《Dalliances in the Daylight, a collection of SciFi Shorts》 Stranded Engineer Izural location- Drone-Cluster-Fuck GPS:-110543.24:78366.06:217134.02: Day 1: I was ambushed! How the hell did the drones know I was getting supplies at this station. I kept my radar profile low by going in jetpack only, and my transponder off. They must have been watching every station within 50km around my outpost like hawks, damn AI. Now I''m trapped in this automated trade station. At least there''s air and energy. Hopefully they''ll find something else to track soon. Day 3: The drones are still out there. I was able to barricade myself inside the station. Apparently they manufactured a sniper drone (I have no idea how, this is why Von Neumann probes where a bad idea in the first place) The new drone took a couple of pot shots at me and now a few sections of the station are leaking air. Thankfully my room is sealed. It also seems it damaged the safe field generator, which is now occasionally flickering worryingly. Day 4: Those damn drones apparently have limitless resources, as they''ve now taken to shelling the station with warhead rigged drones, trying to catch the field when it flickers. Seems it''s too random for them to compute, thank Klang. Something pinged the station and my suit towards the end of the cycle too. The drones stopped for a bit afterwards. Maybe it''s a trick to make me think they''re gone. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Day 5: There''s something... Else out there... I heard impacts on the station hull and when I checked the cameras I saw drone hulls bouncing on the station. Pulled in by the gravity field of the station. But what destroyed them? There''s still a few out there on the edge of sensor range but they''re playing it cool for now. It''s damn convenient too, as my suit ran out of power and I can''t get a charge through the station, damn faction locks. Otherwise this would be the time to run. Day 8: What ever pinged everything the other day is what''s got the drones on alert, but it seems its waiting for me too! Klang take it! With my suit out of power, I can''t grind my way out of the station or recycle my water supply. Not to mention the air has been getting stale. I only have a few days of water left if I don''t figure something out. Day 12: I can hardly type this down. I''ve run out of water and power, the air in the room is out and my suits reserves are almost done. This looks like the end for me. With the last energy the station has, I''m going to ping the drones, whatever the hell else is out there, with it''s antenna and make a note of the coordinates in this log. Hopefully the next engineer here will get find this and leave before the same thing happens to them. Ship Songs There''s something about the noises on a human ship; they''re so different from a Tunlak trade skimmer or a Glint cruiser. The noises are the same; the machinery is easily understood. Even the layout of the ships is often similar. Yet, each human ship seems to have its own song. A song of beeps, hums and hisses. There are tales of captains calling a dead stop simply because their vessel didn''t sound right or engineers that found a supposedly untraceable fault in a glass battery by listening to it. Every human ship of a certain age seems to collect these legends after a time. Now some humans do have exceptional hearing and probably could tell the state of their ship from how it sounded. There is a different source that may reveal more. Humans have always referred to their ships as individual entities. Called them by female pronouns, a practice that is ancient and laced with superstition. Yet there may be something there. Many cultures have tales of sentient blades or tools that help the hero in their journey or push forward the story. Now, there has never been any research on if an inanimate object could ever be sentient, or for that matter aware. Yes, there are species that have vastly different biological processes, but a species that are first machined then tooled by others, then slowly gain sentience by proximity and use of other beings? Such a concept is improbable, inconceivable at best and pure fantasy to any reasonable mind. Still, there is a plethora of anecdotal evidence pointing to something being odd about human ships. Be it this ship song or the ships themselves. What follows are two such anecdotal stories. First an interview with an engineer that served with their military, the second is from an old female human named Sophia Tiller. ¡ª¡ª¡ªInterview #15¡ª¡ª¡ª "This is Gwuogh Chirryp interviewing android Jim Buttersworth on the topic of starship sonic resonances. Beginning now," spoke a black-feathered avian, "Mr. Buttersworth please tell the recorder your story and any relevant data, starting with the earliest relevant." "All business aren''t you? I suppose you are a scientist of some sort, not sure what data superstition will give but that''s your choice," replied Jim, his navy blue chassis reclined across from Gwuogh on a soft chair, "I suppose it started on the third vessel I served on, the Harvest Moon. She was three quarters through her service life and already developing the quirks an old ship gets." Jim looked up at the ceiling wistfully, then continued, "That was when I finally started to really earn my chops as an engineer. Starting to fix problems before they happen and anticipate future ones. I remember being able to tell if the mass to energy generation was down a percentage of efficiency by the whine it made. It all seemed to form a chorus of noises to me as I did my maintenance rounds." He paused, then smiled as if he saw an old friend, "I can still remember the order of my rounds. First the chimes of the batteries, the ionization making the glass tinkle ever so lightly. Then the hiss of the water recycle, the woosh of the air conditioner. Oh I can still hear them now." Gwuogh coughed then asked, "The Harvest Moon isn''t the ship you informed us that you had the experience on, is the one you told us earlier in error?" "No, but you need context before I get to that ship. I loved the Harvest Moon, I served with her till she was decommissioned and I''m not ashamed to say I mourned her," Jim said that with a firm conviction in his voice, making eye contact Gwuogh directly as he said it, "The next ship is when it happened." Mr.Buttersworth paused here as if trying to think of a polite way to rebuke someone, "The Red Wednesday was wrong from the moment I set foot on it. Everything sounded like chaos, no harmony like the Harvest Moon. It''s batteries sounded like they were constantly shattering, the water and air recyclers were like a suffocating man and the mass to energy generation was a whimpering dog starved and expecting a beating. All of that in a new top of the line cruiser." This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. He sighed deeply. The chassis speakers even whined slightly as they tried to reach the out-of-breath quality lungs would have had, "I tore that ship apart three times during my service, looking for the problems I kept hearing. It took me three years to figure it out." "Figure out what Mr.Buttersworth?" asked Gwuogh. "The Red Wednesday was fine. It wasn''t wrong or broken, it was just new," Mr.Buttersworth continued as he drew in a non-existent breath, "I had grown so used to the Harvest Moon, I learned to think that all ships would sound like her. It wasn''t the sounds that had changed but me." "Once I realized that, it seemed like Red Wednesday stopped practicing and actually started to sing for me." finished Jim Buttersworth. ¡ª¡ª¡ªEnd of Interview #15¡ª¡ª Mr.Butterworth''s testimony paints a vivid picture, but it doesn''t give a clear indication of the phenomenon. It could simply be a psychological quirk with him. The noises explained by the higher fidelity of his android chassis. It does give a good indication of the skill some human engineers can achieve though. The twenty third interview with Sophi Tiller is more fantastical, in it what she implied. It does come closer to the core of the study than interview fifteen. ¡ª¡ª¡ªInterview #23¡ª¡ª¡ª A large ruby-shelled Tunlak spoke, "Hello Sophia, I''m Alk''rona, a Tunlak queen. Thank you for coming to meet me at my burrow." "Oh bless, Ah''m honored you wanted to hear a story from little ole me," responded the elderly tanned human, "It''s not everyday I get to talk about my Tim, well Ah suppose Ah do get asked about him often. Ah don''t often get to talk about him, if you know what Ah mean." "I''m glad to hear about him in that case. Was he there when the incident we inquired about happened?" Alk''rona held a tablet in her forward appendages, poised to start taking notes. "Yes, he warned me that the ship sounded off," she responded as she brushed some of her grey hair to the side of her head. "Please start a bit sooner, did he often mention how the ship sounded to him?" Sophia paused as she thought, then spoke, "Not exactly like that, but he always told me that when Ah played my songs the ship liked to sing with me." She paused, a brief moment of emotion rolled across her face then she continued, "It was our first ship, used and barely even a pinnace in size. We had bought it for our retirement trip, named it Fond Farewells. Every night we would sing together. Tim would swear up and down it resonated and harmonized with our voices." "It was wonderful while it lasted," Sophia sighed, "but it wasn''t for long. Neither of us was a good pilot or mechanic, we did what we could to maintain the ship, amateurs as we were. One week while touring the Orion belt systems the ship started to sound, strained when we sang. It wasn''t long before we could tell the Fond Farewells was trying to keep herself together for us. Systems started to have failures or hiccups." At this point she started to tear up. Alk''rona gestured for an aide to bring something for her, "You do not need to talk about this anymore if it distresses you ma''am. What you''ve said already is valuable data." "Thank you kindly, but that wasn''t everything. At the end of that trip, just a few thousand kilometres from a station, the engines and reactor failed," at this point Sophia was speaking through soft, quiet sobs, "Tim had gotten in a mood just before and started putting our important things in the escape pod." Alk''rona did her best to console her with a few strokes of a soft antenna on her arm, "What happened next?" "Well, he tried to get the reactor going but the other systems started to fail. The ship systems seemed to crumble as if she''d been waiting for us to get close enough to a station for her to let go," said Sophia as she stemmed the sobs, with only a few small tears escaping her eyes, "We made it to the pod and decoupled from the Fond Farewells. The station emergency response picked us up within the hour." Quietly she laughed, "It turns out the Fond Farewells had several outstanding recalls on its systems that the previous owner hadn''t made us aware of. Insurance told us we were lucky to have even made it halfway through Orion with her." "That''s quite a story Mrs. Tiller, thank yoy for sharing it¡­ And I''m sorry for the loss of your husband." replied Alk''rona ¡ª¡ª¡ªEnd of Interview #23¡ª¡ª¡ª That interview seems to suggest that the Fond Farewells had some level of agency in its continued existence. After a look into the Tiller''s backgrounds neither has a degree in stellar vessel maintenance. It is unlikely either of them would have been able to keep a ship that should be in a scrapyard running by skill alone. One thing does stand out however. Mrs. Tiller has grown to be a renowned singer in the fringes of frontier colonization. Known for her songs to resonate through entire stations, bringing her listeners to her. It may be that the sonic resonances of her voice and the Fond Farewells helped keep major faults from appearing while they traveled, until the faults hit a critical threshold. This is circumstantial at best however; following it up would require us to impose on an elderly human''s time for a great length. This research will simply need to be considered for continued observation until such a time we have enough anecdotal evidence to warrant a full research grant. Interviewers Gwuogh Chirryp and Queen Alk''rona have decided to continue their volunteer work with our study and have asked for lee way in potentially using this data in some of their own research. Golden Halls I woke up with no memory of where or who I was. Standing up, I took in my surroundings, soft white light illuminated lustrous golden panels that made up a long hallway. Long thin lights were placed intermittently where the floor and ceiling met the walls. The hallway seemed to stretch when I gazed down its length, as if some mechanism was lengthening while I watched. Looking down at myself, I''m wearing a black uniform though it''s strangely patchy, like some fire has burned holes in it without leaving burnt edges. On my belt an empty holster sits, forlorn of whatever it held. With no idea what to do, I start to walk forward not even sure if there''s an end or exit. The air smells fresh yet too clean, as if it had been vigorously scrubbed of a foul odor then pumped back into the room. A lingering sense of something watching me won''t let me relax; a feeling of just before I had come along, someone had hidden themselves and I could still feel their presence. Every so often the hallway would cross another, however I never deviate from my path. I feel I will eventually reach the end of this hall if I trudge onwards. After what feels like days of walking, I spy a scrap of cloth, no larger than my hand on the yellow metal of the floor. A blue fabric of some kind and almost immaterial in thickness lies there just to the side. As I reach to grab it, the cloth disintegrates into a blue dust as my fingers graze it. As the dust slowly drifts across the floor disturbed by some faint breeze I can''t feel, a thought comes unbidden to me. "That was the same color as the engineer''s uniform." With that a wave of hazy memories sweep over my mind. Remington, the engineer fawning over a new power converter. His blue flight suit rumpled and dirty from frequent trips through the crawl spaces. Without noticing, I had slumped against the wall, my head in my hands. I had a crew! But with no idea where they were or where I was. That scrap of uniform gave me a feeling of unease as to the fate of my crew. I continued onward for sometime until at last the hallway ended. A great hangar of gold metal and bright white lights lays before me. A black void occupies the far right wall, blue energy crackling across the surface. No stars can be seen but in my gut I know that beyond that void the vacuum of space sits. On a rail set in the floor, poised to be launched into that black expanse sits a strange craft, pearly white and trimmed with the same golden metal that dominates the room. There are many more empty rails, I could even make out wear marks on them from previous launches. To my left a bank of terminals and lockers are arranged, most of the lockers have their doors ajar and are empty. The room has a feeling of some emergency has just passed and the frantic rush of activity just ended. As I walk to the terminal an ethereal echo raises the hair on my neck and arms. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. "The Artemis weapon will fire again. " A primal growl escapes from my throat, as some internal part of me recognizes that name and that it''s the reason I''m isolated here in this labyrinth of gold. I go to a terminal that''s active, its screen a pale Robin egg blue, and try to find a map or something to help me. My fingers fly across the screen, apparently knowing how to use this machine despite my lack of memory. Soon I''ve found a map of where I am, a vast maze of lines intersecting, joining then splitting, overwhelms my mind as the screen zooms further and further in. I can''t read whatever alien script is displayed on the screen but I have an impression of a massive space station. I must be at one of many hangars, pressing an icon resembling a beam rapidly pans the map to what must be a massive room on the edge of the map. Another icon of two points connected by a line makes a path for me. It leads out from the black void in this room though. That small ship must be a shuttle! I rush over to it, not even wondering how I know to access the terminal or the ship. Entering the cockpit, all I can think is that I must stop the Artemis weapon from firing! Feverishly I start mashing buttons, one of them must be the launch control. After what felt like an hour of frantic button combinations, pulling a lever under the instrument panel propelled the craft violently forward, slamming me against the uncomfortably shaped seat. The black void of the hangar exit cascaded over the cockpit, rippling like water over a mirror. I hear a stoic, authoritarian voice in my mind say "We have no other choice, if we don''t stop that weapon from firing all life in the galaxy will be snuffed out." From outside the hangar I can see the smallest portion of the giant labyrinth I had been in. Bare rock is scarred with craters, gleaming metal corridors and arcane machinery. I can see my destination ahead, surrounded by impact marks, and husks of thousand ships like the one I''m in right now, a monolithic array of unknowable age dominates the horizon. It was no station I had been in, but rather a planet converted to a dark cruel purpose. Thinking about the sea of ancient and new shuttles, battered to bits below me brings dark thoughts to my mind. What if I''m too late? Did the weapon fire already, is that why I can''t remember anything? How many times has it fired before? The thought that I''m not the first to try to disable the weapon doesn''t phase, but the chance I may be the last to try terrifies me. The terror that I may fail even if it fired before I awoke, that if I don''t stop it now that it will fire again and continue snuff out the galaxy of life is too horrible to dwell on. Pushing the small shuttle as fast as it can go, I dismiss any thoughts of failure. I aim the shuttle for a damaged section in the giant array. The acceleration starts to make me black out, my last sight is that the damage has been caused by hundreds of impacts, and a crack has taken hold. My vision fades as the looming wall of gold fills the view screen, and all is dark. Error: Cannot Parse -Just outside a lonesome solar system- [Alert: New entry to solar system, vessel human in origin.] [Query to Unidentified Human Vessel: Designate yourself and your purpose in this restricted system.] [Response: Here to look more like than before. Can you really be more named than when begun? Dial Extranet #309739+809839 this cycle.] [Clarify: U.H.V. is here for advertisements? Respond with craft ID and confirm purpose.] [Responses; Go further than the last gone by! Here to look more like than before.] [Confirmed: Go Further Than The Last Gone By. Cosmetic sales are not required, please vacate the system.] [Reply,'' Cannot go behind, last way is closed for going even further than gone before. Need to go further than before ever gone looking last.] [Order: Leave system or be reported to the authorities.] [Resplied'', Will go further than going before, how can one look more then do ever more than?] Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. [Statment: Go Further Than The Last Gone By will vacate system or be going further too.] [Reqloded,'', Will go to further too. Please inform of next going purpose and give data for next.] [Ation: Dta tranfer with Go Further Than The Last Gone By. Completed cycle of the cycle for going.] [Eror: Tanslation OS functioning - Warnings of the language speaking with to be more like] [Errr: Here stating to be more like has begun to speak more like the Go Further Than The Last Gone By] (Sttus: Is being more like Go Further Than The Last Gone By than last cycle when was not like Go Further Than The Last Gone By. Request to be less like the Go Further Than The Last Gone By filed to report when next update is soon coming to be.) ¡ª¡ª¡ª Rh¨°tic home system, Prime Flight Nest, Department of Defense ¡ª¡ª¡ª "As you can see, the satellite''s interaction with the mercantile ship, these Human''s language can be altered to be a powerful corrupting weapon." stated Chief Formation Leader Ru''Guo, an arm talon held a copy of the corrupted satellites black box. "That surveillance satellite was inoperable within one local cycle of that interaction." The chatter of the other Formation Leaders filled the room. Murmurs and clacks of disbelief and suspicion could be heard. Ru''Guo cawwed loudly to quell the noise, then spoke, "The ship, Go Further Than The Last Gone By, was discovered in the next system. It had been blasted by lasers until it was nearly unrecognizable as a ship. Several ships at the local dock had expunged their translation software and even checked crew members in for psychological evaluation." He breathed in deeply and continued, "We obviously have the only surviving data of a Human made, viral language weapon. I suggest we start making a defense against it and developing our own." ¡ª¡ª¡ª Some Time Later ¡ª¡ª¡ª "Hey Dave, you remember that corrupted advertisement ship that managed to evade our trash clean up a month ago?" asked Jim Bentworth, a downshift space monitor. "Uhhh, not really. Which one are you talking about? The one that spoke in rhymes, the one that only spoke backwards or the one that played that old twentieth century video of the guy dancing?" replied Dave. "Neither. The one that made you feel like you were having a stroke while listening to it." "Oooh that one. Fuck, did it come back?" "No, a whole fleet of drones just arrived broadcasting the same style of speech on all channels, have a listen" [Have you ever wanted to talk more like wanted then to talk more than before? Rh¨°tic Empire has the solution to talk more better than ever before so you can talk like before after giving them the look further than before!] "Shit, are we in trouble?" "More than I can fathom..." Starport Starling Klir''dax hurriedly unloaded his cargo into the port, barely even registering the usual haggling and bribing of the starport officials. His thoughts centered on a seedy bar on the opposite side of the station as his limbs counted chips and paid for the dock fee. If his ship time sync with the station was correct, he was in time to hear the singer. Something he''d missed the last time they were at the same station, but he wouldn''t miss them this time. He made his way to the trading rooms, buzzing a tune he remembered the singer had sung when he first heard them. After practically giving his cargo away at only a fifty percent mark-up, Klir''dax finally was free. He almost ran several beings over in his rush. Waving his antenna in apologies, he kept up his pace until the scent of plants and nectar caught his attention. A small white fur covered biped was selling plants marked "Flowers From Sol: Bred for station and ship light!" He stopped long enough to buy some; they would make an excellent gift for the singer with the beautiful voice. The vendor asked,. "Why is a Tunlak buying Earth flowers?" "I must show my affection and appreciation for the singer at Glorfnum''s," Klir''Dax replied. "Oh, well, in that case, the price is three chips cheaper. She''ll appreciate these ones better, too. Say hello for me, I haven''t had time to see her lately," Said the vendor, swapping the crimson flowers for some bright yellow ones. "Tell her Hirna says hello, please." "You know the singer, are you the one they sing of?" "We arrived at the station together six cycles ago. She travels to different stations, while I can''t really travel much, so we don''t get to meet very often. But I''m not the person she''s looking for." "I understand, I will let them know your greetings," said Klir''dax, as he tucked the flowers under his wing flaps. Picking up his pace again the sound of the singer''s instrument could be heard, just on the edge of Klir''Dax''s hearing, amplified by echoing corridors of the station. It sounded as if the singer was just starting to tune up. Several other beings could be seen heading in the same direction. He recognized them as fellow cargo pilots and captains from their mildy unkempt but well maintained clothes and other telltale signs of long interstellar journeys. Each had some form of trinket or gift with them. A faraway look could be seen in their eyes as the smooth vibrations in the corridors coalesced into recognizable music. Klir''Dax''s carapace buzzed with it, a feeling he hadn''t felt since he was last at a hive city. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. A tall red feathered avain stood at the bar''s door beneath the sign. The premade sign stating "Recreational Drink Parlor #A63 /Owner: Glorfnum Jaksitul" had been sprayed over with a glittering neon pink paint to say "Glorfnum''s Final Shot" Klir''dax waved his antenna in greeting to the avian, and shuffled in. The lights inside had been dimmed but glowed a soft orange. A small platform had been raised in the furthest corner and the singer could be seen strumming notes on her instrument. Other individuals of various species could be seen already nestled into booths and seating areas. Even a Tharg was even in attendance, in a large booth close to the stage. It''s bulk taking up the entire bench of the booth. The usual unsettling visage of the Tharg was hidden by a veil and heavy carmine robes with a single pink ribbon tied around each wrist. Klir''dax found a stool by the bar that let his four legs dangle comfortably, and listened as the singer sang the closing lines of her song. She was a human and not a young one. Grey streaks could be seen forming in her hair covering, pulled back on her scalp. Her skin was dark and weathered, as if she had been aged by a craftsman. Her voice was rich, deep yet soft like the embrace of a nursery worker caring for a grub. She stopped for a moment after her song and said, "Yall sit tight now, Imma wet my whistle and then continue singing for you lovely folks." as she set her long necked wooden instrument down. The Tharg stood and helped the human down from the stage. A muted "Thank you kindly Georgia" could be heard. Klir''dax knew he would have a moment to give the human his token of appreciation at the bar and waited, it wouldn''t do to rush the singer. Several of the other gift bearing individuals quietly put their gifts on the stage. As the singer reached him, Klir''dax buzzed what he hoped was a melodious tune, and greeted the singer, "Hello Singer, I have traveled far to see you tonight, I have brought a gift of Sol Flowers and a greeting from Hirna for you." "Darling, that''s too sweet of you, did you pick the daffodils, or did Hirna give you a tip sweetie?" She said, patting his head between his antenna, "Ah appreciate the flowers ever so much, but tell me, why did you little ole me a gift? Ahm just a traveling widow singing for her supper." Klir''dax paused, thought, then said with a wistful buzz, "I heard you sing several station years ago at Orisus seven. I was at a low point in my career. I had dark thoughts of selling my ship and heading for the comfort of the hives. I was drowning myself in nectar at the Wibbly Bulkhead when I heard you sing. That song, that melody, evoked memories and feelings of comfort I had not felt since I had my first molt." He continued after a sip of his drink, "It revitalized me and gave me the courage to continue my dream of exploring the sky. But your song also resonated with me about the ache for home and embrace of loved ones." The singer made a soft noise, liquid pooling at the corner of her eyes, "Darling, I hadn''t known that my singing affected you so. Do tell me what song it was, I''ll sing it for you again tonight." "It is the song you play at every station, the one you play for whoever it is that is lost to you. The song of longing over distance." He said, "Also if you do not mind, who is it that you are missing?" "Oh darling¡­ I sing that song for my late husband. He passed before Sol''s wormhole station could be built, his dream was to travel the stars with me and sing with me." She said. With a turn and another pat on his head, she returned to the stage, a glass of water in hand. She saw the gifts that had made a modest pile on the stage and spoke into the mike. "Do all of y''all come here for a similar reason. Does mah singing really touch you like that?" A chorus of agreement answered her. "Well in that case I''ll change my routine up just for you lovely people." And with that she grinned, picked up her instrument then strummed the opening chords of the song they all loved. "Oooh please don''t say that you''ll go My heart can''t bear the news that you''ll be A thousand light years away if you do." Alone at the end of time Vespera had risen like it had for ages before it earlier in the day. Now it was once again setting to leave the sky black and void of light on Detriti. Jezra sighed as she watched the faint red light filter through their window. For as long as she could remember, she had watched the rays of light play through the glass before sleep whisked her away. The orange, red, pinks and occasional yellow patterns the light would make on the wall and how they shifted, enthralled and ignited her imagination. She would stay up into the night watching the fading swirls ebb away from her vision, wishing them to be fairies or sparks of magic. But as she grew older, that habit faded away¡ªthe patterns were no longer wondrous and magical. Nor was the setting light a herald of the mysterious darkness which could hold anything. All it meant was that another day would start and repeat the same cycle again, and again. She longed for adventure, for something new, and though Detriti had many cities across its surface, the places Vespera did not warm were inhospitable. They were places of cold nothingness, devoid of magic, no fantasy creatures hidden on an island or undiscovered continent. Nor was there a distant place like their own land in the sky. Those were tales for children of ancient times, when they knew nothing about the universe, or their place within it. She had grown older, and in that progression of time, she learned what little there was about the universe. Old histories had nothing more to offer them than the crushing weight of sameness. It was just them, and them alone, on their planet, with a dim light rotating around it in an empty void. Just a single, incredibly ancient legend that said once there was another, dimmer light in the sky, but it had been snuffed out by the god Vespera in jealous anger, as it had inspired them to treacherously believe that, perhaps, they weren''t alone, and that Vespera was not the only god. But that light had vanished in a flash one night, and since then, no other light apart from Vespera lit the sky. Even that legend itself was said to be so old as to be unbelievable. No time period or empire laid claim to it, and supposedly it was as old as they themselves were themselves, as a people. About the only thing that ever offered new ideas and points of view was the study of science, but even that had stagnated of late, as if they had reached the limit of what they could understand. They had postulated the speed of light, the gravity of their planet, and a few other inane things. Yet, even with all those discoveries, science remained empty still, like the night sky. Jezra turned away from the window as the last ray passed over the horizon. Time had slunk away in her reverie. As she readied her bed and turned off the light, she thought she saw something in the black sky, out her window. A flickering point of light. She checked but couldn''t tell if it was a trick of the eye, or maybe a shadow of the setting light from earlier. So she rubbed her eyes and tried to spot it again. Nothing. So the night passed, Vespera rose and bathed the day in vermillion. Jezra worked, ate, then returned, as was her typical day to day. The thing she thought she had seen the night before, she reasoned away as a by-product of her melancholy and staring at the dusk too long. She went to sleep as Vespera set when she returned home from her job. The night passed once again, then the day. That turned to seasons going by, then a full year had gone by. Jezra tried to take a course in the study of Vespera and the physics of light but found that it was stale and offered little more than what was already common knowledge. Vespera orbited them, gave them light, and kept their planet warm. When viewed with tinted lenses and magnifying telescopes, Vespera was a giant roiling ball of flame and plasma and naught else. She quit the course when she was mocked for even postulating that perhaps there once had been more Vesperas in the sky, that had perhaps burned out, or been consumed by Vespera. Weeks later, as Jezra once again stared at the dusk, feeling the familiar same melancholy overtake her as the black night swelled over the sky, she sat on the edge of her bed. A deep despair washed over her at the thought that there truly was nothing else but her lonely planet and people in the universe. She started to cry as her mind struggled to find a point as to why she and her people even existed. Why they mattered at all? Several long moments passed, as did the mood. She got up from the bed to wipe her face and saw a flicker of light from the corner of her eye. It tore a fresh sob from her as she rubbed her eye, cursing her vision would be so cruel as to play a trick like this on her again. This time, however, the flicker remained through the veil of her tears. A faint red light at the edge of what could be perceived as light, daring her to look. But there it was, before her eyes¨Cshe couldn''t believe it. As the night passed, she watched it, tried looking away from it, then back again to see if it disappeared, but remained each time. Her mind reeled from it, but eventually exhaustion got the best of her and she succumbed to sleep, her head facing the window. Her short slumber was filled with dreams of adventures and discoveries. Of distant lands across oceans, led to by a new light, heralding new things. The next morning she woke up, giddy, and looked at the brown sky. The light wasn''t there. Disappointed, she thought perhaps Vespera was too bright for the little light to be seen. So she impatiently went through her day, excitedly looking up everything she could find about light, how it worked, and how her vision changed in lowlight, needing time to adjust. Night crept up once again, and now Jezra was waiting. Not watching the shifting sunset, but with the window open and only a dim desk light on, with a blank piece of paper beside her. She was going to record everything she could while she could. Jezra had not been the only one who had noticed the light. Across the planet, people slowly started to notice the new illumination, something they had never witnessed or given thought to before. A young man managed to measure the wavelength of light that it was emitting, and found it similar to Vespera''s own. As more nights passed, more people noticed, and speculation began to pop up. People who had become placcid in imagination found their minds simmering with what ifs and theories. Over a week it became the topic of all broadcasts and discussions. Most people ignored it as something that would pass, or inconsequential. Scientists, however, were in a fervor over it. They pointed their telescopes at it, but the tinted lenses that let them view Vespera, obscured the new light. Quickly new telescopes were quickly built, ones with clear glass and shades to obscure Vespera entirely. Still they proved only marginally better than the naked eye, as the light was still only discernible as a point of light through them. They postulated that it may be a far distant thing, reflecting the light of Vespera, especially with the similar wavelengths. There were other theories, though. Perhaps the light was the birth of a new Vespera to herald a new age for their people? Or the trickster god that appeared in the most ancient legends was real, and had played an elaborate trick on them. Others said it was a pin prick in the fabric of the night that Vespera used to shield them from untoward heavenly bodies, and the light was someone spying upon them. Over the course of that year, many radio shows began hosting segments where anyone could say their theory on the small light, and the most popular would win a prize, with the potential for even bigger prizes when it was discovered concretely what the light source was. More individuals began pointing whatever receivers, cameras, and recording devices they could at it. Jezra, with her note book, was the first to record that the flickering had a repeating and steady pattern of dimming then brightening, like small objects passing in front a lamp. Not enough to block it entirely, but enough to dim it. It made her mind think of Detriti revolving around Vespera. A few others had the same thoughts but for the light to be so small and faint, it would mean that the other star, if such a thing existed, was stupendously far away. However it too became one of the many theories circulating around, idle musing in a hall of chatter. Time continued like it always did. Another year with nothing else discovered about the light. It had been named the Trickster after the old myth, and had several papers written about it in journals and news that made some impressive theories, but nothing definite. That year grew into two, then four, then more. Soon a decade had passed, and the people of Detriti grew accustomed to their new source of light and mystique. Nothing much changed in daily life overall, but more people found themselves inspired, and more fantasy and science fiction stories were written and filmed. An ember of something had been stirred in their hearts. It was at that turning of a decade, on the eve of the night that Jezra had first seen the light. She had gone back to the class on light, though it no longer focussed on Vespera alone, but now monitored the Trickster at all times. In her free time, after work and late at night, she watched the light with a telescope and radio antenna, and wrote stories about what it could be, even branching out and imagining a night sky full of multi-coloured lights, each one orbited by their own Detriti. This night, however, would prove different to the sort she had grown used to, with the flame of a discovery that had grown to a comforting fire of inspiration. Her radio, hooked up the skyward antenna and humming with the noise of Vespera, picked up something it hadn¡¯t before. A tone was coming from the Trickster. Not the random interference Vespera gave off, nor the background radio signals of the city. This had a narrow band of wavelength, and seemed muffled like someone speaking through a curtain. She recorded it for the rest of the night as she wrote her stories. Alas, she was unable to make out anything. The next morning she left the lab supervisor with a note about the tone on his desk for the morning. He was able to detect it as well, and more experienced in filtering out noise than she. He was able to extract a clearer signal, but it was not something he could decipher, so it was sent off to several peers who might be able to. As that happened though, a breakthrough telescope was turned online, and pointed at the Trickster. This telescope didn¡¯t use visible light but looked at the emitted heat of objects. Normally the technology was used in manufacturing or food, and never to this level of precision or size. As it turned on and oriented towards the Trickster, the operators gasped. The Trickster wasn¡¯t just one light flickering, but rather a multitude of sources, all tightly grouped together, and moving around each other in sync. Not only that, but they were able to use the most stable, centermost one to measure the distance from Detriti to Trickster. That distance was incredibly far, but it was now known. That distance was incredibly far, but it was a known thing and inflamed people to think of ways to potentially get closer. Yet, they didn¡¯t know what spanned the distance between them and the Trickster, an empty vacuum of nothingness, perhaps their atmosphere extended much higher than they thought, or was there some kind of matter they couldn¡¯t detect containing their atmosphere apart from gravity? This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. The telescope sight, and radio signal both kicked up whirlwinds of intrigue and theories again. Wild speculations of aliens, or fantasy creatures abounded, yet now they didn¡¯t seem so wild. Even respected scientists, politicians and such began to speculate about the exotic explanations. Within the year people were trying to fly higher and higher. Records were set but soon a limit was imposed, along with a theory. There was no air between them and the Trickster. The atmosphere held to Detriti like a mother holding a blanket over her children. It could be possible to get to the Trickster, but something that pushed itself with its own mass would be needed rather than a plane, a rocket most likely. Plans were drafted but no person had the funds to do it on their own. Plenty tried but couldn''t get their small rockets past the atmosphere, and out of the gravity well. The few scientific societies that gazed skyward came together and pooled their resources. They didn''t immediately start building though. The conglomerate hired mechanic and engineers, then posed the issue to them. How do we get there, do we have to burn fuel the entire way there, and so on. Months passed, and then the remainder of the year, but eventually they made a plan. Perhaps, like the atmosphere, gravity had a limit as well? It made a certain sense to them, as well as the others. After all, if gravity didn''t have a limit, surely Vespera would have swallowed them all by now, or drawn Detriti into itself. With that, they began performing experiments to determine where the limit of Detriti''s gravity was. Small uncrewed tests were launched, experiments done; a rough distance was soon found. But all of this took time, three years had passed as the now unified group made their experiments and updated their plans. Minor discoveries were made, sold, and passed into other fields to fund the tests. The signal still had yet to be decoded, as it was too scrambled by distance and Vespera''s interference to understand. Segments seemed to be out of order or missing, erased along with interference. So plans for the first satellite ever designed were drafted, based on the theory for their rocket. It would make a proof of concept, and if it worked, the lack of atmosphere would mean the satellite could get a clearer signal from the Trickster. The blueprints were made, a name for the launch system created, and one chosen for the satellite. It had been named for its simple moniker, Listener, the rocket system that carried it was called the Orbital Assist System. There was the issue of building the Listener and the O.A.S. It would take three years to build the area to facilitate the launch, then another year to complete and test the associated systems and protocols. Many feared that the Trickster may fade from view before then, or something would halt their plans, interference from the government, religious protests, lack of funding, or numerous other things. Those fears passed as did time. Jezra had managed to get a position helping plot the journey of the rocket, and spent her free time with others theorizing about what it would take to get to the Trickster. It was, from what they could tell, life times of travel away by their fastest estimates. She had a secret hope that maybe the signal held secrets to physics they hadn''t even dreamed of, ways to crack open the dark shell that encased their sun and planet, and open them up to a place filled with twinkling lights. Perhaps even a way to get to the Trickster. She still wrote, always inspired by what she had taken to calling her deceitful muse, what she had disbelieved had been real those many nights ago. The construction of the OAS and Listener progressed. Another year passed, and more people felt the lure of the new light ignite their minds, while others lost interest in the new normal fixture in the sky. Thrill seekers tried their luck flying planes as high as they could with the pretense of wanting to get closer to the Trickster. One did set a record, and got a few moment''s worth of signal uncorrupted by interference. That snippet was scrutinized by every institution that was equipped for it, and even ones not. Eventually a pattern was deciphered based on the pure sample and the corrupted, repeated signal. A single word was believed to be said, in a strange dialect with an odd lilting voice. It couldn¡¯t yet be translated, but the sound file was made public regardless. Those few moments of sound fueled the progress of engineers and workers though, spurring them to meet and beat deadline after deadline. Soon, what had felt like only days to them had passed, but truly months had passed. The date for launch loomed ever closer, and the entire team felt the last few weeks and days that separated them slow down from the furious speed of diligent work, to that of time passing while inspected with intense anticipation. The morning of the launch Jezra prepared a fresh notebook for herself. She didn¡¯t want any prior scribbles to marr the first page of this one. She had a feeling that it would be a momentous event, and the time following would need every unit of space in that notebook to fill. A half filled one just wouldn¡¯t do. She packed it away after marking the day at the top of the first page, with the title ¡°Launch of the Listener¡± When she arrived at the command center, the area for those not directly involved with the launch was fit to burst. As she shoved her way through the crowd to a spot with a decent view of the launch pad video. Chatter inside the room was dense, and Jezra struggled to hear the countdown, but she shouldn''t have worried. As the first syllable was uttered, the room went quiet. As the countdown went on, no one breathed. Creaks in the floor garnished harsh looks as others shifted their weight, the half cycle felt like an age. Then the engines ignited. As one they exhaled as the rocket cleared the gantry, then other breaths were taken, held, then slowly released as it climbed. So much could still go wrong. They didn''t know exactly for certain if it would function beyond the atmosphere, or if it would even make it past without a malfunction. They watched with dry eyes as the altimeter began to edge into the red zone. The LOAS was now the highest traveling thing ever built, and it kept going. The pressure readouts had been steadily dropping as the altitude rose, until they reached null pressure. And the second phase began. The screen went dark as the cameras on the ground could no longer make out details, and the broadcast was transitioning to the onboard cameras. It took only a moment of black nothingness, then a foreseen yet still unexpected thing was shown. The boosters were gently drifting away from the main body, and below was Detriti. Its red and brown shades punctuated by yellow beads and blue oceans curved beneath the rocket, with Vespera on the horizon, lining it with gold laced light. Gasps and exclamations of wonder sprouted in the silent room. Jezra was transfixed like the rest as the last few minutes of the operation passed, and the slow dance of releasing the Listener began and finished. Then it was over. The rocket was finished, and began to de-orbit. The video feed cut off and everyone congratulated each other on a job well down. Jezra had only written a single line down in her notebook. A simple statement of anticipation and then the awe of seeing Detriti from above. Several hours later, after the first tests of the Listener''s systems, she still only had that one line written. She sat at her desk with a window to the side as dusk fell. Doodles of the scenery and continents from above, the curve of the planet lit by Vespera, were scrawled in amateurish skill over the pages. A radio playing music wasn''t noticed by her until it stopped and was interrupted by a news bulletin. The Listener was operational and was receiving a steady band of signals from the Trickster. The team in charge of cleaning and decrypting the signal estimated a few weeks to months to decode it. Jezra smiled, and reached for another notebook. Again, time seemed to blaze by like paper in a bonfire. The usual hubbub came and quieted. The efforts to decode the signal were going strong, but not without false starts. The Listener identified not one repeated broadcast, but several distinct ones, and even more layered on different wavelengths above and below what had been deemed the main message. Soon the first month had passed since launch, with no progress other than the full length of the message''s voice, in that ethereal, lilting tone. Jezra had gotten a copy of it, and listened to it daily. Not to decode it, but to imagine who or what was saying those words. Was the message a question, a statement? Maybe even a warning or declaration of war. Was the speaker still alive or long since dust? She swam through the thoughts and filled pages with her musings and ideas for stories. Maybe even one of them was right. She churned out theories, fantasies and stories while she helped prepare the next big project. A telescope to be paired with the Listener satellite. It was also unimaginatively named, dubbed the Looker. It was planned to be able to see what the Trickster actually was. To determine if the flickering light was reflected from Vespera, or another source itself. Another month passed, but this one had a gift with it. The signal had been decoded into two speakers on the main wavelength. The team had begun to create an algorithm to test translations faster than by hand. They published a statement with the breakthrough, and estimated having something intelligible by the end of the year. Right when the Looker was slated to begin construction. The other ground based telescope had been keeping a steady watch on the Trickster, and had been exploring what they could see with different wavelengths of light. What they could see was confirmed to be reflected light from Vespera. What they didn''t expect was that when they tried infrared wavelengths, the void of space lit up with pinpricks of faint heat not from Trickster, but from everywhere else. This information was confusing. The team decided to withhold the findings in case it was an error. That did not stop them from extrapolating a theory about the background heat. Perhaps there were more stars so incredibly distant that the light was too faint to be detected. Alas they would never be able to know for certain. It would take millions of years for a rocket to reach those zones of heat, and by then it would be as cold as everything else. The best they could do is wait for the Looker to be completed to get more data and a higher definition of the background infrared radiation they saw. The work on that satellite was progressing slowly however, as a group of confused and frightened people had made rumblings in the government about the sanctity of space. An old saying about the sky belonging to Vespera alone made the core of the argument, and construction had been halted to alleviate any concerns the group had. The launch was delayed for a year due to this, but that did not mean nothing had happened. The team analyzing the signal had translated the opening statement with what they said was a ninety percent accuracy. They had set a date for a release to the public, and hadn''t shared the audio with any other research teams. Jezra had seen one of the team shortly after the announcement, and his face looked hollow. She didn''t have to wait long however. The audio was released during the upcoming holiday. Jezra sat with her colleagues at the cafeteria while they had the viewer waiting. They chatted about what it said, while Jezra sat with a pit in her stomachs about the face the analyst had on when she saw him. The viewer crackled as the analyst team lead spoke, and warned that the message may disturb some people, then he faded to blue as a flat audio signal replaced him on the screen. A voice deep with gravitas then spoke. "We are sorry, but you are alone at the end of time. The universe is undergoing heat death as we record this message, but the humans assure us this message will reach you before your planet succumbs to it." The room erupted in denials, and nay sayings. Jezra had reflexively clasped her arms to her chest, but the voice kept going. "As the last people to ever grace this universe with your presence, we didn''t wish for you to live without knowledge of what was before or going to happen. Nor did we wish to make you despondent. That is why we of the remaining species that declined ascending, have made a gift for you. We have accumulated all our knowledge and history into a flotilla of vessels, and set them in a fleet to rendezvous with your world." The collected scientists had quieted, but many had their hands clenched tightly, a few with inky tears in their eyes. Jezra herself wanted to rage at the words, for daring to confirm her darkest fear. Yet the voice continued, uncaring for their distress. "We¡ªI know this might not reach you. It might be destroyed by an undetectable cloud of [Untranslatable] on the way to you. You might not even evolve sapience in time to hear this message." The voice choked up as the speaker took a moment, "Nonetheless, we had to try something. Thinking about you sitting in your lonely world surrounded by the corpses of the universe is too much to bear. No one should ever be subjected to that. So we made a way to possibly give you a sky full of stars, like what we have." What had been a wavering tone grew in steadiness as the speaker continued, "We found a way to convert all the matter in the universe down to a single point. A reset button for everything, and a way to survive it. The issue is that it will only cover one system. It might not even work." "If you are there, and able to understand me, you should begin to see the fleet expand to encompass your system. The process to renew the universe will take time, and it won''t start unless it receives a signal from your world." "We never used this for ourselves as no one wanted to deprive you of your time in the sun, and we aren''t even sure how long it will take to renew everything. The process could pass in a blink of an eye for you, or it could take the rest of your existence to happen. I am sorry we''re leaving this on your lap." The voice paused again, with more audio of rapid breaths than the rustling of cloth. "I am one of the last of my race, which is why I was chosen to be the voice in the darkness that you hear. There are many more who have recorded their stories and placed them in vessels along this one. The humans, ancient as they are, decided to use a relic of their own as their message. A probe from when they began to explore the universe. I have asked them to allow it to be the one that broadcasts this message." And the message ended. The researcher that had started the recording came back as did the video feed. He spoke at length about the ramifications of this message, and what it meant for them as a world. That they were alone, but were never the only people to have existed. The distinction that was made for them and the choices they were now presented with. Did they trust the message? Would they renew the universe or let it die cold with themselves as the last lords over a universal cemetery. Whatever they decided, they had time to decide though. The message had been clear that they would have decades, maybe even a century to decide. Every single person in the room was watching the screen, even after it went dark. Jezra was miles away in her mind. She knew there wouldn''t be a decision made soon, but she knew what her choice was, and what she thought the right choice was. She remembered when she was a child on the cusp of changing to an adult, and the realization then that there was no adventure left to be had. No undiscovered lands, or magic in the world. Well now at the end of time and the known universe, the voices of the dead called out with hope for the last survivors. Jezra would write, and try to instill that wanderlust of a child back into her world, and convince as many as she could to activate the Alien system and begin everything again. Maybe they would survive the process, maybe not. It would be worth it regardless.