The Quicksand Singularity ArQive: Array.init:0

A0T5.1 The Vampyre Syrenn (Part 1)

"No," Hal put, bluntly.

"That is fair," Wander said. "I ought enquire, what manner of petty indiscretions need I be aware of as regards I3?"

"Temporal atrophy," Hal answered.

Wander's heart sank. Temporal atrophy had been the bane of Soulstar's greater masters of the Glitch. Their wellsprings flowed not just with the power to upend the natural order, to weave it to their whims, but also as a fountain of youth. Even the lowest neophyte would long outlive the last of their generation. Those who had children were often condemned to watch their progeny grow up, then old, and then bury them, themselves still no more ravaged by time as the day they bore their sons and daughters into being.

As the epochs dragged on, these great mages' hearts would atrophy until they could stand the presence of others no more. Each new face was a reminder of a thousand they had lost before. Some would end their own lives to escape the horror of perpetuity, others would retreat entirely, sequestering themselves off until they had withered away completely, passing on at long last as they cursed the crack of daylight dawning.

"How severe?" Wander dared ask.

"He's built a literal fortress of solitude."

"Replete with whores, wine, and fine dining, I hope?"

After all, what castle manor fit for a king would be without? Even the most high minded could go only so long without entertaining one minor vice or another.

"If only," Hal chortled, "at least then some measurable degree of lingering sentimentality for even carnal delights would remain. Seems the only divas dancing on his bed are angels of anhedonia."

"Pity," Wander responded.

I3 had truly reached the end, then. He had seen too much, experienced too much. Knowledge no longer interested him, and he no longer had it within him to pursue even refined things such as the tending of gardens, or the preparing of their finest fruits with hands of peerless skill, or the delighting over what subtleties sneak into the perfect imperfections of things done the old way. His heart had atrophied to nothing. He wanted only isolation.

"And the last?" Wander said, his gaze shifting to the right.

"She's new as well, in a manner of speaking. Her name is Ember Ravenheart and, as best we can tell, she's been around since the DNL Hawking Incident. About an epoch ago the Monikyn Exodus Fleet just happened to pick up her signal between interstices—don't ask. She's spent most of her time since then exploring and expanding her techniques whilst assisting in the colonisation efforts of Bearclaw."

"Monikyn Exodus Fleet?" Wander reacted.

"Six colony ships packed to the gills with Monikyn's Martial Matriarchs," Hal explained.

Wander paused. Martial Matriarchs were one of the Rimworlds' more desperate measures, though its extremity could be debated. To use GreyTech exowombs was nothing short of intolerable to Rimworlders. If they were to continue, as a people, it would be by the will of its people. Those who answered the recruiter's call would not be trained for war, but motherhood, sent not to trenches and bunkers, but fertility clinics and a new world, far from home.

"I had heard of the war," Wander said, "Its conclusion, though, I've only fragments of the story."

"Texsar destroyed it," Hal answered, "and even after it had been reduced to a lifeless, barren rock, The CORR kept fighting. It went on for forty Tanno before Bearfist led the march to Mothership. Thankfully, Texsar's CEO capitulated at the Midway Peace Summit. Another Kaidan would have been a total disaster."

"And what was his Price?"

"White peace, reparations, and a vast swath of territory to the galactic northeast along Laughlin's Wall," Hal answered, "the latter of which is almost worse than what The Major did to Kaidan."