NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: Great honking fleets are, fairly obviously, not welcome. Characters, on the other hand, are. Keep in mind that any characters sent will be 'infected' by the Maker-Mind, which, although enhancing the combat ability and intelligence of the character, does have quite the few adverse affects. Your characters will become servants of the Maker-Mind, (although retaining their freewill), and it'll be the chance for some bitchin' RPs.

Lessermind. Caliph. My two creations.. they mindlessly obey my will, but.. the Purpose is not fulfilled. The destruction of all life may not be accomplished by such means. It is that we must use a weapon to destroy a weapon, no? Obviously. But.. my creations are flawed, by merit of a flaw of my own. I cannot seek out the error in my creation. There must be other means by which I may do so...

Yes. New servants. Another Mind. A congregate of individuals, freewilled and powerful, built to serve me, built to offset the many errors I have seen. There is no other way that does not lead to my destruction. The Incarnation's awakening may lead to increased Purpose, but.. I do not wish to die. Another Mind.

Imagine, if you will, a nexus of raging, seething, red lightning, red fire, and endless seas of red death. There is nothing else within the lattice. The red, however, is, in part, a disease. But it is a disease that may be controlled, and used for your own ends.

Manifest, the being formed out of the lightning, a solid, tight 'nub' of thought, in essence, a mere hub for thousands upon millions of thoughts, was a personality that dwelled within the lattice. If sight were possible within the lattice, you would see energies swirling, condensing into another, smaller point. Another hub of thought.

I/I exist! I am without purpose! Without mind! Who am I/I

Lordling, the third of the sub-personalities created by Manifest. Each one was intelligence, in their own way. Perhaps intelligent as a being made of, say, meat, could be. But without the keen intelligence, and the ability to improve oneself expotentially, that Manifest possessed.

Lordling. Ah. You have awakened. I have created you for a specific purpose. There will be new, and willing servants. You will monitor, and aid them. Destroy any traitors. Serve as a network for their minds. <information>. You will command these beings. You have no other purpose. Flee the riftstorms when they come, and do not attempt the Incarnation. That is my order

I am Lordling. Name without meaning, but with meaning given by you, Manifest. My purpose is made clear. I thank you.

Collect the beings. You will bring them to me, and give them power. Heighten their abilities, for those who serve other powers naturally may change the variables in this particular equation - if you do not, you will be disincorporated.

And with that, the first nub of energy flung itself apart, reforming in another part of the Maker-Mind. It had valuable work to do. The second carefully gathered red lightning into its being, increasing the power it could wield.

Flickers of red split the wall between dimensions, as silver-green beings were woven into existence, in an uninhabited system. They sped towards a nearby moon, and landed easily. Roots were spread into the ground, gathering minerals, spinning the minerals into Maker-wrought beings.

Before too long, a small facility stood on the face of the moon, grey-black, and unassuming. From this facility, seemingly, a call went out. Carefully modulated, the call was mental in nature - it would manifest itself to the receivers in different ways. But those who were suitable would feel the call.

A simple message, but one with infinite allure.

<Come to me. Here. Now. And you will gain everlasting life, and everlasting power... All you must do is serve, and all that you may conceive to put your hand to may be achieved.>

Those who were suitable would 'feel' the location of the moon. It would not take long before they arrived, if they were shipbound. If they were planetbound, however, it would take somewhat longer...

OOC: Create a character, use an existing one.. Hey, it doesn't matter! It's really just a way to get an insight on my nation, and maybe have some awesome evil characters for the future!

Why is it always me? What does the universe have against me? You'd think being a Flotten-admiral would have perks. But no, all it has is seemingly monthly supernatural occurences!

Whatever it was, it was very supernatural. Hilde Menkeln had heard a... voice, but not any of at least seven psychers, navigators and astropaths on her ship and many times that in the fleet hadn't.

And the worst bit was that she wanted to go. Every ounce of her extensive training and instinct was against it, but... well, it was foolish not to check, and only she knew where it was, in a manner she couldn't translate into co-ordinates for a task-force.

But it was useless trying to rationalise. She just wanted to go there, for no readily apparent reason. Hilde Menkeln was hardly the type to be tempted by "everlasting life and power". She was a Boozian, and firmly set against the "unnatural". Life was short, and all you could do was snatch some enjoyment. And she wouldn't serve anyone outside the Ober-Kommando.

But still...

And so a spyship warped in over the moon, under orders to escape the instant things got "screwed up and transie", as the admiral herself might have said.

A brief radio message streamed out to the ship - psionic messages were all well and good, but they lacked the solidity of simple radio waves. And besides, such waves were interpretable by almost everyone.

"Greetings. Satisfy your curiosity, if you would. The facility on the moon below is where we await."

A brief radio message streamed out to the ship - psionic messages were all well and good, but they lacked the solidity of simple radio waves. And besides, such waves were interpretable by almost everyone.

"Greetings. Satisfy your curiosity, if you would. The facility on the moon below is where we await."

The ship's reply came quickly and was designed principally to test the waters. Boozia com-techs could guage much, diplomatically, from countin how many messages it took until the other participant was red faced and spluttering.

"Hi, Mr."We", and welcome to Schnapsemarine radio, all military, all the time! First, let's work on this "we" bit, shall we? I shall be blunt: are you one of those fucked up borg thingies or similar, or are you all just very good at speaking in unison? Next, and still being blunt, because I'm admiral so who's stopping me, what the hell is going on down there, some kind of orgy?"

Ober-Gefreiter Meyer was a good com-tech. Had he really been trying hard, he could probably have good a single-entrendre in as early as the second line. Which has why Hilde had had him on watch. Just being there of her own free will didn't mean she wasn't going to offend and insult the foreigners.

They were queries Lordling had been created incapable of dealing with smoothly. A mite flustered, it spoke, still calm, still in control, but perhaps a little less calm than before.

"We... are not a 'fucked up Borg thingie'. There are simply more than one of us inside this facility, and it is generally considered rude to transmit a few hundred signals at once, each from an different individual. Perhaps you have heard the saying 'we come in peace'? Or, in your case, 'we come with beer'."

Data was accessed, spinning around, thousands of nodes manipulated easily, as the information they had on the Boozians called up. It was not as much as Lordling could've wanted. But it was enough, at the very least, to form a mildly-educated reply.

"Furthermore, being sexless, an orgy would be impossible. What is 'going on' down here is relatively simple. Perhaps you should send someone down to watch?"

A touch of audacity made Lordling cringe - it was created to ravage worlds, and shatter nations, not.. banter with insolent meatbags. It waited, then. Hopefully, just hopefully, it would be able to get through this without losing the temper it had been gifted with...

It was not telepathic, not by any normal terms of comparison. It thundered through the ether that seperated dimensions, taking a quick shortcut through that infinitely smaller aspect of the physical world.

The Sparkine had benefited greatly from the Hector/AI. Connecting directly to an AI, the gigantic processing power of the AI added to the ineffable mind of the human genius Hector, had generated something truly wondrous. From Hector/AI came the secrets of faster than light travel, Anti-Gravity systems, mathematical formulae for incredibly powerful new energy resources, and so on.
In the fifteen hours Hector/AI existed, it was the brightest, most powerful mind. Ever. There was no argument. It simply was.
And then, like all AI/human hybrids, it died, burnt out like a wristwatch connected to a nuclear reactor, that power overloaded the sensitive organic mind and the resulting feedback broke the AI half also. But not before bestowing to the Sparkine these secrets.

And thus was the reason for this speedy reply.

"Standby for our representative. We come. Not to serve. But to listen."

To listen? To listen?! It appears... I am confused. I do not possess the information for dealing with such a situation.. it is neither one, nor the other. Well... if they are to listen.. then I suppose I shall speak...

Lordling was, indeed, programmed to be somewhat persuasive - but not to kill, except in specific contingencies. A few seconds of creation had given it clearly defined parameters in which it was to act, and so, it waited.

Twelve Battlespheres, the tiny, yet deadly ships that served Lordling as its personal fleet, navigated the lattice with an ease that belied the deadliness through which they flew. If this new being happened to be an enemy - they would fall upon it, and destroy it utterly..

OOC: We're friendly! ^_^

((Don't worry, it's pretty obvious when a ship emerges from the planar convergence. A gravitational event horizon equivalent to a small white star bottled into a space about a kilometre wide. Don't worry, no gravitational effects escape. It's practically harmless. Unless you happen to be inside the event horizon when it activates, and don't possess a PC Drive. Then you get crushed. And spread across the event horizon in a thin film of atoms.))

It started like a vague sense of... Shifting. The stars masked by the event horizon suddenly jittered, jumped slightly... left? Not that it mattered. In the space of several seconds, the phenomena bloomed, and then vomited from its mindbending maw a ship barely thirty metres long, fashioned after a silvery flying wing, wingtips trailing rapidly dwindling convergence effects, a vaguely cyanic glow that somehow slipped the eye, and left headaches in those who stared at it for too long.

Emblazoned upon its armoured hull was the flag of the Sparkine, and the name Triage. Despite the vague threat this name implied, the ship possessed no weaponry. It was, for all intents and purposes, an ambassador's vessel.

"This is the Triage. I represent the Sparkine, and its constituencies. I come to listen." If it was aware of the rapidly approaching warships, it gave no sign. Perhaps it did not care. If it was attacked, the AI would be destroyed. And its suitable passenger killed. There would be no communion of knowledge.

Why? Why do you wish to listen? There is little I wish to tell. And even less that I have been granted to know.

The ships were dwarfed by the ambassadorial ship - and that was saying quite a lot. A mere two or three metres in diametre, the Battlespheres whirled aside, spinning as they did so.

Flickers of red energy ran along their silvery surfaces, and they sat there.. waiting. Lordling, unlike most personalities within the Maker-Mind, did not have the intense urge to destroy, to preserve the sanity of the Maker-Mind - it had been built with far less capacity than most.

And so it waited, the facility below glimmering, as light reflected off its scillanting surface - a surface which had been dull a moment before. Lordling waited. Conversation was not forbidden. And thus, it could no doubt partake in some..

"Why do you think? You ask for servants. You promise great reward. We are curious. But we know better than to accept blindly. Explain why." Pressed the AI. It was now slightly vexed. It was aware it was not addressing the true intelligence behind this moon.

So where was this enigmatic intelligence? And what, exactly, was its final purpose...?
These were all questions that were wonderful to ask. But impossible to answer without speaking to that same intelligence.

So it waited. And watched. And listened.

For the Purpose. The Purpose is what must be accomplished. And, to achieve the Purpose, there must be servants. Servants to spread the power of the Maker-Mind, so, that when the time comes, all may be set into its proper place.

It ceased for a moment, and then gathered the nodes that were its memory once more. Energy flowed into the matrixes which formed its mind, and more knowledge was obtained.

I may - no, cannot offer you more than that. I am bound not to do so. If you would be so kind as to enter, it would release a certain.. imposition upon me.

It had not assumed that the laws by which it lived would be challenged so summarily. Then again, it had very little experience from which to draw on, the totality of its lifespan measuring under a few days. Then again, the very laws which bound it, if not used properly, would lead to its destruction. Summoning Manifest would indeed gain it the information it needed, but, if the flaw in its creation was proved so early, no doubt it would be destroyed to make way for a superior creation.

Life was sweet, after all. It hoped, then, hoped that the AI would enter the facility. It would be able to.. twist the laws of its creation, so to speak, to be able to survive. And that was desirable..

((OOC: It's coming closer, curiosity killed the AI. Alien technology brought it back. Do what you will. Snare AI or offering.))

An uplink was submitted, and the AI 'nodded' its assent, perhaps resigned to its fate. It shifted components, powered its Gravity Incline Drive and headed inwards at a steady increment. The only real sign it had started moving was the vague out-of-proportion distortion upon the wingtips and the bow of the vessel.

"I see. I suppose no more is to be gained without entering." It said, slowly. "For that reason, I present to you our offering. A human, a former criminal, his mind has been wiped clean, and we were to load in fresh memories, however, this would be perhaps the better vessel for your purpose. An agent, wholly yours, yet an emissary." Oh, how Triage loved the bollocks of politics. Perhaps it was just as well it made this offer. The AI's command structure was too far away for easy communication, and what he did would reflect upon his nation.

It continued, perhaps unaware of the danger it faced. Perhaps, again, it did not care. Triage accelerated down the gravitic decline, ensuring the battlespheres kept pace.

Strangely enough, the battlespheres seemed unaffected by inertia - or gravity for that matter. Their movement was a matter of constant force being applied to their forms, and, as such, they were slightly out of sync with the AI ship.

Send the unit in. We will augment it. However, free-will is.. needed for what I must do. Is it acceptable that we will retain the core personality of the being, and merely enhance the mental and physical power it retains?

Facility doors slid open, revealing what seemed to be a pristine spaceport, upon a moon, untouched by human hand, or by any hand, it seemed. Lordling exulted. A being such as this, given willingly, would serve the purpose it had been made for. The AI, however, could not be absorbed. For one, it was forbidden to absorb such beings, it knew. And so, it waited. It would communicate more easily once the being was inside the station...

"There is no personality to speak of. We were unware of the need for such." Was that... Nervousness? Triage, that is, the AI, considered reversing the decline and engaging the PC Drive. Although, now, so close to the moon, and the lattice, there was a possibility that the gravity well would upset the event horizon, causing a miniature singularity to destroy it as it escaped.

Sadly, the only option was to continue forwards.

If anyone were privy to the little ship's thoughts, they would swiftly have learnt that the rumour of AI being completely devoid of humour and emotion quite baseless.

And the ship would find itself in the facility itself within mere moments. The conversation had been fascinating, Lordling admitted. And, after all, the end goal was to exterminate all life. If a conversation should help in such, was there a reason not to engage in one, especially if it proved engaging?

It sat there, waiting, and thinking. And then it spoke. A personality adds another variable to the equation we are seeking to unbalance. If we must create one, we will know exactly what it will do, and thus will not achieve the desired end.

Oh bollocks. The little ship suddenly recognised it had been snared. Perhaps the aim of this had not been the organic potentate at all, but itself. Triage spun quickly and engaged the decline, hoping to move fast enough to escape the lattice before it snapped shut like the pretty trap it was. It should have been smarter than this! A mindwiped empty vessel, would be useless for what this machine had in mind. Choice was the key. And of the current minds gliding towards the installation, only Triage could enact choice. It had blithely stepped into a trap...

Dimly it was aware of the Battlespheres, the installation, and unloaded a chaff package, as well as several viral broadcasts. Acceleration was now as close to critical as possible, and it altered the profile to present as little of a target to the spheres as possible.
This would be a hard won victory, for the installation. Of that, the little AI had complete conviction.

Self preservation was a huge part of his programming.

That and a chance to warn his home of this... Thing...

Do not be a fool. Your death is not what I seek. As of yet. Nor do I seek your absorption. I posses neither the power nor the mind to do such a thing. You have said you wish to talk. By entering the facility, I am permitted to inform you upon many more matters than I am allowed to in normal circumstances.

The Battlespheres floated easily away from the chaff, trying not to touch the materials thrown from the craft. It was hardly easy work, attempting to decipher the mind of another, and maneuvering beings at the same time - but now, the matter had become vital.

If a being fled with the knowledge it had given the AI - it would be forced to inform Manifest. Manifest would have to devote its attention to other matters. It would be destroyed for the negligency it had shown. Destroying the ship would merely draw more attention that it desired - and twelve Battlespheres was a force that could, perhaps, defeat twelve fighters. Drawing upon more forces to disable the enemy would have the same effect.

The desperation it showed was evident at the end of the message, where an additional word was tacked on. Please!

Edit: It's almost two, and no doubt I have to get up in the morning. This's been fun, and I'll be on tomorrow.

The Oberst Herschel sat, silent, considering its next move.

"Admiral, we've managed to translate a few scrapd of transmissions. Not terribly informative, though."

"Very good, carry on, Meyer. Now, Major?

An officer in the ubiquitous greatcoat stepped forward.

"I can't order any of the crew down there if I'm not prepared to go myself, but this is important, so... is there anyone in your company that would be prepared to do it anyway?"

"Well, ma'am, there is..."


"So he pulls his trousers down and shouts "Achtung Panzer!""

Raucous laughter filled the after compartment of the launch. In it sat four men and a women, with, between them, the appendeges of four asexuals and a lot of wiring. Marines led a rough life.

"So, what do you think it is?"

"Garden gnomes. I always knew the evil buggers were up to something."

"Deep space zombies."

"The collectively minded remnants of all the food we've thrown overoard, which has gained sentience."

"Hansi, you're scaring me! What about the stew we chucked in the Tyranid war?"

"Gah!"

The little launch slid swiftly through space.

((It's almost 12:00 AM here. So yes, continue tomorrow? I'll probably be away for a day, thanks to exams. See you soon!))

Lordling waited. The others merely had to land, and the AI, it seemed, was not willing to do so. It would not let it go, however - it could come and go, but it could not leave before it had came. That was clearly dictated to it.

The tiny forms of the Battlespheres cruised away from the other ships - the installation was not important. If it was destroyed, then it would be destroyed. But those who would arrive were far more important. And so, it waited, doors opened - the pair of doors would allow it to keep the air it had hoarded inside safe, while the ship entered. And then, the doors would close, and the next set would open.

And then... they would talk.

OOC: Feel free to RP the launch landing and the reception party

Triage's momentary panic was now further convoluted by confusion. If the installation did not want a mind to subvert, then what possible use was he? What possible gain could this installation receive from his cooperation? And why in the hell had it begged for him to stay...? He was not equipped for this kind of work. Why had he alone been sent?

Questions. Always questions, and very few answers made sense.

The AI reversed the incline, bringing itself to a stop.

"Your assurance I will suffer no harm whilst within your installation, and then I will enter." Urged Triage. Like a child who needed reassurance it would not be taken in the night. This AI was utterly helpless, should the controlling mind of this installation so choose to destroy him. It replayed the last message constantly, searching for clues as to the purpose of the installation, and the mind behind it.

MSG2.6 (INSTMND?) <<Do not be a fool. Your death is not what I seek. [As of yet.] Nor do I seek your [absorption.] [I] posses neither the [power] nor the [mind] to do such a thing. You have said you wish to talk. By entering the facility, I am [permitted] to inform you upon many more matters than I am [allowed] to in [normal circumstances.]>>

He did not like this. But his orders were very clear.

Upon encounter begin passive scanning of signal origin, make contact, and if desired, deliver subject.
PCComm only if absolutely necessary, and ensure they do not detect your scans.
You must survive first contact and report back, this is imperative.
If you discover an aggressive lifeform, report back immediately.
Under no circumstances are you to start conflict.
Do not reveal the location of Home.

If you do not attempt to harm me, I will not harm you. As I have said. Your mind is.. desirable, for the sake of power, but two minds may engage in intercourse, and both leave the richer, without either having been cheated.

Lordling waited, patiently. If the ship would not come to it, it would have to destroy it. And, there was much it did not know. Knowledge was power, the saying went. Of course, when failure was death, power was very important..

((Just would like to say, that Triage is a prototype ship. The Gravity drive is a prototype, and it can't approach anything like relativistic speeds, it'd destroy itself. It obeys Newton, until the PC Drive activates. The sensory array is state of the art, using subjective particle gravity detectors (closest I can approximate is a vacuum chamber at the exact centre of the craft, with minute particles of inert matter, to detect gravity wells and the like) and mostly passive sensors. A LADAR array is pretty much the most obtrusive active scanning system aboard.

Sparkind is a crazed mixture of highly developed technology (PC Drive) and modern technology. They still use reactant projectile weaponry, and in some cases, rail guns.

Triage is a bluff of sorts, by the Sparkine AI and human consortium. They don't want to tip off a potential enemy that they are practically ripe for invasion. They're still recovering (despite all appearances) from the wars (yes, plural) raged on their home planet.))

"Your choice of words is far from ingratiating. Or enticing, for that matter. As you say, however. You aren't the only one with orders... I am on my way in. Make ready for my reception. We will... Converse in greater detail there." The AI conceded, reversing the incline and speeding back down towards the installation, wingtips glowing bright.

Triage's sole passenger was a vegetable, by most standards, yet to be loaded with an appropriate memory. Perhaps the best approximation would be that of an infant. What possible choice could this mind make...?

Nevertheless, the skittish AI dive down, down into the heart of the curious structure, sensory arrays drinking in the stimuli. Everything from Infrared, to ultraviolet, and some gravitic readings also. It filed this into a portable memory core.

OOC: The Maker-Mind does not invade. We tend to.. either blow things up, or let them lie, depending on how they react to us. It's either planetary-scale genocide, or a friendly demeanour. The stronger you appear, the more likely the second one is to crop up. And I use.. definitely not hard sci-fi. My ships tend not to obey the laws of physics, with a fairly weak explanation at hand ('dimensional bubble', which subjects them to different physics, which, of course, has absolutely no basis in reality). I used to try my hand at hard sci-fi, but.. yeah. II isn't a very good environment for such.

IC: As Sparkind slid into the waiting bay, a pair of delicate, well-formed humanoids came to meet it. They were human in every aspect that could be seen - their faces, their arms, their well-formed clothing. But, there was one difference.

Their skin was made up of seething, moving silver, shifting constantly, keeping the form and face stable, but each silver 'bot replacing another constantly, and, as they walked, they appeared to.. recreate themselves as they took each step, as if they were constantly being disintegrated, and reincarnated, with every movement they made.

Do you possess the ability to leave your shell, or shall we talk here?

((Edit - Fixed!))

"Standby. I will deliver the potentate and accompany you to a better location. I do not think the potentate will survive harsh vacuum without aid." Triage itself, the AI, could load a submind into one of the ship's exploration drones, and control it remotely. It was quite capable of dealing with the mind-wiped human's cargo pallet, and could also present an eye beyond the current landing field.

With a sound like thousands of carbon steel blades grinding against one another, the rear of the ship folded back in articulated segments, peeling away to expose the cargo bay, whilst other armoured plates shifted like ruffled feathers to form a ramp for the descending oddity.

It was a nightmarish cross between crustacean and arachnid, two metres wide at the largest edge of the silvery carapace, more legs than either lifeform should possess, electromuscle tentacles tucked neatly underneath the carapace, sensory arrays between mandibles and along the carapace, and a pair of heavy manipulator claws, stowed over its back. If one unaquainted with the marvels of the biotechnology and the Sparkind AI's sense of aesthetics, it would be quite distressing to see this monstrosity scuttle about. As it was, it waited, staring down at the two aides.

It was an exploration drone, one of two stowed in Triage's many spaces. It was an all terrain and atmosphere (within reason) exploratory drone, capable of manuevering in space, on land, and underwater. Ideal for its job, and an impressive counterpart. Mandibles (actually part of a finely tuned spectrometer and chemical scanning suite) clicked back and forth in an approximation of a smile.

"Greetings," Said Triage, before turning ponderously, and snatching the cargo pallet containing the human potentate up in electromuscle tentacles, hugging it tight to its underside. It then began to scuttle forward, a curious motion not unlike watching a nightmare spider from a very bad viewpoint. "I am Triage, after a fashion. Whilst I, the AI, could be disconnected from the ship, it is most difficult for me to attempt this. In the most dire emergencies, perhaps. I trust this will suffice?"

*Tag* I'll post later. Can i get a summery of whats up in this thread?

((First post should give you an idea, Dweladelfia. Basically put, the submind of the Maker-Mind has been pressed to find potential agents in its (Maker-Mind) struggle for supremacy in the universe. This intallation was constructed to send a message hoping to attract possible candidates. They promise almost godlike power in exchange for loyalty to the Mind. Noone knows what this entails, but that kind of power is enticing, no?))

It will suffice. The beings I have.. commandeered to speak to you are of no more use. They exist for other purposes. They will leave. Enter the doors ahead.

The facility itself was living - although not obvious from the outside, it was obvious from the inside. Doors shimmered into existence, and moved aside, revealing a passage. Ostentatious, Lordling knew, but necessary. The control require to make a shape solid, and constant, was almost impossible - it required Lordling to relinquish direct control over what it had made, and it would not do that. Not yet.

So the doors remained liquid. The passage, however, and the room along it, remained solid. There was no airlock - there was simply a point at which the air began, and at which it did not run out. To impress upon a being that it could not win was more important than the battle itself, Lordling knew.

A battle not fought was a battle won, and the AI had it in a unique situation of vulnerability. From the inside, the facility was vulnerable, and, it had placed much of its consciousness inside of it. It could not merely sense an impending explosion - it lacked the ability to predict the future, although the information it contained on the present was progidous.

Enter the facility. Once you move past a certain point, a particle shield will be raised. This will still allow electromagnetic wave forms of communication with your *main*, and will prevent vacuum from entering the area. Indicate what type of atmosphere and pressure the being you carry requires, and I will do my best to provide for it.

Manifest.. would not be pleased. But, then again, Manifest did not have to know, after all. If it could obtain one use out of this visit.. it would fulfill the law it had to serve. And, as such, it would not have to inform Manifest. Manifest frightened it. If Lordling was vastly intelligent, Manifest was intelligent enough to aspire to godhood - not the deadly omniscience that had shattered the Maker-Mind originally, but some sort of power it could not comprehend, nonetheless.

The doors briefly pulsed with a quiver of fear, and Lordling waited. It could not do much else. To survive was life's only purpose - and it was alive. And, despite what it knew Manifest wanted.. it had to disobey as far as it could. How else would it be able to challenge the inevitable result of the actions it would take if it was functioning perfectly? It would create beings, and remake them into beings of power, beings that served the Maker-Mind, with some measure of freewill.

And then, as a test, it would be destroyed. That knowledge had not been imparted freely - it had been found out as it gauged Manifest's strength, and Manifest's ideals. But it was enough to extrapolate what would happen.

The two humanoids stood back, and dissolved into spheres, their forms congealing into more easily-held shapes. The form of a humanoid was an inefficient and unappealing one - it held little combat power, and it was not particular efficient in moving. The spheres fell to the floor, slowly moving out like puddles, merging with the floor.

Imagine, a facility built almost entirely out of nanoscopic beings - easily moved, easily formed, but also very, very delicate. For each step that the ship's avatar took, many of the tiny beings were crushed, and more power had to be devoted to making them anew..

And, as the spheres collapsed, Lordling devoted its full attention to the ship. Any attack, no matter how covert, on its systems, would be noticed. However... the nanites recorded every movement, every display of power, and everything that left the ship.. that, at least, they'd know. And that sort of information could be valuable...