Black Sun (Phantom Server: Book #3) (32 page)

“Right! Join your mind expanders to make a network,” I ordered.

The darkness shrank back. The sensors of our Synapses and Neurons now worked in synch, consolidating the data. Still, the results weren’t exactly optimistic. The room held no hidden devices. All the bulkheads were safely shielded.

“I observe traces of fire damage! A couple of large patches exceeding human height,” Foggs reported.

“Stay where you are,” I said. “Jurgen, I want you to guide me. Where do you see the signatures? Aha, right... I can see them,” I headed toward a new marker glowing in the gloom.

Another patch on the wall! Its shape didn’t suggest a breach hole. Most likely, this was where a corridor had once been, leading to the part of the station we needed.

“Zander, watch out!” Liori exclaimed.

I froze. What now?

“Do you see the deformations?”

I took a better look. Indeed, the structure of the wall around the patch seemed blurred, rippling vaguely. “Release a probe.”

Vandal obeyed. Slowly the probe floated off at about three feet high, its spherical surface studded with sensors.

With a flash, it touched the wall. The scorched probe dropped to the floor and rolled aside.

“This is a hologram protected by a force field,” Jurgen said. “I’ll now search for the resonance frequency. You’ll need to wait. I’ll send you new scanner settings.”

I stepped toward the wall.

“Zander, don’t!” Foggs shouted. “It’s too dangerous!”

The threads of energy reached out toward me. The signature of the force field changed.

Liori’s voice was the last thing I heard,

“Step back, everyone! Zander can do it, not you! He has the right!”

I hope so, my love.

* * *

The place was well lit. No signs of damage here. My Synaps had finally kicked in, allowing me to see tons of equipment lying around. These were the signatures that had been registered by the Relic’s sensors.

The place was flooded with streams of energy coursing around me, changing their signatures. They didn’t extinguish as I approached.

No one would ever have battled through here by brute force. Pointless trying to hack the codes or destroy the defenses of what was Phantom Server’s heart. Created millions of years ago, it would probably last the same again. Powered by the energies of hyperspace, its components didn’t depend on external conditions.

I stood within infospace.

* * *

A Black Sun slowly rose over the dull horizon of a dying planet.

I was looking at the Founders’ world. They had created an artificial casing for their own star and very nearly fallen victim to their own scientific progress.

Why, might you ask?

Now that I stood within infospace I knew the answer.

They wanted to travel the Universe, free from its laws and boundaries — but creating space metrics by trial and error had proven too difficult. None of their spaceships could accommodate a reactor powerful enough to do so. That’s why they’d thought that utilizing the energy of stars might be a solution. In theory, a single diamond-shaped accumulator segment orbiting their sun could produce the desired impulse without hurting their planet’s environment. The segment’s surface was too negligible compared to that of the star’s photosphere!

Still, the road to the stars is paved with thorns. The accumulator segments kept breaking down, failing under the star’s extreme conditions. Repairing them didn’t seem worth the time: it was much easier to create a new one, sturdier and better than the last.

That’s how the Founders had come up with the concept of the “protomineral life form”. Now these segments could self-replicate to replace the broken elements when necessary.

This had become the Founders’ undoing. The replication process took on a life of its own. Very soon a second segment was born in the star’s photosphere, followed by another. And another. And yet another.

The Founders had been on the brink of an ecological disaster. Desperate for a solution, they’d discovered cargonite’s properties which had allowed them to create the first nanites. Still, by then it had been too late.

The artificial mantle around the sun had closed. Obeying their initial programs, the protomineral segments diligently channeled the accumulated energy into forming the first wormholes. But it wasn’t the Founders’ spaceships that had performed the first jumps but samples of this protomineral life form.

I paused, unable to take in the entire scope of those ancient developments and their consequences for the Universe.

These almighty beings had fallen victim to their own technology. Many of them had died — but those who’d survived, persevered with their research. They went underground where, warm in the heat of their reactors, they continued experimenting with nanites until they’d learned to build artificial neuronets and digitize their identities.

The periodical release of energy which had resulted in creation of new wormholes had allowed them to study hyperspace — but how were they supposed to enjoy life after centuries of digitized existence when new emotions weren’t available and old ones had long faded, forgotten?

Too late had they realized that there was another way of instantly traveling the Universe. Hyperspace was capable of transmitting information, wasn’t it? And the process didn’t take too much power.

Had this discovery liberated them?

I didn’t think so.

Now I knew exactly why the Founders had formed their AI fleets, sending them on millennia-long voyages between the stars.

The Founders had come up with a new system allowing them to interact with the Universe. Still, in order for it to work, all its destination points had to have the technological foundation necessary for the travelers’ complete replication, otherwise they risked remaining ethereal phantoms capable of perceiving but not interacting with new environments.

The Founders sent countless nanites to thousands of planets, hoping to respawn and rectify their past mistakes by stopping the expansion of Black Suns. But once again they couldn’t contain their urges.

They were so few, so desperate to live and enjoy life that they couldn’t fight off a new temptation, disappearing in the midst of other civilizations, changing worlds, eras and guises as they pleased.

Only few had remained loyal to their initial goal. It was they who, in their foresight, had created the universal nanite control interface, hoping that young space races might one day study their legacy and follow its unique development branches — and hopefully go one step further than they had.

But what if we hadn’t?

In such a case, we still had a secure survival tool that would work even if all the stars in our Galaxy died of old age.

As long as a single reactor still glows
, I couldn’t stop thinking of Kimberly’s farewell.

* * *

Past yet another wall of energy, I was confronted by rows of devices that looked marginally like our in-modes.

These were the cameras of biological reconstruction. This was where the ancient beings had built new organic bodies for themselves whenever they wished to re-experience real life after long periods of phantom existence.

Information streams washed over my mind. My skills kept growing impressively. I kept scanning, saving new scanner files in the knowledge that I wasn’t likely to ever come back here.

You know why?

The quest I’d accepted, that’s what had granted me access to the heart of Phantom Server.

I wasn’t here to ask for anything for myself. I had the right to be here. I had come as a Colonizer responsible for the fates of three civilizations.

* * *

You have crossed over into the System’s Heart.

Use the celestial map to switch to the Colonizer interface.

Spend the available Action Points wisely. You can:

- Lay a new route;

- Open a new wormhole;

- Establish contact with a star system of your choice;

- Transport identity matrices and other objects within the limits of the interstellar network.

Warning! The number of available Action Points is limited!

Here in the heart of Phantom Server they had the same force escalators as in the Temple of Light back on Darg. Its vast space was similarly split into rooms by force fields.

As the elevator brought me up to the next level, I had some time to pull myself together and prepare to face the awesome future.

A stream of energy brought me into a gigantic spherical hall.

I found myself on the inside of a 3D celestial map with the star system housing Phantom Server at its center. Fiery stars crowded me in the dark.

A bit further on I noticed a communications station and a respawn point. They seemed to be connected to all of the station’s still functioning systems.

Sheets of green light flashed at irregular intervals. I watched as translucent avatars materialized only to disappear again. I’d never seen such a variety of xenomorph beings.

The depths of the map around me twinkled occasional lights marking their departure and destination points.

The interstellar network.

Every system the Founders had ever visited was marked on it.

I saw Black Suns, oozing their dull heat — there were over a hundred of them already as protomineral life forms continued their expansion.

Known cargonite deposits were marked with a special sign, as were its stores built by the Founders.

The fine lines of still-active routes curved through the dark, intertwining and parting in every direction. I could see thousands of inhabited worlds bustling with activity — civilizations using the Founders’ ancient technologies in their daily life.

Phantom Server’s AI remained impartial and silent, as if condoning my right to be here, not forcing me to make up my mind. Still I discovered a few prompts as yellow markers had appeared next to a few planets suitable for colonization.

I searched the map for Earth.

There it was. A tiny dot at the very frontier of inhabited space. Our Sun was already enveloped in a dark aura. We couldn’t change that anymore.

The two systems nearest to it were Darg and Haash.

Obeying my mental effort, part of the map zoomed in.

I was facing a difficult task. There were no planets suitable for colonization nearby. And I had a very limited number of Action Points available.

I tried to lay a new route. My hand traced it among the stars as my Action Points dwindled, barely enough to take the Third Colonial Fleet to the nearest system containing an uninhabited planet with an oxygen-based atmosphere.

This was a hard choice.

At a certain point, I felt angry. This was still a game, played all over the interstellar network. The way the Founders had seen it, players had to pay for every step of their expansion.

For those awesome beings who’d developed the game’s rules and its interface, this was only an impersonal resource allowing a player to invest some of his or her AP. In order to activate this entire
Summa Technologiae
and open a new wormhole for the Third Colonial Fleet, I’d have to ignore the survival of both the Haash and the Dargians. There just didn’t seem to be any other solution!

But what were we going to encounter on the other side of the chasm?

The fact that the planet’s atmosphere contained some oxygen said nothing. Its biosphere could still be aggressive or incompatible.

Abort!

Desperate hopes of three dying civilizations were braided into the lifeless numbers.

I had to find another way.

Besides, there were also the Reapers invading the Darg system to consider.

I zoomed in some more. Pointless getting angry. I couldn’t change the rules. I had to follow them.

But did the problem even have an optimal solution?

I studied the zoomed-in area long and hard, reading every marker, considering the consequences of every possible step.

Three fine lines connected Darg to three other systems.

A system message popped up,

You’re about to block the selected routes.

Are you sure?

This step will sever all ties with a star system rich in natural resources. No one will be able to use the advantages offered by hyperspace technologies to either enter or exit it.

Yes! Confirm!
This was a negligible price to pay compared to the dangers posed by the Reapers. They were a new plague capable of spreading to all inhabited worlds.

My next step prompted another system warning,

You’re about to use your resources to transport a single identity matrix. This will diminish the number of your available Action Points 10%.