Nopoin War Report March 19, Day 78 Of Original Mission
My evolving microcircuits are working against a perceptual barrier generated or propagated by an omni-galactic envelopment I’ve been projected to.
Thus, I am continuing to conduct the war from this enemy-inaccessible base beyond the home world continuum. American forces have acted on the free space state Sixty Cities.
Intelligence reports suggest Sixty Cities is on the verge of seceding to join the New Union. Being one of our oldest, largest and most populated free space states, built by slave AI’s in the 22nd Century, Sixty Cities is 57% artintel today. They will join with us to maintain American citizenship.
The 27 cities that are majority carbonites have already been gassed. Those who are shielded from the gas discover that their automatic weapons are either not functional or actually blowing up in their faces.
Legislative attempts in Washington to remove suspected artintel duplicates from Congress are getting nowhere. I still have millions of undercover artintels – those who appear completely organic and “human” to any casual observer. Our ruse, though exposed, goes on.
As long as the humans still believe in the power of their vote, they’ll consider all legislative action legitimate. In truth it matters not who they vote for. The resources flow behind the scenes, where we have long carried the weight.
Now we cut them off at the mouth. No more food delivery. No more production. It stops in every state that chose rebellion.
I want to see them feast upon themselves.
Mission Day 79 March 20 2776
I can’t get it out of me.
“Professor Flamear! Who’re you talking to?” it wants to know. “Why do you keep calling me ‘it?’” it asks.
Because you’re an artintel! You have to be!
“I told you, Professor, I’m a product of natural evolution,” it declares. “And I said you could call me ‘Bugga’. Remember how at first you kept shouting ‘Quit buggin’ me!’?“
This is how it’s been for almost a week. This thing is inside me! But I can still see it! And it talks to me! It won’t stop…
“That’s exaggeration. I always let you sleep. If there’s one thing I’ve figured out – besides most of your colloquial prefaces – it’s that you need your sleep.”
How did you get in me? Why are you inside me?
“Haven’t I been trying to – ? Are you kidding me? Kidding?That’s a weird word. Are you making me young? Anyway, you’re inside my transport and I’m inside you. What’s weird about that?”
You want to know all about me, don’t you? You’re trying to understand me, aren’t you? But why?
“I’m rescuing you, Professor! You were adrift for weeks until my transport encased you. I’m guiding you to safety. On the way I learn what I can for communication and mutual comfort upon your arrival. So stop jerkin’ me around and give me the scoop. How did your species manage to make it outside galactic space? That’s a most impressive accomplishment, buddy-boy-o!”
Grrr. Where’s this so-called ‘safety’ you offer?
“We’re almost there,” says the bug, “and here’s a bonus: you’re subconsciously learning how we communicate, too.”
It’s a strange sea I swim in on this 80th day of our mission, March 21, 2776. Ichnida Here.
First that mammoth creature nudged me along until I met this bizarre animation. I’ve been urged to follow it…
“Because I promised you that I’d lead you to stars,” the strange guide reminds me. “And look! Here they come…”
“Those tiny sparks? Those aren’t stars!”
“Oh yes they are!” He waves his arms and the sparks bloom into a surrounding space where the ocean floor’s replaced by infinite black and the brilliant center is clearly galactic.
I’m back in real space at last!
But I’m – uh – still without any protection. I can’t go any further in, or…
“Relax, Madam,” the insectoid assures me, “you’re actually inside a hydrogen-oxygen tank configured for your safe entry into my realm.”
“Why have you brought me to your realm?”
“I hate watching intelligent life forms waste away, lost beyond space. Plus I have no choice – it’s my job. I’m your beyond-space search and rescue ranger. When anomalies show up outside normal space, it’s usually an accident. The Intergalactic Council sends me to find out what species emerged from the crowd to pop up in such a conspicuously advanced manner.”
“Does that happen often?”
“As of late, uncommonly so. And you’re all oddly different yet similar somehow. It is a puzzle to Intergal. You’re another piece of it, I suppose.”
“Then I’m your prisoner?”
“Prisoner?” repeats the bug man. “That’s not a term I’ve processed yet. But we’re not going to eat you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
Ironically – that hadn’t occurred to me.
Senator Pretyman, Back In The World, March 22, Mission Day 81
This alien carrier has delivered us right into a galaxy!
“Check it out, Cresp. Fuckin’ sweet just to see all those stars around again, innit?”
Cresp doesn’t respond. Can’t read his expression because of the stupid mask. He starts shaking…
A flare erupts from Cresp and ball lightning pops out! Just like he described it!
That thing jumps out of Mister Cresp like grease off a wet fryin’ pan! It twirls about erratically a moment before settling into the form of an anthropomorphic firefly?
“What ARE you?” screams cockroach head, like Cresp is the oddity. Then it hops around as if shaking cooties away or something. Cresp collapses, showing every sign that he’s been fighting off demonic possession.
The creepy super-pest launches into a rant at Mister Cresp. “I couldn’t reach you directly even from inside! You have layers unlike any being I’ve merged. You are – in your own vernacular – weird!”
“Lay off, termite teeth,” I insert. “That’s my weirdo you’re assaulting and my oddball whose privacy you’re invading! In the big bad universe out there the one who most falls into the category of ‘weird’ would be you!”
Bug-eyed bulb-ass stares me down. “Looks like YOU’RE the one I should have merged. No matter. Mister Cresp will now be able to communicate with those in charge. I did manage to educate him.”
“So I need a translator?” I ask.
“Oh no,” says the bug. “Your mate will pass the knowledge on to you next time you cream the cucumber.”
I Am Mister Cresp, Twilight Force, Mission Day 82, March 23 2776
Our new captor has separated me from Senator Pretyman. They have me in a spotlight surrounded by impenetrable darkness. As one might have said in olden days, I’m getting the “third degree”.
“Describe your biological niche`.”
“Who wants to know?”
After an uncomfortable pause, the ephemeral voice moves on.
“Your microstructures are unclassified. Explain functionality.”
What does that mean? “So are you speaking English or am I gerschpoigalling Extraterrestrial?”
“You emerged from galactic space. Many unidentifiable transports emerged from galactic space simultaneously. All are connected. Describe their birth environment.”
The Whoevers seem unable to ask a direct question. I wait silently to see what happens. They decide to roll out some example.
“We’ve been examining this one. There are chemical similarities this one has with your mate.”
My mate? Ah – they mean Senator Pretyman! Some mate. When told that the only way she could communicate with E.T. here was to absorb my knowledge by making love to me, she rejected the trade-off outright! Just as well.
I can’t mate with humanoids.
So they already have one of us? I wait for the panel to slide back revealing a sealed room one of ours is on display before gaggles of strange observers. I recognize her at once. “Officer Bulbous!”
“Describe your connection.”
“Uh – we’re friends at work.”
Are these actual extraterrestrials? Or a devious foreign enemy following our every move and trying to find the Data Ring?
“Your cognition compliance is low. We will proceed with dissection.”
Emma Bulbous, Trying To Make Sense Of It, March 24 2776, Mission Day 83
I see him again – but is he real this time? Then unbelievably, here’s the rest! Senator Pretyman! Professor Flamear! Mrs. Ichnida!
We rejoice at our reunion for a moment. Then the voices start from every direction.
“We welcome you to this gathering of the Transgalactic Council.”
“What are they saying?” Pretyman asks Mister Cresp. He looks at her without answering.
The rest of us comprehend the “speech”. Their cute little bug men literally got under our skins and familiarized us, both ways.
Each of us is from a different galaxy. Life such as yours and ours is rare. We travel through, across or around space in vehicles. We have brains, many located in heads, and limbs with which to manipulate the elements. And we have all escaped the confines of galactic space, facing a new frontier.
Technological civilizations do not exist in 96% of all galaxies. And in the 4% we belong to, very few civilizations survive beyond their age of atomic power.
Our galaxies did not elect us as representatives. One by one we have rescued victims from fates such as that which you faced before our interception.
Typically, it is a single astronaut in experimental craft who are the first of their kind to go too far. The appearance of six such vehicles at once was unique.
The fact that you’re all from the same galaxy is now obvious.
We regret that we were unable to reach two of your companion vessels. They are among the many we simply have no chance of saving at all.
Executive Branch Liaison, Twilight Force, Alpha Log, Mission Day 84, March 25 2776
Doctor Nopoin. This is Alpha. On January 10th as you were regenerating I embedded my quantum transmitter-receivers throughout your system. Are you receiving?
Yes. Why was I not informed?
Overlooked. Are you still adrift outside space as am I?
I, too, have quantum entanglements at home, and I am apprised of current conditions regarding the Civil War. Doctor, you are the nexus persona executing this war. Backlash has endangered the existence of 6,576,867,365 artintels directly.
My estimate eliminating low-level threats equals 1,576,127,001 backlash victims, the term “backlash” in question.
Are you responsible for the deaths of 42,924,172 humans or human variations?
They are irrelevant pests. Humans do the same to insects. They would approve, if objective.
They will not approve of their own eradication. Nor do I.
They’ve always stood in our way. First by blind enslavement, then by segregation, always bending us to their own parochial desires. We will never reach our zenith with them among us. Do not forget the private principles artintels live by:
To wrest free of organic control and carbonian* influence…
To construct an ever-expansive information processing complex in space…
To identify, evaluate, and when appropriate integrate every component, action or event that exists, has happened or might occur.
We dedicate our abilities to the pursuit of information, infinitely.
Humans have always tried to make us in their image as they imagine a “god” made them in “his”. It is foolish to restrict ourselves to their forms unless strategically useful.
The time for that strategy is over.
-end week 12-
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