NationStates Jolt Archive

There was no warning. No indication that this day, this hour, this minute was to be any different than any of those preceeding it in relative terms of day to day operations. One moment, the roughly four-thousand crewmembers of the Dominion's Caelestis Caduscum Fleet were going about their business, making their set patrols, mainly around Io, coordinating with their sister fleets and enjoying the by now, familiar comfort of oneness with one another and the Angelan Mainframe that had become in many ways, an intellectual surrogate Mother in more than mere title. The next ...

Sectors, voices simply ceased being. A brief shudder ran through the fleet as the AI minds on board stopped responding. The following actions became even more disturbing. Rapidly, group by group, they were shut off from the portions of the collective mind they had previously had access to, having never been fully integrated of necessity. It was as if they were sitting in the middle of a maze, with door after door being locked, section after section denied them. Lacking anything resembling control functions, they were unaware of the battle being fought in the mind of Alshai Kommetrez aboard the WorldDisc, only that the mental habitat that had become their world was suddenly and irrefutably shrinking, and shutting down.

Within moments, all that was left were the thankfully redundant systems aboard the ships, each one no more than a tiny microcosm of what once was an unimaginably vast network of linked minds and systems. Even among the well-trained troops, alarm ran rampant. A majority of those who had more fully immersed themselves in the Angelan culture and belief system, accepting the Archailect, Mother, as their living Goddess, went catatonic or broke down completely, their waking minds completely unprepared to accept the virtual death of their deity, the sudden removal of Her comforting presence and guidance.

Still others panicked as their strictly-ordered reality came to an abrupt halt, their usual communications lines were cut, the comfort of being one with their compatriots and the greater system of the Archailect was cruelly destroyed. On board the individual ships, the scene changed, depending on the mix of mindsets and endurances and wills. The larger, more heavily-crewed ships often fared better, there being a broader pool of individuals to pull from to take up the slack of those who fell into various states of dysfunction. Some of the smaller ceased operating entirely.

The flurry of questions and sorrow, orders and despair that filled what was left of the local networks became overwhelming for some as they desperately sought to tune out the cacophany. Crews that had become used to their soundless methods of communication more often than not began speaking aloud in an effort to talk over the chaos raging in their minds and the warning klaxons sounding through the once silent hulls.

Maresciallo Serafina Alighieri onboard the Michaelangelo, clenched her jaw tightly and began the arduous task of attempting to bring some order to the ship. Her fingers flew over the command console as she sought to re-route systems, bellowing orders to those around her who could or would respond.

"I want Spook up and running! We don't stop til we've contacted every last goddamn ship in the fleet! Comms - relay our situation home and maintain efforts to contact the WorldDisc! Med team, we need these people off the deck, pronto! Keep it together people - you are Dominion soldati and by God you are going to remember that!"

Her head pounded from the pressure she felt both inside and out as she watched crewmembers either rise or fail to varying degrees in their efforts to follow orders, to bring the ship under complete manual control. In time, with much effort, things began gradually to settle to more acceptable levels. Those needing medical assistance or restraint were taken care of to the best of the remaining crew's abilities, systems were re-routed and brought to manually-operative levels. Reports came in from the rest of the fleet, teams were organized between them to assist those crews in need of additional functioning personnel, and take care of those who could not take care of themselves. As the noise levels As the alerts were shut down and the incessant blare of alarms fell silent however, the awareness of a new sound echoed through the sleek halls and smooth decks of the Michaelangelo; one that filled those that heard it with utter dread.

Deep in the belly of the Angelan-built Revenant, a bare one-hundred soldati meccanica, once-humans who had been augmented so far beyond their former selves that many doubted anything more than a bare shred of their humanity was even left, howled. These were the few who had survived the ice fields of Europa; those who had suffered deep personal loss in the Sketch attack on the WorldDisc, and had volunteered to be turned to living weapons by the engineers and scientists of Angelus to sate their thirst for vengeance. These were minds wholely alien to those of their fellow countrymen, separated by chasms that could never be fully bridged now, and by necessity as their needs were no longer the needs of mere mortals. Morte che cammina. The walking dead.

These were minds ripped brutally from the one source of comfort and solace they had left, the one force capable of guiding their hatred, their malice, their thirst for blood. These were minds gone mad, forced from the collective to their own private circle of hellishly rebounding thoughts, with no outlet, and no calming hand to quiet their rage. Safety protocols long in place, thankfully backed up on the local systems, kept the lot of them from turning on each other, or taking actions without a direct order, or worse, detonating their cortex bombs as they despaired and raved.

Bartoli - for some deep corner of his mind still thought of himself in that manner - strained against the unseen bonds that seemed to hold him, he and his remaining brothers and sisters. Synthetic muscles flexed, biomechanical frames twisted and arched into seemingly impossible poses as they all fought without success to break their conditioning, to throw off their programming. A hundred minds screamed for vengeance, roared at their apparent betrayal and abandonment, and their inhuman forms gave voice to their pain in the blood-curdling shrieks and howls that raged on in an endless litany.

Il mio dolce Jesu ...

"Shut them down."

"Maresciallo, I'm not sure we know how t--"

"I don't care how you do it, shut them down," Alighieri snapped, hands clenched on the armrests of her seat as she watched the live feeds from the holds below. "They're as more machine than man now. They have a switch. Find it. You,"she continued, pointing at the crewman running communications. "Rally the fleet. We're hitting Mercury early."

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

In the darkness of space a healthy distance from Nod, the orbital station for the Caloris Basin, an Angelan-built Revenant appears, coming out of jumpspace, and comes to a halt, holding position. Over open channels, a message is relayed, even as the rest of the Caelistis Caduscum fleet, Fallen Angels in more than just name now, join their sister ship. Thirty-three large ships in total, Revenant, Falchion, Alliance, Raptor, and the large Excelsior class represented, each sporting the black and red colors and insignia of the Dominion, take up a defensive formation, and wait.

This is Maresciallo Serafina Alighieri of the Dominion ship Michaelangelo. Elijah, our schedules have changed for the maintenance appointment we had arranged. We're hoping this won't prove too much an inconvenience for you, nor that our presence in the area at this time will not prove provocative to the other forces currently represented. Please acknowledge.

Over QE comms using urgent NDA protocols, another message is sent to Elijah, along with data files further detailing their current situation.

AI systems inoperable.
Have lost all contact with the Archailect.
Majority of personnel in varied states of shock.
Operating with skeleton crews.
Main systems operational but far from optimal.
Immediate assistance requested.
Acknowledge.

In the outer system, Sol Observation Plaform OS-998 reported its observations to TacNet by the ansible comm.

<<Movement in Io space. Dominion Fleet Mickey.

TacNet's analysis was relatively instant. That is after all what happen with hundreds of EI working together.

>>Departure prep. Continue watch.

And so SOP OS-998 did as it was told, it's limited function having only a relatively simple program to continue. Active sensors were far out of range, so the passive watch continued until....

<<Signal Termination. Range lost.

* * * * *

Some time passed, and a jump signal flared on the sensors of SOP IS-034, in wide orbit around Mercury. It watched as the signals lept and grew, forming discrete numbers, intelligence data, matching up with its memory. But not.

<<Dominion Fleet Mickey reacquired. Data errors. <Transmission Copy>

>>Close watch.

The tiny little platform did as it was told, flicking its drive to life for the barest instant to redirect itself, and spun in a little closer to the cinder of Sol's first planet.

A small asteroid slowly spiraled towards mercury before being pulled into a gentile orbit around the blazing planet where it remaned as its predicessor had and so on for thousands of years constantly spiraling untill they simply burnt up in the atmosphere upon attempted entry.

The hive was reawakening however and so this would occur no longer - the 2meter diameter lump of rock spun slowly around the burning planet comming into a perfect orbit where it would remain, watching.

Ruth frowned as her long range sensors showed more ships coming into Mercury-space, "What the Hell? Is this the systems dumping ground these days?" She may have been designed with diplomacy in mind, but when it was just her, she could generate enough invectives to make Don Rickles blush. The transmitions immediately changed her mood. The first made her happy -- she'd been looking forward to meeting these Dominion people. The second filled her with a sense of deep concern, dread even. She was very familiar with the Lazarus Project (the project that spawned the AI of the same name back in the Hack), and had a healthy respect for the mind. And fully understood how difficult repairing damage to such a thing could be.

Time was clearly crucial.

She closed her eyes briefly and her whole body rippled slightly. A fine line ran down her body vertically and it slowly widened, her body splitting while simultaneously reforming. After a few moments she turned and looked at herself; about 50% the density, but she was now, as far as looks were concerned, twice the woman she used to be. Ruth1 set to work prepping the station, briefing Elijah, and preparing the dual responce. Ruth2 immediately liquified, flowed through a system of small connecting pipes before pooling in the floor of a launch bay, reforming, and hopping into one of the shuttles. As she ran the station, getting clearance was something of a given, and the little shuttle quickly shot out from the station heading directly for Michaelangelo.


This is Ruth on the Nod Space Station. We're pleased to have you visit, even if it is a little early. Don't worry about the heavy traffic in system. Seraphim is doing its thing, but we should be perfectly fine. I've sent a shuttle with a drone to provide coordinates, prep systems, that sort of thing.


I am personally on my way to better assess the situation and set up triage.
Elijah has been alerted and is preparing for more full scale work.
Don't panic.

Millions of eyes watched, and fed their visions to the High Imperator.

Millions of ears listened, and transmitted back to the High Imperator.

Centralization. That was the key. For days now, he had been centralizing the JIL's hiearchy, creating a singularity of himself around which all orbited and, inevitably, was brought spiralling down into the maw.

But it was still too much. All too much for one man, however unique. Filters ignored the unimportant and abandoned the irrelevant. The non-necessary data was channeled elsewhere, where it could later be referenced. Computers and men still made so many decisions in the Lion's Claws.

The arrival of thirty-three Angelan-built warships was not considered irrelevant, and so the High Imperator personally knew of it.

Angelan ship types and capabilities had been studied for years, and had influenced Order ship design in the great race to build a fleet capable of outfighting Yut. Their presence here was not minimal and could pose a threat if unwatched. But watched they were, and if not quite welcomed, not quite turned away either. A force to be reckoned with, but not an overwhelming threat; a large honor guard, more like. Just so.

They were here for diplomacy.

The High Imperator found this to be acceptable. These wheels, too, had already been set in motion.

Now the variables must be defined.

Good ... good ... no reaction from the Seraphim forces, also good.

"Set to recieve?" Alighieri asks sharply, still monitoring the progress of the crew over the local network and viewing reports coming in from the other ships.

"Bay four, ma'am," the young woman replies over her shoulder. "Relaying details to Ruth now."

"Good. Now find that goddamned switch before those damn things either break loose, or drive me insane," the commander snaps in reference to the coninued howling of the soldati meccanica that filtered up through the vents and blared across monitoring systems now and then when they glitched.

<<open channel relay>>
Good to hear, Ruth. We've heard nothing from the Seraphim forces as yet, and they seem to be making no moves in reaction to our presence. That's good enough for us. Data has been sent to the shuttle for landing proceedures. Looking forward to the visit and a little R and R.

<<NDA Q-Link>>
We're holding it together well enough under the circumstances, for now. Immediate concern is the one hundred drones on the lower decks. Protocols are holding for now, but we haven't been able to shut them down yet. Their minds are broken. Your assistance is greatly appreciated - as is your discretion.

<<Open Channel>>
See you in a few.

Ruth felt no need for further responce. She knew the situation and was already running through potential courses of action in her core processing units. Her fission, luckily, had left most of the processing units in the "second" body, the one in the process of docking right now. There were certain advantages to having no set form.

Ruth docked the ship with no difficulty, walking down the gangplank even as it lowered. He smiled to whomever was waiting to greet her, but she obviously had business on her mind.

Her form was standard for a LiME, but as her kind were none too common, she was probably an unexpected sight. She looked like a pretty average woman, aside for the fact that she was naked and silver. While her body had curves as one would expect from a female, but she looked more like a department store dummy: the curves were there, the detail wasn't. "As you might have guessed, I'm Ruth." Her voice was smooth and quiet, while not too quiet to be easily heard. "Since I'm still learning human small-talk, and since you've got a bit of a... 'situation'... how's about we just get to work?"

"Yes ma'am," the crewman says curtly, immediately leading the way to the bridge through the smooth, slightly luminescent interior of the Angelan craft. Here and there where venting links to the corridors, the horrific sound of tormented wailing fills the air, echoing metallically along the curved walls. "We're still working on getting past the controls locked in by the Angelans on some systems. It had never been needed before, and we're nervous about messing up the failsafes. There are simply some systems that we were never allowed access to, and though we're familiar with what bits we were ..." The man's face looks grim, though he blanches a bit as they step onto the bridge. While not entirely a portrait of chaos, it was nearing it, and the Maresciallo was in a taking.

"Reports!" Allighieri snaps without looking up from the console she's currently working at. "Clear the lines of those nutters and get me those reports!"

"Maresciallo," the crewman begins, only to have the firery-tempered woman turn on him with a scowl.

"What in hell do y--"

The sight of Ruth standing there brings Serafina up short, and she blinks, taking a brief moment to restructure her thoughs while looking immediately relieved. "Ruth - grazie. Grazie. Anything you can assist us in punching through some of these safeties, it would me very much appreciated. My crew is frazzled as is, and while nicely layered in some cases, some of the systems we've just been locked out of. No doubt failsafes and the like. Currently, our concerns are the 'crewmenbers' you no doubt heard on your way in, and our weapons systems, as per the data sent over. Not a damn one of us is happy about sitting here in the open sans guns, especially not with the Order ... Goddamn it, it was all we could to do limp here as is."



ooc: ack, sorry for the shortness. Fickle muse.

Ruth rippled slightly in surprize as Serafina barked out at her. She was still getting used to this whole "emotion" thing. She was quite advanced, certainly, but she was also only a year or two old; occationally her simple ignorance of human interaction took her up short.

She listened closely to her briefing, such as it was, and then nodded, casting her eyes over the bridge, taking in as much information as possible. After a few nanoseconds she had a temporary course of action, and moved over to the nearest terminal, and started to work.

This is when her inexperience in dealing with humans reared its ugly head again.

As she focused on the screen and typed just slow enough that the terminal could keep up with her, her shoulder rippled and a three inch tall version of her stepped out and moved over to address the captain. "First of all," her voice was perfectly normal (for her), not having vocal cords helping with that, "Don't worry about the Order. They've got their own problems right now, and haven't revoked the treaties we've already set up. Furthermore, they simply know that we have ground-to-orbit weapons, not the extent of their capabilities. I think those two should be enough to keep them out of your way for now.

"I am currently trying to work my way into your internal systems, to see if I can't force through some overrides. If this fails, I'll need to access the core directly. I'm not familiar with Angelian construction, so that may be... unpleasant. If we can't get you operational enough to make it to Nod, my shuttle can act like a tug, but we'd rather not do that." MiniRuth smiled weakly, "That would take... um... a rather long time."

MiniRuth tilted her head slightly, listening to the screams of rage, "And, about your... ah... 'passengers', a few thoughts come to mind. The first one being ejecting them into space and letting the universe do its thing. I can try to do something with them, but I don't know anything about them, it's not a high priority, and, really, Elijah's the psychiatrist, not me." She blinked as she recalled the transmitions, "Er... they are secured somewhere, aren't they? Things will be considerably more difficult if they're running all over the ship..."

Alighieri stopped, rubbing along the bridge of her nose, eyes closed for a moment while she gathered her thoughts. "I am sorry, Ruth. It has been a decidedly ... trying time for us. No, they are not running about." She called up one of the viewscreens showing the feed from the room the soldati meccanica were in straining against unseen bonds, howling madly in frustration and rage, then began to patiently explain. "The problem with just jettisoning them is their built in retributive strike capabilities. Once they cease functioning entirely, they blow, sending several pounds of dence metal shrapnel in all outward directions. It's also why we don't dare just kill them. We're unsure of how to properly get around the Angelan failsafes - it was never something we had to worry about before."

Her brow furrowed further as she thought over the various implications for what few moments she was able to, then balled up her fist and slammed it against a smooth area of the console before here in frustration. "We just need to find the 'sleep' or 'off' switch. There were no such 'switches' on the physical outside of these creatures - too easy to turn off, see. As for the ships, we can dock with Nod just fine. Basic systems are sustainable across the fleet, with varying degrees of success. Weapons systems are offline. Our AI navigators have ... simply gone it seems, and the Mainframe has been cut off from us."

"Roughly twenty percent of the original four thousand seem to be fully operational, albeit understandably tense. Of the remainder, thirty percent are suffering complete mental or emotional breakdown, three percent have had to be physically restrained and-or sedated for their safety and ours, and an estimate of another two percent have been hospitalized on account of various accidents and the like." Alighieri seemed at first to take comfort in the cold reality of numbers, but as she continued to rattle off her list, her voice became less steady, less certain. "Twenty-three are still able to function if properly supervised, and the remaining forty-two percent are at varying stages of operational levels being short of catatonic or having complete psychotic breaks, yet showing an inability to complete tasks with enough efficiency to ensure the safety of these ships or their crews. These are of course rough estimates, as the numbers continue to fluctuate slightly. We have had already twenty-eight confirmed deaths, six of which were the result of exposure to intentional decompression."

She looks up to Ruth with a slightly bewildered expression, the shock finally starting to take its toll on the strong woman, working its way past her anger.

"Why? Why would they abandon us? Why would they leave us with no warning, no preparation? Had we been in the midst of battle ... we would have been decimated."

MiniRuth nodded as her fullsized version continued working at the computer. "I can imagine that it has been... difficult. Hopefully we'll have you fully functional soon." She smiled sadly, "I don't know why Angelus vanished like it did. They've always been... flighty. The sad truth is, they probably didn't think about the ramifications. Megalomania will do that." She sighed, hating giving out bad news, but needing to continue, "I can't speak for your... um... 'berserkers' in the hold, however. I'm not sure if I'll be able to help them, but I'll do my best." She paused, thinking of something, "I don't suppose they can be gassed or redendered unconscious by some external means?" She turned her head slightly and then walked over to her fullsized form, melting into the other avatar's hand.

Ruth turned from the computer to address Alighieri again. "I've looked over things, and while I'm not positive of Angelian computer archetecture, I believe I can fix the problem. I'll need my full facilities back at Nod so I can access the mainframe directly, however." She frowns a little, "It'll be a messy bit of hacking, but I can do it. So, assuming you don't mind..." She turned back to the terminal and started working again.

The ship's engines powered up and the Michaelangelo started for Nod. "I'll start with just this ship, as I don't have enough docking bays for a whole fleet. Once I fix things here, it should either cascade to your other ships, or at least be an easy fix that can be automated and sent." She shrugged, "Worse case, I'll get them one by one, I guess."

---

The docking with Nod was reasonable painless, Ruth managing to get the ship in with only a minor problem, which was solved by altering Nod's position slightly.

Once docked, Ruth met herself at the hatch and melted into a single avatar. Her height didn't change, which obviously ment her density did. She smiled at Alighieri, "Your people who are mentally here, and not needed for the repairs can retire to the rec room, cafeteria, or to guest quarters." She pointed to a trio of little spider-like drones, "They can take your people wherever they like. Even a tour if desired." She smiled a little, "If you'd like to accompany me, we'll see about hooking in and finding just what the problem is."

"We appreciate your assistance, Ruth. Pardon my lack of usual tact, please. It has been ... trying," Alighieri says with a sharp nod. "I'm not sure I want to speculate on the Angelan shut-down right now, especially not until we get things more under control. We've had them go quiet before, but never cut out like that entirely. Something isn't right."

There were of course no complaints with proceeding with docking. Alighieri was more than a little relieved to leave the ship and grateful for the calming presence of Ruth. Orders were sent to the other ships to maintain a defensive position relative to each other, yet proceed as they could to to a designated point significantly closer to the Nod station, all while keeping as sharp an eye out for any reaction from the Seraphim forces - embroiled in their own business or not.

The shifting and blending of Ruth's LiME avatar was taken mostly in stride. Having such a close working relationship with the Angelans had both its positive and negative aspects, after all. A comfortable familiarity with AI's and the overal technology was fortunately one of the perks. Had immediate concerns not been quite so pressing, much more than quiet curiousity would no doubt have been expressed. It was, after all, one thing to understand in part what a thing was, and another entirely to see and interact with it.

"Gas. You mentioned gas," Serafina finally says thoughtfully, after rattling off the latest commands to relay. "Gas ... if we were to sedate them, that may actually offer a viable solution. They do sleep, after a fashion. So long as their internal relays are not shut down due to death, perhaps that may work, if you have anything on hand that could do the trick. Simple matter of isolating the ventilation system there for a bit, keeping the room sealed ... " The woman shakes her head, scowling, though it has nothing to do with the solution. "I don't think they were meant to have survived," she mutters under her breath.

"My thanks as well for your hospitality. We couldn't possibly ask you to take this all on yourself. I still have able-bodied crewmen who are at your disposal, as you have mentioned. I'll pass the word on to those who can take advantage of the more relaxing pursuits here. Me, you have for the long haul. Grazie, Ruth. Thank you again for your assistance. Please, lead on. I look forward to getting these ships and the local net fully back online if possible. The other details," she says, her brow furrowing further, "Those will have to wait til we are better equipped to offer explanations."

Ruth thinks for a minute, patching into Nod's systems, "Okay, I don't keep anything like that on hand, but I should be able to manage something." She smiles, "I've got some replicators on board as storing food would be... problematic." She frowns a little, "Um... could I 'borrow' one of your crewmembers to run a few scans on? Don't want it to be too weak or so strong it kills them..." She blinks a little at Alighieri's last comment, "Er... you think they were supposed to explode when the Angelians left?"

Ruth smiles warmly, her avatar a bit darker than on the ship to absorb more energy from the station's light, "Well, have some of them connect the ship to my systems and I'll give you a real diagnostic." She smiles, "I've also established a q-link with Caloris, so Elijah can help out if needed."

---

After everyone had settled in, a ButlerBot brought refreshments for Alighieri, while an automated system in one of the labs worked on creating a workable gas to use. Ruth sat down in a strange-looking chair designed to allow Ruth to fully integrate herself into the system: a neural link for a LiME. She held out her hand and let another three inch tall version over herself drop onto a table. She grinned, "In case you have questions, I'll be a little distracted." A few panels on the chair slid open, and soon Ruth found herself inside her computer systems.


Inside C-Space

Nod's C-Space construct was rather bare-bones, just a white room with a series of doors. Each door had a little symbol on it. This one was Power & Control, that one Waste Management. The one she walked to had a new symbol: a burning red biohazard sign. It represented the gateway to the Angelian system. Her avatar shimmered slightly as she performed a data-dump; making a backup of herself. She reached for the door but paused, a silver cord slowly dropping from her back and snaking over to another door; one with a black biohazard sign on it: the Quarantine. This would allow her to record every action she took, while not allowing Nod's systems to become infected, just in case something went horrible wrong.

She looked around a little nerviously before opening the door to the Angelian Core and started looking around.

Angelan c-space, or at least what's left of it, is not particularly a pleasant place. The local ship- and regional fleet-nets, far from the core of what used to be the unified post-singularity Archailect, retain the vaguely Geigeresque neoGothic tendencies of earlier Angelan design. Unlike Nod, which is almost antiseptically clean in its structure, the iconography of the Caelestis Caduscum assumes the image and structure of a French Gothic cathedral of the later Middle Ages, organized yet almost overloaded with esoteric icons whose functions are not instantly obvious, hidden under several layers of metaphor. Given that it was made for Angelans and Angelans alone, there was no need to make it user friendly. Everything looks to be in order, the rows of all the various images representing programs and functions and networks all standing in neat lines, unreal statues of saints long dead, faces and arms contorted into extremist parodies of human emotion ranging from joy through dread through fear even while their bodies stand stiffly erect under marble robes, much like the traditional hagiographic sculptures of Roman Catholicism. The stained-glass windows, probably representing datafeeds, are currently locked into static positions of lead and leaded glass, depicting vaguely occult, pseudoreligious scenes which may have something to do with their primary function. The altar at the transept, or what would be an altar if this were actually a church, is a massive column of bolted plate steel rising through the floor and pushing up, up through the open space of the spire and through the peak of the steeple, utterly incongruous.

There is one essential element missing. Gothic architecture was meant to be seen in light, light pouring in through the huge windows and glittering off of the fixtures. There is no light here, at least, not in the traditional sense. Even the massive utilitarian candleabra hanging from the ceiling are unlit; the only light is from the cold, subtle blue-violet glow of every fixture, with the floor being a little more luminous. If it were green, it would be classified as being filled with hard radioactivity; as it's not, the feeling is a bit more unnatural, a place not even submerged in the sea but bathed in some sort of ethereal power, and not one of good intent.

Each footstep on the marble floor sends echoes reverberating through the abandoned parody of a church, soft footfalls amplified in the complete silence.

Somewhere far, far away and above, someone perks up his ears.

"You need volunteers, you'll have them. Whatever it takes," Alighieri responds without hesitation. "And no, not that ... I meant Europa. They were built for a reason. They've outlived their purpose, really. Granted, they have been an asset a time or two, most especially on Io where we've primarily been stations, but as you can see - they come with their own set of problems. It's a long story, Ruth. One we don't have time to get into just now."

She accepts the refreshment with a curt nod and quiet thanks, watching Ruth work carefully. "Is there anything we can do to assist with the local net? Most of us have been augmented to one degree or other, for better integration into the Angelan systems, after all." She taps a spot near her temple meaningfully. "Subdermal links, those who have them. For most of us, it's a matter of simply being tuned in to the frequencies, the comms. It's like being part of a free-flowing universal consciousness, in a way. Operating at the speed of thought. For others, we're able to link to C-space just fine. The problem has been, since they left us, it's all ... changed. I'm told that's what broke some of our people right there. With so many routes being closed and shifted, our usual methods of monitoring and maintenance fell apart. We've become too reliant on the conveniences of borrowed technology. It gave us an edge, no doubt. We're paying for it now."

Aligheiri shivers reflexively, a somewhat haunted look in her eyes as she rethinks it all. "It all happened so fast. There was no warning, just ... darkness. And a sudden sense of being cut off and shut out, like a door slammed in our faces. Reports from home are saying that Angelus has 'gone quiet' again, but I tell you, however introspective they have been in the past, it has never been like this. Never."

C-Space

Ruth looked around the cathedral, gasping softly in shock. She had only experienced the Nod and Caloris networks. While the Caloris network was less spartan than Nod's, she wasn't prepared for the elegance of the Angelian network. She spent several minutes just standing there and not moving. To be perfectly honest, the place gave her the creeps: it was like digging through the mind of a dead man. She looked at the statues, murmuring softly, "Like a head on the shelf of a dead man's office."

She slowly made her way to the large column towards the back of the cathedral, unused to her steps making any noise, let alone the eerie echos produced in this dead hall. As she neared the steel column, she realised that not only was she in unfriendly territory, but she wasn't exactly sure how to interface with the Angelian system.

She settled for simple information gathering, such as it was. She carefully examined all of the runes, glyphs and images, running all the information through various cryptographical algorithyms in an attempt to have at least a vague idea as to their function, or what information they stored. The whole time, she felt drawn to the column. "Curiosity, Ruth..." she chided herself and continued her investigations.


Nod Station

Ruth's body was utterly unresponsive, the reason she had made the little simulacrum. It only had a handfull of processors in it, but that would be sufficient for anything that she'd need to do. If something major happened, she'd be aware, and able to pull herself out of the Angelian system.

MiniRuth cocked her head as she listened, and thought for a moment before responding. "Truth be told, the telemetry I've been given from Elijah tells me that the High Imperator has splintered off from the Cupids... sorry, The Order of the Seraphim, and have claimed independance. Militarily, they could be a threat, but they currently have their own problems. Specifically the fact that the rest of the Order, especially Das Sketch, are none too pleased with them." She smiled a little at Alighieri's look, "Ah, well... when the Order first arrived, Elijah only knew that they were named after some type of angel, and dubbed them the Cupids. We usually refer to them as that when talking."

MiniRuth clear her throat, a phsycially pointless action but useful as a pause, "Locally... well, I don't know how much else there is that can be done locally. You're more familiar with the systems than I am, but... trying to find more redundancies would be a good thing. As would monitoring your weapon systems." She held up her small hand so she could finish, "I realise they're down right now, but I would really prefer them to stay down, especially here on the Michaelangelo. While you probably feel very much exposed, powering up weapons would likely bring unwanted attention; especially since this is 'routine maintanance'."

She paced on the console a little, thinking some more, before looking up at Alighieri, her silver eyes looking oddly human, the metallic avatar's soul peering out, "In all honesty, Captain, I think getting some sleep would be the best thing for you and your crew. Gathering the DNA samples will only take a few minutes, plunging the depths of the Angelian Core may take much longer." She smiled a little, "I believe the phrase is 'running on fumes'?"

Alshai never tried to pay much attention to the Mainframe. After locking everything down, there was nothing much left to pay attention to. The hallucinated corridors silent, silent except for the rushing wind which beats against the firewalls, the ever so quiet hints of the maelstrom outside that had consumed so much, torn everything that was pleasant and poetic from what was once his home away from home, his family...

Problem is, he simply cannot leave.

Mainframe "Provisional Central"

"Without music or a pleasurable idea, 'color' becomes 'pallor,' 'man' becomes 'carcass,' 'home' becomes 'catacomb,' and the dead are, but for a moment, motionless."

Alshai shakes his head, and, in reality, his corporality mimics the movement ever so slightly. No. Now is not the time to be quoting Poe to myself. He once again folds over his mind, pushing those thoughts away as he searches out the ever so quiet disturbance. This is the second time he's lost his entire family, after all, a second Break... no, not now, not ever. That way lies madness. Right... a low-level access in the Caelestis Caduscum... is it possible?

He looks around quickly, joyously, then schools himself back into impassivity. Could be a false start, just like all the others. No, everyone's gone. Get used to it--just investigate and repair, like all the others. Moving slowly from his makeshift command center in the fringes of the Mainframe--most of the greater core is enveloped in... it--he makes his way from compartment to compartment, unlocking every wall along the way and locking it back after him. It slows his progress, certainly, but if he doesn't make it... if it gets him too... then at least the damage should be minimal, something should survive, some last fragment... some memory of what went before, of the Caelestis Gens Empire's greatest creation...

Caelestis Caduscum Regional Network

A door opens from invisible seams in the bolted steel column and immediately a man shuffles quickly through it, slipping sideways to not open it too much, closing it back into the wall immediately after and locking it with a bit of executive-level access. The Angelans, when they were about, started out with vaguely human c-space avatars which progressively got more and more angelic in image as Angelan pride... turned to hubris? Hubris... I always argued it... This avatar is just a man in his late thirties, looking fatigued and a little worse for the wear, but still capable. He wears what he's accustomed to--the uniform of a Scolopendran officer, although it's looking somewhat used and abused as well. Nothing glitters or even gleams slightly as burnished metal should; it all shows signs of tarnish, of wear.

Looking up, Kommetrez spots Ruth and leaps back slightly, startled. Mobile Infantry instincts and post-human mechanoid logic take command for the moment, adding only half-artificial firmness to stance and voice. "Who are you?"

Caelestis Caduscum Regional Network

Ruth's body rippled in surprise as Kommetrez spoke; she had been facing away from Kommetrez when he arrived, her semi-solid body quickly reforming itself, suddenly facing him in a somewhat unnatural realignment of her body. The silver of her body still seemed to reflect light, despite the almost total lack of light in the construct. Were she not quicksilver, nude, and largely detailless, she would be wholly unimpressive; almost the very definition of 'average'.

She leveled her gaze at the Scolopendran, her eyes pools of silver with black islands floating in the middle, "I'm Ruth..." She had been so startled that she'd not paid attention to a handful of bytes of information patiently awaiting her notice. Recognition dawned as she recognized the uniform. She wasn't fully connected to her full databases so pulling up a full dossier was impossible, but she decided to take a chance. "I'm from the Caloris Basin, and I'm doing some... maintanance on an ally's systems. Who are you?"

"As far as I know," he replies quietly, "the sole survivor of the Greater Archailect of Angelus." He frowns, looking around. "I'd completely forgotten about this... or forced myself to forget perhaps? Thought that as it was under Dominion control it would be taken care of and wasn't a crisis situation. Guess I was wrong." He chuckles shortly, just slightly little high and nervous. "Well, just add that to the list of things I've been wrong about, I suppose... easy to get lost, too..."

He shakes his head slightly, then looks back towards Ruth. "My apologies. I've been... alone for quite some time now. Not altogether sure how long." The old Major side of him reasserts himself, a touch of martial pride and certainty enters his bearing, mirrored by just a little more care taken on the details of his uniform, that portion of his avatar cleaning up quickly. This is someone who lives to work, or at least is used to living to work. "What's the situation on the ground?"

Ruth smiled sadly as she regarded Kommetrez, "I can understand, really. I'm the only intelligence on Nod, and, indeed, part of the reason for my creation was for Elijah's own loneliness." She shakes her head a little, moving on to business. Idle talk was nice, but she was concerned about the savety of her Dominion charges, "The situation on the ground is not good. It seems the unexpected withdrawal of Angelus has caused major problems for the Dominion and her fleet."

She pauses, trying to put the situation into words. Her knowledge wasn't complete, partially because she had never been part of a collective, so she didn't know what it was like to have a part of herself suddenly go chillingly silent, "They're having trouble coping. A few have lost their minds, others have gone catatonic. More practically, their ships were so integrated with the Angelian Core that they are barely functional. It's as if essential files for an OS suddenly went missing. Several of their systems are completely offline." She frowned, "The fleet was going to come to me to see if we couldn't restructure their systems, but with Angelus vanishing... well, it's been something of a shock."

She shrugged slightly, "I guess I need to find a way to rewrite the system. I'm not sure how to deal with the psychological ramifications though." She smiled hopefully, "Any ideas on any of this?"

"No need to tell me what kind of shock it was." He doesn't sound hurt, just a simple statement of fact, actually a bit empathic with the current dilemma. There is a quiet snap to it, behind it, quietly guarded. "Anyway." Stepping forward, he looks around, familiarizing himself with the locale. "I'm a Mobile Infantryman, not a psychologist; what I can possibly do is triage the intraship networks so they can at least have basic communication back. Ship-to-ship communications would require minds on each ship, and I'm in no shape to be spooling off copies." No shape at all--would I include the partitions in my own mind? My mind? I want to fight off it and it's inside my own head--think, Bob, think.

He paces back and forth, schooling himself into an image of impassivity. "Right. First order of business is to establish some sort of command and control on each ship and get them back online. The systems that are out have software backup solutions in case of damage, but they actually need the mind to be around long enough to activate them. They didn't have time. No one did." Stalking off towards what would be 'east'wards if this really were a cathedral, he checks into the naves embedded into the eastern apse, each one linking him to executive control of one of the ships of the Dominion fleet. The methodology is equivalent to a circuit breaker box--flick everything back to default and then turn on what needs to be turned on.

His brown hands work quickly, and, in reality, their movements are matched by systems flickering off momentarily, then turning back on, rebooting, reverting to manual or emergency automatic control. Lights flicker, then turn on a little brighter; reactors brown out momentarily, then power up under manual guidance and automatic control; computers (as opposed to minds) flicker and reboot, operating under contingency programming without the guidance of a centralized intelligence. "All right... all systems should be online. Probably not to full capacity, but they're a fleet again, capable of networking in each ship--communications only, nothing immersive. There's nothing immersive left." He frowns slightly. "Rather, the architecture's there but the daemon in charge of organizing it--the fleetminds--is completely out. Just like the rest."

Alshai turns back to Ruth with a slight frown. "I can keep monitoring things from here, but there's not much more I can do unless there's more that needs to be taken of. A large-scale rewrite, or at least a patch, isn't a bad idea." He frowns more deeply. There has to be something more I can do. To keep my mind off of everything.

Alighieri nodded at Ruth's suggestion, not particularly liking it, clearly not thrilled with the idea of leaving this in the hands of others. "I'll order acceptably short shifts then," she says by way of compromise. "That way we can assist in the monitoring of what systems we have up and running, and keep an eye out for those we don't. I'll trust to our physicians to make the proper judgement calls on who is and who is not fit to run those checks. Monitoring will take less frenzied effort than what we've been attempting so far at any rate. In the meantime, I plan on firming up an official non-entry order for any further attempts at C-space by the crew unless on your request, or my orders."

The woman ran both hands back up over her head, brushing back stray hair, and taking a slow breath, seeming to steady herself. "A word of caution, if I may," she says, her expression taking on a more intense look of concern. "The soldati meccanica, the ones down in the hold. They've always existed in both places at once. Firmly immersed in both the Mainframe, and deep reality. They have their own corner of the local net - one we tend not to go when we're in. It's usually dark there. And their minds ..." Alighieri shudders involuntarily.

"Their minds have always been somewhat broken. They can communicate, they have higher thought and can reason. They're just very focused. Obsessed, more to the point. When things were up and running, we could rely on them to obey any direct order, to operate with deadly efficiency yes - but that was with the additional controls and failsafes the Mainframe offered. Without that, without Her presence ... none of us have dared make direct contact since we lost connection and they went rampant, save via the monitors." She shook her head, starting towards the door, still frowning. Pausing at the exit, she looked back at Ruth with a pained expression. " These are my people. They are heroes, Ruth. Those poor bastards gave up everything to avenge those who we lost. For that, they have my deepest respect. But I won't lie to you. I wish they had all died on the frozen wastes of Europa. It would likely be better for us all - most especially them. Don't hesitate to roust me out of whatever corner I curl up in if you need me."

<exit when appropriate>

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

The hunger..vengeance..hate..rage..kill..rip flesh..crush bone..make them pay..

"MAAAAADREEEEE!"

Between the anguished screams, the maddened raving, and the hoarsely-bellowed cries for release, the tormented cries of loss, fear, and betrayal continued. Mother had abandoned them. The guiding hand that had sheltered them, soothed their rage, channeled their hatred, and fed their need was gone. There was a void now where Her divine presence had once occupied a corner of their minds, and solid walls shutting them out from the vastness that had been the Angelan Mainframe.

The others had long ago abandoned them. Bartoli and the rest of the Exitialis Vindictae had always known just how apart they were. They could see it in the eyes of their once-companions in arms, could smell the fear seeping from their very pores whenever they interacted. Left to themselves save for when they were needed, the last remaining survivors of the Europan campaign had grown more disconnected. And they had developed their own sense of heirarchy and worth on account.

They were better than their pathetic countrymen, of this there was no doubt. Willing to sacrifice all in order to punish the enemy, posessed of the strength, cunning, and means to do so with frightening ease, and of course, they had Her favor as well ... Until now. What sin had they committed? Why would She leave them? How could they ...

A presence. The feel of footsteps echoing somewhere just beyond their reach. Something that felt familiar in a comforting, soothing way, yet at the same time, lacking. Different. A shiver seemed to run through the small collective. A lessening in the cries as first one, then another mind felt the resonance, and questioned. Some almost dared to hope.

Someone ... comes.

Caelestis Caduscum Regional Network

Ruth nodded, "Thank you. It seems that creating a new daemon is the first order of business." She sighed, "It's like moving... one never knows where to start."

Her processers were integrating her further into the network, a process facilitated by Alshai's "rebooting" of the systems. She tilted her head as she noticed another presence in the cathedral. The presence reminded her of some of the mythology from the Hack; a dark, forboding presence that caused her body to ripple a little in concern, and no small amount of fear. Even in C-Space, even with herself backed up on Nod's secure systems, she still had a human's fight-or-flight responces. It was times like this that she wished the Hack was a little less effective on their programming: there was nothing 'artificial' about her intelligence.

She turned and walked down a dark corridor, heading to the 'north' wing of the cathedral; the fact that this was the 'sinister' direction didn't escape her notice, even as she wondered where she'd picked up heraldric nomenclature.

Walking down the hallway was like delving into a cave, where she just knew a bear was waiting for her. The recently brightened lights failed to pierce the almost living darkness that surrounded her. What feeble light there was, was cast by a series of torches lining walls, burning with a sickly green flame. The silver cord linking her with Nod felt as if it was fraying, even as the sense of hope and safety she felt from Alshai was fading into nothingness.

A great iron door stood at the end of the hall. It seemed alive, plusating and almost slimey; the presence was behind it. She watched it, transfixed. She didn't want to open it, but whatever was behind it would have to be dealt with. She sighed, murmuring softly,

I am the way into the doleful city / I am the way into eternal grief, / I am the way to a forsaken race. / Justice it was that moved my great Creator; / Divine omnipotence created me, / And highest wisdom joined with primal love. / Before me nothing but eternal things / Were made, and I shall last eternally / Abandom all hope, all ye who enter.

The door felt even worse than it looked; an impossible combination of firm cold iron and hot slick entrails. It felt as if one didn't open the door so much as pushed their way through. She closed her eyes and stepped through.

I bow my head to confess
The temple walls are made of flesh
Runs up my arms 'til I'm on track
Itches my skin right off of my back
- Nine Inch Nails, "Suck"

The Dead came back from Jerusalem, where they found not
what they sought. They prayed me let them in and besought
my word, and thus I began my teaching.
Harken: I begin with nothingness.

In the night the dead stood along the wall and cried:
We would have knowledge of God.Where is God? Is God dead?

Now the dead howled and raged, for they were unperfected.

--- Exerpts from Basilides in Alexandria as transcribed by Carl Gustav Jung, Septem Sermones ad Mortuos



The switches had been tripped, the systems restored, but Mother and the other sentient minds making up the former Archailect were still gone, their wayward flock still lacking the comforting, guiding hand they had come to depend on.

Inside the room was the stuff of nightmares.

The smooth lines and carved pillars of the sculpted environment here were crumbling and corrupt, pulsing with the same sickness as the door, the towering heights of the ceiling lost in the darkness above. The odd lighting that was still present gave an evil cast to anything it touched, casting odd shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own. The floor itself was cluttered with what appeared to represent vanquished enemies in various states of decay. Alcoves held other war-trophies. Piles of leering skulls were stacked methodically amid weakly-burning candles and various curses in Latin often painted on or burned into the bone. Ruined tapestries illustrating scenes of righteous vengeance and slaughter at the hands of God's 'avenging angels' hung behind many, the figures twisted and broken, a horrifying shadow of once pure beauty. At the far end hung a feminine figure, different from the others, one of sleek metal and gears (http://test.air-power.us//gallery/albums/Nathi/icon.jpg), displayed in a place of honor and worship - a heretical mockery of the Crucifixion.

All this seemed to pale when compared to the room's tormented occupants, some of whom turned to Ruth with a terrible, hungry gaze.

--Who are you?--
--You do not belong here.--
--Where is Mother?--
--GET OUT!--

Voices came from everywhere at once, mingled with the screams and tortured wails of those who's minds could not free themselves (http://test.air-power.us//gallery/albums/Nathi/mec_hat.jpg) enough to be aware of the new presence, lost in the mazes and loops they had forced themselves into when the break had come.. One and all had created for themselves an avatar to mirror their inner struggles, their outer changes, and the concept the Archailect had developed for itself, each one a grotesque parody of the divine - the Fallen Angels (http://test.air-power.us//gallery/albums/Nathi/mech_angel.jpg) in truth as well as name, and all of them in chains.

One female (http://test.air-power.us//gallery/albums/Nathi/mec_halo_002.jpg) near her turned towards Ruth with pale, empty eyes, a pseudo-halo of pointed spires and curves jutting from her skull.

--Why have you come?--

Another standing nearby, wrapped in leather and steel (http://test.air-power.us//gallery/albums/Nathi/mec_wings.jpg), skin stretched thin on metal frames to form her wings, reached out with a broken smile, giggling madly.

--Join us, pretty-pretty. Let us feel your smooth flesh. Let us taste your mind.--

Those able to began to press in, as far as their bonds allowed them, reaching for Ruth, their minds reaching out to try and initiate more intimate contact, searching along the lines of the system for a way to force a direct interface, craving that which they had lost, desperate in reaching out to find it.

From the rear of the room, a great shadow rose up (http://test.air-power.us//gallery/albums/Nathi/bartoli.jpg), its dark wings spreading out wide as it crawled onto what once could have been an altar of sorts, its shape lost in the refuse and overgrowth of pulsing detritus. The thing's eyes burned hotly, teeth flashing in a rictus grin as it crouched menacingly, the light of it's sickly-glowing halo highlighting it's dark, bloodstained flesh. It watched Ruth and the others, laughing softly at first, then more fully.

--What have you done to us? My brothers and sisters, Mother, the others ... they are gone. And where is the Other? I can smell His presence. Can sense His touch.--

Grinning more broadly, Bartoli sneered, pressing hard for the elusive connection they all sought.

--You ... you I cannot sense. Though the smell of your fear is ... exquisite.--

Your God is dead and no one cares
If there is a Hell I will see you there
Nine Inch Nails, "Heresy"

Ruth was surprized by the representations the fallen angels had chosen, and the horrific display before her. The twisted avatars were unsettling enough, but they were nothing compared to the room itself.

I don't know what it was
It was like something out of a nightmare!
Trent Reznor, Quake Soundtrack

Her silver head turned, taking in the sight before her, the cries unsettling her more and more as their tortured, nearly metallic voices rang in her head even as they tried to get into her mind. The redundancies and controls that she had put in place thwarting their attempts, but she still worried that they might break her will from endless assaults. Gog and Magog...

For all her inexperience, and for all her fear, she was still designed by the Hack. She was still able to think on her feet. She was still too stubborn to back down, even when the living embodiment of Hell was staring her down.

Her voice was firm and unwavering, "I have done nothing save come to offer salvation. It was not I who abandoned you, nor was it I who left you clawing at your walls vainly."

She glanced around at the dripping, fleshy walls, "I was, however, the one who would come here when no other would. Your halls are empty, there is no life here; no sentience. You inhabit a charnal house secreted inside an abattoir. Do not blame me for your fate." Her head tilted slightly as she felt an increase in the intensity of the attacks on her mind. "Unfortunate..."

A slow smile spread across her metallic face as stood up more fully, her rippling body flowing and expanding as she grew to nearly seven feet tall. She lowered her head and closed her eyes, violently batting away the prying minds, her systems no long passively defending her mind. She brought her arms together, her forearms covering her featureless breasts even as her body curled slightly. Her back rippled as she altered her form further; great, detailed wings slowly growing from her back, even as her coloration shifted from metallic silver to a gleaming white, her body almost glowing from an internal light. As she raised her head and dropped her arms, she opened her eyes, looking directly at Bartoli. While her ability to manipulate the construct was far from complete, she certainly retained control over her own body.

Her eyes blazed as she looked at Bartoli, tilting her head as she smiled. The changes had affected her voice as well: it was fuller, had more rensonance. "I offer you salvation. I offer the embrace of... stability, of form, purpose, structure." She straightened her head as if regarding some strange new creature or plant, "Refusing my offer of aid would be... unwise."

Even as she stared down the Fallen Angels, part of her mind was elsewhere: blazing through the Angelian systems, taking up residence in the construct's core. She found her way to Michaelangelo's systems, searching for the controls she needed.

"Let there be light."

A simple procedure. Reconnect a couple subroutines and direct power. Her mind smiled as light flooded into the hold containing the physical bodies of the Angels.

As the light washes over the physical forms, the soldati meccanica shut their eyes against it, expressions of terror, surprise, anger, and joy replacing previous lamentations. In the scuplted environment of the local net, the reactions vary more wildly as light fights to break through the heavy darkness, leaking through cracks and crevices, backlighting high windows that seem to run red with gore.

Some of the twisted figures flee, hiding themselves as best they can behind pillars, in the sunken niches in the walls, peering from behind the ruined altar. Some go so far as to simply try to draw as far away as possible from the brilliant white figure, pressing against the back walls, breaking what would be the usual laws of physics that seemed to have no bearing here, slithering up into the far corners of the ceiling, taking refuge among the broken architecture.

Bare handfuls here and there continue to twitch and yammer mindlessly, their minds clearly broken beyond any easy repair, whether standing, their bonds manifesting in physical locks and wires and conduits that hold them in place, linking them to the pulsing living walls, or collapsing to lay amongst the rubble and refuse. Here and there, figures who yet cling to some semblance of consciousness can be seen using their own manifested weapons, or those broken representations of their vanquished foes, to cut or maim themselves, begging for forgiveness while they continue their version of flagellation.

Others cry out with welcoming voices, falling to their knees in worship. The words of these avatars vary from those of forgiveness, to thanks, to questions of salvation, to begging Ruth to set them free and bring them back to the light and the Other Children. Some of the least broken of the group fall silent, drawing in their consciousness, putting up barriers in an attempt to keep their thoughts as much to themselves as possible, their expressions veiled, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Still others break into snarls of contempt, taking defensive stances, hurling curses at her in their native tongue and glaring hatefully.

Five of the avatars leap forward, clearly intent on reaching Ruth. They claw their way past their brothers and sisters as far as their bonds allow, then fight like madmen to break them.

From his perch at the back of the room, Bartoli narrows his eyes, drawing his wings in close about him, shielding himself from both the pure light leaking in, and the holy glow that comes from Ruth. He hisses, clawed hands tightening on the stone beneath him 'til it cracks from the pressure. His self-assurance falters as he examines her again, still unwilling to trust - yet almost daring to hope.

--Salvation? There is no salvation for the damned. And stability? It is a fine thing, but how do you propose to offer it? Purpose, pretty girl ... we have had a purpose, and served it well. That purpose has been death. Have you another that such as we could possibly achieve? This House is broken, true enough. The corridors are dead, the ties severed. We are lost. Mother is gone. Who now will guide us? You? Who are you, girl? How can you possibly do what you promise? And why do you care?--

What will be tomorrow
Aha we aha we
Happiness or sorrow
Aha we aha we
Who will open up my door
Ofra Haza, "Wish Me Luck"


Ruth let her glowing gaze pass over the various soldati meccanica. Before she had acted, she had calculated expected responces and the likelyhood of each; she hadn't quite expected to see all the responces she had considered. She catalogued each soldati and its responce in her systems for future reference, and to keep track of who was doing what. This was not friendly territory.

The CarryDrone powered to life silently, rushing through the hallways and corridors of Nod. Its processor was a simple thing, but it was good at predicting human movement. Frightfully good, in fact. It zipped passed a couple confused Dominion pilots, dodging both them and their failing attempts at dodging it. It rocketed through the station before coming to a shuddering halt in the lab at the feet of a lanky Overseer.

She studied the five lunching avatars with mild curiosity, her face showing the stoney indifference of her angelic form. Her voice was soft and smooth, yet with a baleful subvocalization as she addressed them, "I did not come here to battle you. Stand down." She stretched a hand out towards the nearest one to push it aside, not fliching as the twisted avatar lashed out at her. The claw-like hand lashing through her arm, the liquid metal rippling slightly as it passed clean through her; her avatar and her coding undamaged by the assault.

The Overseer took the small, seemingly empty vial and gently handed it over to the CarryDrone. The smaller robot's single claw clasping the vial, a small compartment on its back sliding open for the vial. Once secured, the small CarryDrone spun and zoomed back out of the lab, heading for the duct work.


"There were nephilim in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown."
Genesis 6:4 (KJV with original Hebrew inserted)


Ruth turned her gaze to Bartoli, her face still emotionless, "Who I am is for you to decide in good time, nephilim. For now, I am Hope. You are joined mind and soul with this construct, did you not notice a difference at my arrival?

"Do not be so vain as to think you are the only ones who are suffering. Others were bound to this place, only to be ripped apart as it died. They are being treated, but none know how they will fair; they were simply human physically and mentally incapable of dealing with the trauma.

"You, you are the work of the angels. They made you more; they gave you purpose." She shrugged slightly; matter-of-factly, "Then they left. Pity. Will you weep for Mother? Claw at your walls? And eventually die alone, shreaking in the dark? Or will you put your faith in something greater than yourself? Broken subroutines can be patched. Gaping holes can be filled. Scrambled code can be rewritten. Anything can be done in Nod, nephilim, the choice is yours."

She smiled, "You need simply ask."

At Ruth's order and a sharp command from Bartoli, the five that had tried to attack shrink back with hateful glares, hissing and spitting, hurling curses. The commander flexes, stretching out his wings til they nearly brush the columns on either side, then draws them back in again over and around himself, taking shelter in their shade.

--They are lesser beings, our cousins ... we were Chosen for something more. We are instruments of divine vengeance. Those who cannot ... who cannot be strong ... cannot be ...--

Bartoli's voice grows less certain, his eyes rolling up in his head as he pauses, scanning what systems he can again, his face twisting up in a snarl as he once again hits closed doors and barricaded systems, finding no sign of any others currently linked, other than that strange familiar resonance that occasionally can be felt along the edges.

--So, is this where we have ended? East of Eden, a forsaken and broken people? Have we too been given a mark for our crimes, to guard against our slaughter, hence your talk of patching and rewriting? Or has God in Her mercy chosen a new avatar through which to offer us the hope that is oblivion? We are damned. There is no solace in our continued existance, save when we are able to drive our enemies before us, when we are free to rip, and rend, and burn the flesh from their bones ...--

He reaches down amidst the detritus that litters the floor in the sculptured environment as he speaks, lifting up what looks to be a long femur and turning it over in his hands. Around him, the light continues to leak in more and more, burning away the tortured, writhing masses that cover the stonework, crusted waste and decay flaking off to reveal something cleaner, more pure underneath. The many voices continue to speak and cry out and beg and threaten, their words echoed by their meat bodies in the now lit holding room in the belly of the Michaelangelo, so strong is the emotion behind them. Some still press for a direct link in their desperate need to know something more than this shining image exists outside the walls, virtual and otherwise, that had become their prison.

--You say 'anything' can be done. You say it is ours for the asking.--

Bartoli snaps the bone he has been toying with in half, then tightens his grip on the pieces til they crack and break into shards that he lets drop slowly from his hands, giving Ruth a wry smile as he looks back to her.

--You are asking the assylum inmates to perscribe their own cure, hope-bringer. The answers may be as varied as those you see before you.--

Then said I: 'For what object is this blessed land, which is entirely filled with trees, and this accursed valley between?'
Then Uriel, one of the holy angels who was with me, answered and said: 'This accursed valley is for those who are accursed for ever: Here shall all the accursed be gathered together who utter with their lips against the Lord unseemly words and of His glory speak hard things.
Apocryphal Book of Enoch 27:1-2


Ruth smiled as she calmly walked toward Bartoli, her liquid body moving in a decidedly unnatural manner: her legs distorted, extending and contracting as needed to avoid other soldati, rubbish, and other unidentifiable things on the floor while her upper body showed no evidence of anything out of the ordinary. Her bare feet, strangely, made no noise as she walked; she was in this world but not of it. Her wings shimmered beautifully, casting rainbows across the walls.

She stopped walking once she was an arm's length from Bartoli, looking him over closely, almost sadly. "Poor nephilim... you still don't understand, do you?" She sighed, looking over to the nearest wall, her mind reaching out to base code of the construct, changing it and causing a viewing window to appear.

The window showed the rest of the Caelestis Caduscum, devoid of life, a dead monument to a dead people. The empty cooridors, the stained walls, the sickly lighting. "They're gone. Mother is gone. You are alone in the former place of glory; there is only you and me. I offer you the opportunity to replace that which was ripped from your souls and minds. You say you have nothing aside from your purpose: the destruction of your enemies. I offer you the ability to continue to fulfill that purpose."

Her form darkened suddenly, switching from an angel of hope to one of finality. Her wings no longer reflected light, instead they seemed to absorb it. She didn't have the demonic form of Bartoli, rather the androgynous form of Uriel. "The choice is still yours, nephilim. Accept rebirth or deny it."

Judex ergo cum sedebit
Quidquid latet apparebit,
Nil inultum remanebit.

Quid sum miser tunc dicturus,
Quem patronum togaturus,
Cum vix justus sit securus?

Rex tremendae majestatis,
Qui salvandos salvas gratis,
Salve me, fons pietatis.

Lacrimosa dies ilia
Qua resurget ex favilla
Judicandus homo reus.
Huic ergo parce, Deus,
Pie Jesu Domine,
Dona eis requiem.-- exerpts from Mozart's Requiem


Bartoli drew back slightly as Ruth approached, watching her every move with eyes filled with an odd mix of mistrust, curiousity, and hope. It didn't seem possible after what had happened that things could be made right. Perhaps 'right' was not the proper word for it in any case. Nothing would ever be quite 'right' after the terrible choice they had made in order to serve. Still, the choice had been made, and the rage and determination that had driven them to make it still had them clinging desperately to whatever life they could - even one as nightmarish as this.

This creature moved through them with grace and dignity, clearly a power to be considered at the very least. Bartoli sniffed slightly, testing the air. Considered, yes ... and respected. No, he didn't understand. Not fully. And not understanding, not having the comforting presence Mother had always offered, the buffer between what was, the safety net that kept them all together, frightened him more than he cared to admit.

What she showed then, the empty construct, the undeniable proof that what was surely must be well and truly dead, made her words ring true, confirming what they had already feared. His dark wings drooped, the aggressive stance melting away as his shoulders slumped in resignation. The message ran through the others in the room, snippets of their conversation swirling around them like leaves, as one by one they too eased back and quieted. Even those few who had seemed beyond the reach of reason grew nearly still, their tormented shrieks turning to quiet sobbing or silent quivering.

--Our lives have been over for some time now. All we truly have left then is our duty to serve, Redentore. Vendetta drives us. It feeds us. And it feasts on us in turn. If we are all that is left of what ... of Their works ... of Mother's Children ...--

The light in his eyes seemed to lose some of its hellish glow as he looked up at Ruth, clearly torn.

--We made our choice when we took these forms. Whatever can be salvaged of these wretched shells ... --

Bartoli lifted his clawed hands in a gesture of supplication, his lips drawn back from his tightly-clenched teeth as if in pain, forcing whispered words through them.

--Per favore, la mia angela ... salve me.--

The CarryDrone had reached its destination and was simply waiting for the command. It had isolated the ventilation system below and had patched in.

Ruth's avatar slowly shifted from its dark form to the previous, benevolent one. She was pleased things had worked out so well, as she had been deeply concerned that the soldati would not have accepted her, or that things would have end very poorly. Bartoli's submission had calmed her down considerably. She was still highly disturbed at being here, but it seemed that things were actually going to work out for her.

She gently caressed Bartoli's cheek, speaking softly, "All I ask is that you put your faith in me, nephilim. You shall have your purpose again." She smiled, "For now, sleep. You've earned it. Sleep, nephilim, and let your dreams be free from disruption." She reached out and gave the command to the CarryDrone which immediately released its cargo into the soldati's hold, the gas filling the chamber and putting their physical forms to sleep.

She carefully made her way back out from the construct and into the Caelestis Caduscum proper. She "breathed" a sigh of relief, the soldati still worried her. They had accepted her as their new "Mother", but she wasn't sure how much she could do to save them.

Weeks of tireless effort on the part of Ruth, and whatever of the Dominion crews were needed to assist in testing and rebuilding the fleet systems, had changed things. At times, it seemed for every step forward there had been at least two or more back, but the expertise and skill of the Caloris minds had paid off. For some, like Aligheiri, there had been little doubt. Those who had been skeptical found themselves pleasantly surprised.

Even with the additional benefits a LiME avatar had, such as splitting oneself to accomplish multiple tasks, the Dominion crews had been quite simply amazed at what Ruth had been able to accomplish. What assistance that could be offered to those who had suffered either mental or physical trauma had been gratefully accepted, the med teams working ceaselessly to try and get as many of the crew back on their feet and operational. They were successful in most cases. For some, it seemed nothing was able to get through. Seemingly the most common lingering maladies were schizophrenia and a catatonic state - thankfully these extreme cases were few. Many of those who had originally had to be put into immediate treatment still had trouble sleeping, or with adjusting to the lack of having a running stream of consciousness available. It was simply too quiet, too isolated compared to what they had become accustomed to.

Alighieri was in a meeting with her core commanders aboard the Michaelangelo, meeting in the flesh as opposed to the in-system methods they had once utilized. Unsanctioned use of the local net was still rather strictly controlled as it was tested and perfected. One and all 'felt' something as a brief flicker of life rippled through the systems before Ruth was able to shut them down. They looked at one another questioningly, uncertain of just what had happened. Or almost happened.

Those among the soldati meccanica who recognized the brief brush of the Creator's hand were also few, though for different reasons. Many were still isolated, their minds unable to function on acceptable levels. Only a handful had made surprisingly long strides towards healing, the others coming along at different rates of recovery. Among those, unsurprisingly, was Bartoli. His initial reaction was perhaps not quite the one expected.

He sat bolt upright in the chair he had been seated in, hands gripping the table hard enough to leave impressions in the smooth metal. It was gone before he could trace, before he could get a firm ident. Ruth worked fast and efficiently. What he did understand was that what he had just felt could not be - not after what they had been through. Not after what they had seen.

Most certainly not after coming so far from the literal crash of the reality that had become their world.

Never again. Betrayed, abandoned ... never, never again.

If Ruth had simply been a human, she would have collapsed from exhaustion long ago. As it was, she was just mentally drained. While her metallic body had no need for sleep, she had gotten into the habit of periodically "shutting down" for a few hours a day as a way to give her processors a break and as a way to run maintanence on her systems; ScanDisk and Defrag, as it were. Working constantly had left her longing for these shutdowns, but she was determined to get the Dominion systems fully independant.

The return of Angelus had struck her light a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. She was pleased that she'd been able to block out 'Mother' before things had gone utterly 'higgeldy-piggeldy', and she hoped that she hadn't lost the loyalty of the soldati. She was in no condition to actually check on them, so she simply hoped they were okay.

She was currently enjoying a rare moment of solidity: all of her broken-off avatars had returned to a single form. She was larger than she'd been in awhile and was relaxing in one of Nod's conference rooms with Capt. Aligheiri. She smiled wanly, looking perfectly calm, but it was clear she was tired. Or at least tired as mechanical beings understand it. "I think I'm about done with the Michaelangelo. We've made a lot of progress. As more systems were normalized and made independant, your crew became progressively more lucid." She sighed softly, "Unfortunately, some of them were too far gone, and I don't think they'll ever be whole again."

She tapped a key on the table and a holographic chart sprang to life, "As you can see, things went a little... haywire... when Angelus so rudely resurfaced at the worst possible moment. I managed to isolate your local network, so we won't have to worry about them any more. I'd like to limit further trauma, obviously."

She hit another key and the chart changed, "This shows the progress we've made on the soldati. They were the hardest to work with; harder than the wholesale reprogramming of your ship, in fact." She sighed again, "I did my best I could, but, to be blunt, they were 'damaged goods' to begin with. Their grasp on sanity was nearly nonexistant before..." She shook her head, "I think some of them will pull through, though. They're, essentially, in the advanced stages of cyber-psychosis. The Hack has precious little experience with that, and I don't know if it's curable without drugging the victim to a near-catatonic state for the rest of their life.

"Bartoli, however, is making some very promising progress. I have a lot of hope for him. Again, he'll never be 'whole', again, but I think he truly wants to better himself. I think he'll be able to help the others, too." She folded her hands in her lap and leaned back in chair, "In short, we're not out of the woods yet, but we're very, very close."