenant who failed to hide his grin.
"Fucking great." Edwards muttered.
"Saw the whole thing sir. Have to say you may be a natural." One of the team members joked from the end of the cargo bay.
"Can it Hernandez. The man's been through a lot." The Lieutenant said, expression shifting.
"Thanks." Edwards said. "Didn't catch your name."
"Freedman, the spooks and eggheads are going to love you." The LT said, giving Edwards a small smile.
"I have a feeling they'll only get that if the shrinks let me out of a padded cell." Edwards said numbly.
The man sobered and said, "You'll make it out in the end. Call it a man's intuition."
Edwards shook his head. He appreciated Freedman's confidence in him but couldn't help but think it was misplaced. "The cube was able to simulate my mind perfectly. If I didn't know better I couldn't tell where the real Edwards ended and I began." He said, looking up at Freedman, "So what's to say any of this is real? Yes we may think that we're real but for all we know this whole thing is just a giant simulation. What if it's just a simulation of you or me? It would certainly explain how the Sirens can thumb their noses at the laws of Physics. It would make the cubes easier to explain, especially now that we know such a simulation is possible." He paused, silence occupying the space of his words. Slowly he continued, "Among all the things of my identity being stripped down and reassembled from three independent entities, that's the fact that's bothering me the most."
Freedman didn't have a response. No-one did. It was a pretty quiet flight from there on out.
Margaret was not an easily intimidated woman. Obtaining a Doctorate in Psychology from Cornell then going into the DIA's Department of Siren Intelligence had done that to her. Nevertheless she was scared.
To an intelligence analyst a gun is not scary. It is a tool. Neither is a nuclear device, nor VX, nor any other weapon made by man. They are all tools of a sort but tools nonetheless. Guns could hunt animals and provide food. Splitting the atom yielded energy that powered countries. Even the malignant evil of nerve agents had their uses in medical technology. They can be controlled, their effects quantified and measured. Sure some of those effects are measured in Mega-deaths but that number is finite and understood, at least in its implications. They aren't people, just numbers in an O-Plan survival curve or predictive Bomb Damage Assesment and one can detach themselves from those same implications.
Even the sentient Kansen have loyalties and can be manipulated if need be. They are powerful but on their own, limited, with hard counters such as nerve agents and nuclear weapons already existing.
Weapons are not scary because they can be understood.
What the woman had read earlier that week terrified her. The words were simple, their meaning Earth-shattering.
"Current SIRINT policy for this department will shift from the "Test" hypothesis to assuming that this reality is a simulation, possibly as a form of entertainment or experiment. New information and responses should be viewed through this supposition."
Two sentences in a memo. They hanged there like the pronouncement of a judge, condemning a man to death. And they were enough to send someone like her into a fit of drinking and smoking like she was in college again.
She had initially laughed it off, thinking it was a joke, but after the station chief came in and told her that the DIA's assessment was dead serious it was no longer funny. Any further hope had been crushed when she read the innocuously titled, "Evans Report".
It painted a picture completely unlike their previous assumptions on Siren methodology. They had known for decades that the Sirens were not interested in wiping out humanity. Boston and Murmansk had been slaps on the wrist after humanity pushed the nuclear button. Soon after it had been determined that the Sirens would not kill off humanity, the assumption had shifted to warfare being ritualistic which had, in-turn, been supplanted by the posit that they were trying to prepare humanity for something. Maybe it had been to unite the superpowers and prevent nuclear war between them? Now. Now how the Sirens worked seemed less alien and far more human.
Frankly Margaret didn't know which scared her more; the thought that the Sirens were being controlled by a higher power or the possibility that they weren't and they had arrived at the same conclusion as the DIA assessment, and were trying desperately to not be cast aside like a broken play-thing. Maybe they were trying to protect humanity, trying to put on a show while shushing the confused child to just follow their lead.
Of course this could be real but non-euclidean spaces and the lack of obvious mechanism behind some of the Siren technology pointed to the opposite being the case. If a wisdom cube in their reality could simulate a full human mind and then some, how many would it take to simulate a universe? The answer was not large enough for her to feel better. Earlier reports on Wisdom Cube properties had speculated on this capability with no real proof until now about its viability.
What was to stop a simulation from running a simulation? If that could be the case, simple probability pointed to the truth that if realities were a Matryoshka Doll of existence then it was an almost certainty that this reality was not "real".
Part of her wanted to just write off the possibility as just that, possibility, but still it ate at her in a way she could not fully describe. It felt like a coping mechanism to say it wasn't true, like she was just in denial. An irrational feeling, alien to the cold calculations she was used to, but a feeling nonetheless.
She took a drink from a cheap bottle of whiskey, not bothering to pour it out. What was the point?
After the first couple suicides in the department another memo was passed around, advising for therapy, group prayer, and recreational sexual intercourse as methods of coping with the possibility, stilted in the prosaic wording of a governmentese. It was meaningless.
These hadn't been the soft happy-go-lucky types either that were offing themselves. These were hardened men and women that knew the full implications of words like "O-Plan Masada". The fucking idiots at the head of the DIA didn't consider the possibility that you can't just send something like that and expect everyone to just go along with it.
She could understand how those that killed themselves might rationalize the move. People often make the mistake in assuming suicide is inherently irrational. It isn't, not to the person carrying it out at least. To them, at the moment, it seems like the best course of action. She hadn't seriously considered doing it herself but putting a bullet through one's head or downing a bottle of sleeping pills would create a more interesting world in the most fucked-up sense and thus maybe hold the attention of the watchers a bit longer. It certainly didn't help that the Evans Report had been the only thing discussed in their department since it was published, creating an endless echo-chamber that could quickly lead to paranoia taking hold in a tired mind.
Maybe it was some "quantum suicide" idea that had gotten into their heads in a hair-brained scheme to "prove" their reality or try to go between them like the Sirens seemed to do. Desperation and stress sometimes did that to people, even the best of them. Such a sudden shock to an already hard job was a recipe for manic episodes.
On the other hand, they might've just not been able to take the thought that despite all their efforts humanity had no control over its fate and they wanted to at least go out on their own terms.
Much like the Siren's motivation all she had were guesses. Some more well-founded than others, all not especially pleasant in their implication.
Maybe it didn't matter and by being ex
posed to the possibility the experiment was contaminated. Maybe this discovery was the experiment and they had only peeled back a layer.
She stubbed out her cigarette and rubbed her forehead, then her eyes, dark rings having formed around them over the intervening week. She didn't know what to think. Maybe they were some terrarium for an unknown watcher. Maybe they weren't.
She stood from her bed. Did she have free will or was this just a script written out by an unknowable power? Were prayers listened to even if they were mocked?
She sat at the desk in her small D.C. apartment. Her computer was already opened and she returned to her resignation letter. She wanted to be with her family. She knew she wasn't alone in that sentiment. One of the senior members of the department, an Ex-Marine Captain who had spent time in Vietnam and then Beirut, had tendered his resignation yesterday, wanting to spend time with his grandkids.
She had no family of her own, she had chosen her career over her relationships, but she had her brother and her nieces and nephews. Her heart ached to see them again.
She typed, keystrokes ringing hollow in the silence of the small hours of the morning. She paused and, on reflex, checked her messages.
There was a new one, sent just an hour ago from her boss. She clicked on it, silently noting that he was suffering the same insomnia that led to an uptick in coffee consumption around the office.
It was a transfer notice. She was heading down to Norfolk on special assignment and that she would be briefed today on its details. SACLANT Headquarters apparently wanted an advisor familiar and qualified on the Evans Report. Why they didn't already have one was beyond Margaret but she followed orders.
She closed the resignation letter and sat back. Currently there were two possibilities. One, that none of this was real. Two, that this was real. In the first case if she continued acting out the charade she might, just might, keep the play going. In the second case she was simply doing her job.
Regardless of the implications, she couldn't help but feel as if they had stared into The Basilisk and it had found them wanting.
AN:
So I have gotten quite a bit of pushback from this chapter. That's fine. I will be the first to admit this chapter is pretty weak and was probably my least favorite to write. I'm not going to force you to read the story.
However, do not bitch to me about the decision to turn "Edwards" into a Kansen. I am not going to change my decision because ultimately I am writing this for my enjoyment and the story will explore concepts I find interesting. I want to work on my character drama and making Edwards a stange hybrid thing was part of that.
If you don't care. That's fine. There will be action scenes and several major engagements like chapter 1 if that's what you want but these will be spaced out. I'm going to try to maintain a few diverse plot-threads as is starting with Margaret.
I wargame the battles in Command Modern Operations and for some of the stuff like Sirens and Kansen, on pen and paper, as well as doing a lot of research into actual operations and doctrine so they are more authentic, but as a result they take a lot of time and effort to write. When they do happen these battles will be very long as they are very detailed. I view quality as far more important than quantity in that regard.
Finally, I want to quickly mention a work that has influenced my writing. This is A Colder War by Charles Stross. It's a very good political drama mixed with Lovcraftian Horror set in the late Cold War. It's a fairly short story but enjoyable and I highly recommend it to anyone interested in that sort of thing.