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Chapter Text

Ark-ship Sol, Interstellar Space near Crab Nebula Pulsar, Sanguineous Rim

December 31st, M42.100.483

T - 14:04hrs

I took a deep breath, trying to get comfortable in my medical harness, and held a spindly hand in front of myself. I touched my fingers and thumb together, running from index finger to pinky, savoring the feeling of having hands.

It's funny. I'm only 103 years old, but that was more than enough time to take having hands for granted.

I'm going to miss them.

I craned my head to look out the window. Windows were a rare luxury on the Ark-ships. For as massive as they were, each carrying a civilization of a billion souls, only the outermost layer of their structure could look out upon the stars. I had never seen the outside before, but after being chosen as an Exporator I had been afforded such luxuries.

Faintly in the distance I could even see other Arks, each appearing as a pointlike glint from this distance. The Arks had never come this close to each other. In the millions of years since the Calamity they each had travelled as a loose cluster, rarely visiting the same star and only communicating by radio.

But today was special.

My thoughts were interrupted by a doctor moving in, grabbing the foothold with her toes. Orifices in her neck released puffs of gas to halt her movement as she turned to face me.

"Ms. Dituri?" she said. "We're about to begin anesthesia. Are you ready?"

I closed my eyes and let out a breath. This was it.

"Yes," I replied.

The doctor nodded and retrieved a mask on the end of a tube, fastening it to my face. The harness tightened, holding me still. She took the tablet floating next to her and tapped on the screen.

"Beginning anesthesia," she said. I took a deep breath, and the world faded away.

18 hours earlier

Ark-ship Sol, Interstellar Space near Crab Nebula Pulsar, Sanguineous Rim

December 30th, M42.100.483

T - 1d, 8:35hrs

"So, Ms. Dituri, for anyone unfamiliar, can you describe the Explorator Program?"

It was a rhetorical question on the part of the interviewer. Not a single Spacers didn't know about the single most important news item of the last million years. This interview had been pre-rehearsed, though, and the question served to remind people of the importance of what was to come.

The room was immaculate and clean, designed to resemble those of ancient Sol. We sat in chairs bolted to the floor, sitting across a table similarly fastened. The chairs were pointless, of course; we held ourselves in place in the microgravity using our toe-holds, with occasional puffs from our thrust-orifices.

We were dressed in the style of ancient Sol, as was the fashion. The effect was ruined by our slender, elongated bodies, but the historical implication was clear. Both of us had hair styled with binding agents, hers in smooth waves and mine in a practical ponytail, holding locks in place as though we were in gravity. Our clothes were made of smart materials, able to hold themselves rigid to produce the illusion, her in an immaculate, beautiful dress and me in my drab ceremonial uniform.

I envied her. It would be nice to feel pretty one last time before losing my body.

"Of course," I said, repeating the line she had practiced many times, "About a century ago, all signals of the Great Enemy disappeared. With light-lag, that means they ceased about 7,000 years ago. As far as all sensors can detect, the Qu are gone."

I paused for effect, as planned, knowing this recording would be watched billions of times in generations to come. "But we don't know if they are truly gone."

"So that's good news? We can return to our people's home?" Asked the interviewer. She played the role of the ignoramus well in this quasi-Socratic dialogue.

"Not yet. We need to make sure they're truly gone. It could be a trap," I said, "We also can't let the Qu know we exist. That's the tricky part."

After the millions of years since our ancestor's flight from the Qu, it was sometimes easy to forget that we were refugees. It was why we had confined ourselves to our Ark-ships, with strict limits on how large each ship could be.

"I understand precautions have been put in place to ensure the security of the Ark-ships?" She lead.

"Yes," I replied, "the Explorators will contain no data on the Ark-ships, and when they send back signals, it will be pulsed from interstellar space to a billion separate stars, only one of which contains an Ark-ship."

"And what of the data within your mind? Could the Qu get it from there?" The interviewer asked. Her question was carefully phrased to avoid mentioning the horrific details of *how* the Qu would get it.

"Each ship is fitted with eight redundant detonators for its hyper-fusion reactor," I recited, "In addition to four redundant antimatter charges which will be implanted within our brains. Upon any of them activating, not a single DNA strand will remain."

"Wow, you seem pretty devoted to the project!" She said, smiling.

"All of the candidates for the Explorator Program are," I said, "this undertaking requires sacrifice of our bodies and lives, but we give them gladly. For the good of the Arks, and for the future of our people."

That was part of the reason I was selected for Ark-ship Sol's Explorator, out of tens of millions of applicants: lack of family tying me down. Spacers rarely died, our medicine capable of extending lifespans indefinitely, but I had taken a great loss. An anchor failure during a family reunion killed all but two of the Dituri line, crushing them under an immense 500 milli-G's of acceleration.

How ironic that I'd be sacrificing my own body to survive a thousand times that force.

"Now, we have a few questions from our viewers..."

Ark-ship Sol docking gantry, Interstellar Space near Crab Nebula Pulsar, Sanguineous Rim

December 31st, M42.100.483

T - 13mins

The feeling of waking up in a new body is something few ever experience, but I had been preparing for this for decades.

I had seen my new body beforehand, from the observation decks of the Ark's main docking bay, from flying a shuttle around its perimeter, and even through the helm of a voidsuit to tour its interior.

My senses were all there, but mapped to new sensors. My skin was at a comfortable 194 Kelvin, and I could feel the holding struts which held me in place pressing in. I could hear the ever-present sound of close-range radio chatter in my ears. My lungs pumped liquid Hydrogen to be consumed by the hyper-fusion reactor in my heart.

I stretched my toes, causing electromagnetic coils to surge, generating immense fields which fluctuated as I wriggled them. I tried to move, but contained in the holding struts, the fusion drive had been disabled. That would have to wait.

I willed my eyes to open, causing hundreds of video feeds from inside and outside my body to become visible. Simultaneously, I could see the truss holding me in place, the mass of the Ark-ships, the Crab Nebula we orbited, and every star in the sky. I could see the surface of my skin, the insides of my fuel tanks, my fusion reactor heart, and finally, I could see my brain comfortably nestled in the center of it all, suspended in a tank of gel.

Of my old body, little remained. My brain was there, electrodes dotting its surface and connectors wired into the visual cortex. My brain stem extended down into a section of my spine, with each and every nerve being fed into a spider's nest of wires. The entire thing, held in an incompressible gel and reinforced with organic hardeners throughout by nervous system, all to handle the immense acceleration I'd soon endure.

A voice interrupted my reverie, the words ringing in my radio ears. "Enterprise, Ark-ship Sol, this is Captain Andrei, how do you read?"

I knew who it was. Captain Andrei, the leader of Ark-ship Sol for the past 50,000 years. The Ark-ships were technically still under martial maritime law, even after millions of years of flight, and while he didn't involve himself in civilian affairs, his word was law.

As my new body was technically a spacecraft, it was necessary to observe protocol when communicating.

"Ark-ship Sol, Enterprise, I read you five by five sir," I said.

"What's your status? Will we be good for launch?"

"Nominal," I said, minding my language around the Captain, "all systems green."

"Good," he replied, "I have a ceremony to attend, but you are cleared for launch at T equals zero. Safe travels."

"Roger," I said.

I was left there in my own thoughts. I could see the broadcast of the launch ceremony, but I didn't care. It was all just procedure.

I wasn't happy that the last words I would hear from another human were from someone other than my mother, but protocol was protocol.

Instead, I turned my thoughts to my fellow Explorators of the other Ark-ships. When we were chosen, we were all asked to name our new ship-bodies after historical craft.

Sanela chose "Vostok", after the pod the first voidman rode. Matej picked "Wufang", after the first ship to visit his home system. Miłogost chose "Piorun", after a legendary watership that made a heroic stand against a superior foe, the implications with the Qu made obvious.

Arek found the exercise pointless, and named his "Kamchatka" as a joke, frequently asking if we had seen Qu missile ships. No one else found it funny.

Myself, I had chosen "Enterprise", a name used often in Sol's antiquity. It had been the name used by stalwart and vaunted warboats and warships, but also by fellow explorators of the stars, real and fictional.

The countdown neared it's end. Over the broadcast tens of thousands of voices could be heard in the crowd, counting down from ten like rocket launches of old.

The support crew all gave a "go" response, and the countdown struck zero.

Explosive bolts fired, severing the link from me to the Ark-ship. My hyper-fusion heart surged, draining Hydrogen tanks and compacting them, creating Helium, Lithium, Carbon, all the way down to Iron, and expelled it at relativistic speeds through the electromagnetic engine bell at my stern.

I cleared the Ark-ship in moments. In the corners of my eyes, I could see the glint of the other Ark-ships brighten as the fusion drives of my fellow Explorators surged in unison, delayed a few seconds from light-lag.

Slowly, I ramped up the power. 5 percent, 10 percent, 20, I accelerated harder than any human could survive, let alone a Spacer's fragile body.

But I was no longer human.

Hours stretched into days stretched into months, and I settled into the voyage. As I reached relativistic speeds, I could feel the sparse atoms of the interstellar medium pound away at my skin, like millions of machine gun bullets hitting me every second. My ablative skin held fast, and I saw the yellow glow of the Orion Spur shift into blue.

This speed wasn't just for expediency. Normally a journey of this length would require a craft containing a small civilization to endure the passage of time. But with just me and a few repair machines, I would surely break down or die within centuries. But thanks to Einstein, travelling faster would slow down my local time.

As the relativistic time dilation came into effect, those hypervelocity bullets intensified in both power and frequency as I passed through greater volumes of space in what was, to me, less time. This journey would take over 7000 years, but for me, it would last only 200.

At this distance it would be impossible to resolve an image of any single star, but I imagined the warm glow of Sol at the end of my journey, its rays basking upon my pointed nosecone as I sped towards it faster at speeds no human had reached in millions of years.

Distantly, a mother watched her only child leave and wept.

I was coming home.

Chapter Text

Enterprise, Inter-spur space near Orion Spur

January 6th, M42.107.610

T + 7126y, 5d

My topor faded as the timer neared zero. It came faster than I thought.

It's strange, I had always imagined the sensory deprivation would be the hardest part of the voyage, but it seemed to pass by with ease. I'm uncertain how long it took, but eventually I settled into a state of not sleeping, yet not being awake. The years passed without even noticing.

Well, it's time to start braking.

My toes flexed, and the electric grid forming the electromagnetic engine nozzle deflected, directing the exhaust to the side. Slowly, steadily, my body turned, the nose cone deflecting into the oncoming radiation of the interstellar medium, exposing the hull of my body. I began to spin up, wobbling around to expose the body evenly, throttling the engine down and allowing the interstellar medium to slow me.

I stayed like that for a decade, eventually turning myself fully sideways. I was much slower now, but still approaching Sol at extreme speed. I turned backwards, burning the last bit of my Hydrogen to bleed off more speed.

It was time to begin the next stage.

I turned my body to face forwards once more, and braced myself. As predicted by stellar models, Jupiter was lined up. It was out of alignment, but easily corrected with extra thrust. Carefully, I aimed myself to its edge.

A few years later, my nose entered Jupiter's atmosphere like a bullet through flesh, passing through the outermost reaches and back into space in moments. The shockwave sent a jolt through my spine, rattling my skin.

Aerobraking was complete, but I was still too fast. Next was photobraking.

Just like with Jupiter, I entered the photosphere of Sol, but its size made it less sudden. However, it was no less intense. My hull groan and creaked, the ablative surface of my skin burning away into ashes. By the time I exited on the far side, it was a thin shell, barely half a meter thick. A short burst of thrust was sufficient to enter orbit, just a bit beyond Mercury's.

The realization hit me slowly. I was home. I was in Sol, the birthplace of humanity, our long lost cradle in the stars, around which lay Mother Earth and Daughter Mars.

And not a Qu in sight.

Enterprise, Sol System, interplanetary space

September 23rd, M42.107.693

T + 7,209y, 264d

Compared to the mighty pencil-shaped hull of my outer shell, the rest of me was downright scrawny.

At the front was an elaborate truss structure, covered in an array of sensors, scanners, probes, and telescopes. Next, a spherical shell covering the vital components and my brain. Then, a series of four spherical tanks with reserve Hydrogen mounted radially on a truss, which fed into a bulbous hyper-fusion reactor and the wireframe of its large electromagnetic engine bell.

Small reaction thrusters burned like orifice-thrusters, pulling me back from the shell and revealing the delicate parts within. Sensors which had never seen the light of day were exposed to space for the first time. One at a time, each instrument was powered, deployed, and tested until my full senses were active.

Eagerly, I deployed my telescopes, desparate to get the first glimpse of Earth and Mars.

But there was nothing.

I adjusted my orbit, recalibrated the telescope, even pointed it at every other planet and planetoid in the system. Mercury, Ceres, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto, Eris. Each of them roughly where they should be, but not quite.

The anomaly in the orbits perturbed me. My integrated computers came to life, performing simulations and calculations based on my measurements.

They came to only one conclusion. Sometime between the Calamity and now, Earth and Mars had vanished, like they were never there. The altered orbits of the other planets and the mathematics were clear.

There was no mistaking it. They were gone.

Desperately, I searched the habitable zone for clues. Something. Anything.

What I found was a small beacon, emitting sounds which resembled unknown languages. I was partway through attempting to decipher it when suddenly, in perfect trade English, it said a message.

THE PEOPLE OF THESE WORLDS HAVE BLASPHEMED AGAINST NATURE AND QU.

 

THEY DARED TO CONTROL WHAT WAS OURS AND HAVE BEEN PUNISHED FOR THEIR INSOLENCE.

 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

I held there, idle, my mind emptying as I felt the last of my hope die.

Gone. They were gone. Mother Earth and Daughter Mars, even Sister Luna and the Glitter Band, all wiped from the face of the universe.

I knew I might see horrors. I had prepared myself to see humans in chains, mass graves of the dead, or even our worlds reduced to glass. Even then, there would be satisfaction in finding our ancestor's grave and setting foot on our old home.

But this?

It was like a loved one dying and not even having a body to bury.

I wailed with a voice that no longer existed, my body shaking back and forth. My radio blared, broadcasting garbage data. I tried to cry, but had no eyes. I tried to hold my face, but I had no hands.

I just sat there, catatonic, in a dreamlike silence, unable to process reality. My brain faded. When I came to, I checked the clock.

A hundred years had passed.

I was beset by the realization of just what I had become. I was an inhuman construct, unable to cry, to grieve, so detached from reality that a hundred years could pass without me so much as noticing.

I had sacrificed so much. I had given away everything. My future, my family, my body, my very humanity. And what was it all for?

An empty void.

The Qu's cruelty knew no bounds.

Chapter Text

Enterprise, Sol System, interplanetary space

February 10th, M42.107.790

T + 7306y, 39d

I couldn't cry forever.

As a machine, I couldn't cry at all. But machines shouldn't cry.

I had made a Faustian bargain, selling my soul to explore the cosmos. I needed to explore. It was my purpose.

So I explored.

Rigorously, meticulously, I travelled the Sol system, scanning every planet, moon, and rock. There was nothing. No sign of our once-mighty stellar empire, no sign anyone had ever been aside from pock-marks of craters where antimatter bombs had detonated eons ago as the Qu sacked our homes. The destruction was total.

Trillions once lived here, in towering city-spires, orbital rings, immense buckyballs of rotating cylinders, hollowed-out asteroids; we had taken the solar system that was our birthright and used it for all it was worth. We had inhabited every inch, filled every niche, a mighty citadel that was the envy of all other systems. And they wiped it all clean.

It must have taken millions of years just to find us all. They didn't even leave behind ruins or any of their own structures. It was as if all they wanted was to return it to the state it was in before humanity. But why? To send a message? And why leave? Why now?

As I prepared to send my message home, a thought struck me.

Enceladus.

A tiny, icy moon of Saturn, and the only place in Sol where life emerged besides Mother Earth. It was just single-celled organisms feeding off the chemical soup, heated by tidal effects, but it was the first time humanity knew it wasn't the only life out there.

Microbes from visiting spacecraft had long since driven the native life to extinction, an occurrence that would eventually become commonplace as we expanded. It was no huge loss, as we soon discovered that non-intelligent life existed all over, often serving as brief inconveniences when creating a colony before they could be replaced.

But if the Qu wanted to remove all traces of humanity, what would they have done with it?

Enterprise, Sol System, Enceladus

November 18th, M42.107.790

T + 7,306y, 320d

Exploring the subsurface oceans of Enceladus posed a challenge. I would need to create a submersible, then find a way through the outer crust.

First, I used probes and cables to grapple a metallic asteroid and a large chunk of ice from Saturn's rings, providing an ample supply of materials and water. These were deposited within the massive pencil-shaped hull I had doffed when I arrived at Sol, which was sealed and then gently spun to simulate a bit of gravity.

Using tiny spider-like robots, I began assembling a small set of manufacturing equipment, cutting out bits of hull for material. This equipment was crude, consisting of 3D printers and CNC machines that wouldn't have looked out of place in an ancient history museum. But they would suffice.

I slowly began machining and printing, creating a small army of drones for mining, refining, and manufacturing. These would serve as my immune system and digestive system to allow me to sustain myself and create new components.

I began construction of a new body, a tiny submersible to explore the oceans of Enceladus. It consisted of a small sphere of titanium containing batteries, electronics, and my own brain to isolate them from the pressure. It had electric thrusters to push itself, a grasping arm, and a small array of sensors.

I entered the subsurface via a cryovolcano, holes in the ice from which water could emerge. The rear propeller, one much larger and more powerful than the rest, was pushed to its limit to fight the force of the water, but soon, I was in.

When I opened the infrared camera that was my eye, what I saw was beyond description.

Far from the soup of single-celled organisms, instead I saw an entire reef, a veritable forest of plant life extended outwards from the geothermal vents that sustained them.

I descended upon one of them, an odd root-looking plant with ferns that collected nutrients, and scanned it using a DNA sequencer. It closely matched that of... A North American redwood tree?

The story was the same for every other species I found, each one closely matching an unrelated plant or sometimes even being a chimeric hybrid of unrelated species! Some of them were actually animals or fungi, ranging from slime mold to chinchillas, now turned into what were effectively plants.

I detected movement. What appeared to be an octopus was being chased by a large fish with a hook-like beak. The fish emitted chirp-like pulses, echoing off the surrounding surfaces. The octopus creature, darting forth with its many limbs, spat out a small orb, which began to shake and make noise.

Distracted by the orb, the fish sliced into it with its beak, and it popped like a balloon. The fish lashed in frustration at the distraction, and gave chase to the octopus once more.

I should have just watched, but I had a strange sense of sympathy for the octopus. It appeared to be wounded, unable to escape.

I deployed the sample laser from my manipulator arm and shined it at the fish. It reacted immediately to the unfamiliar sensation, thrashing about. It didn't appear to harm it, but it seems to have activated some sort of instinctual response, shying away from the light and fleeing.

The octopus creature sat alone, apparently resting upon a rock, breathing water in and out deeply. Slowly, I approached it, my propellers whirring.

It seemed to turn to face me, a set of four ears pivoting in my direction. We stared at each other for a moment, and it tilted its head in curiosity.

Now that I could see it more closely, it seemed to be an eight-limbed creature, with each multi-jointed limb ending with several jointed digits, one set much longer than the other. It was covered in a thin layer of fur, mostly brown with a few black spots.

I extended a manipulator arm towards it to try to grab it, but then noticed I was still carrying a plant sample, a small stick broken off from some coral. I dropped it.

The octopus-creature immediately darted forwards, grabbed it in its four-jawed mouth, and then spat it out next to me.

I picked it up, and then gave it a slight toss.

It darted towards it, snatched it in its maw, and spat it out to me once more.

Having an idea, I picked it up and placed it in a propeller tube, using it to launch the stick.

The creature took off after it, grabbed it, and quickly returned.

We repeated this process a dozen times, and each time it dutifully retrieved the stick and returned it.

Extending the manipulator arm, I grabbed a small tuft of fur, and scanned it.

Near perfect match with: Canis lupus familiaris.

A dog. Male.

I decided to name him "Spot".

ANATOMICAL REPORT
DECEMBER 7TH, M42.107.790
AUTHOR: ANA DITURI
SUBJECT: MUTANT CANIS LUPUS FAMILIARIS "SPOT"

Subject is 1.6m long from snout to end of limbs. Central body is 0.7m long, with limbs up to 1m in length.

Subject's anatomy is unique in that it appears to be two genetically identical individuals interconnected into one body, with connected brains acting as one. Subject's mouth consists of both individuals jaws such that there are four separate jaws forming a snout. Subject's ears and noses are on the face, with no eyes on account of the lack of light. Subject appears to sense entirely via sound and smell.

Subject's limbs are long and spindly, with six webbed for propulsion and the remaining two optimized for grasping. Subject swims in a similar manner as an octopus or squid.

A behavior had been observed in which it disgorges an unknown organ, which emits sound to serve as a distraction. This has only been observed once.

Subject is capable of surviving both deep pressure as well has vacuum; this may be an adaptation to allow it to flee to the surface of Enceladus.

It is unclear at this time as to how the subject came to be in this form, as no known force of adaptation could result in such an unusual specimen.

Manipulation by Qu is considered likely.

Enterprise, Sol System, Enceladus

January 4th, M42.107.791

T + 7,307y, 3d

Refueling of the ship from the comet was done. I replaced all the expendable components with new ones. I slid myself back into the pencil-shaped shell, which was now covered in a layer of ice to replace the metal which had ablated away.

I ran through a mental checklist, making sure everything was stowed. Sensors, powered down. Radiators, retracted. Drones, stowed. Spot, comfortable and playing with his stick.

I repurposed one of the auxiliary hydrogen tanks as an aquarium. Spot and a few select small animals and plants rested within. I had also constructed a hydroponics with some algae to ensure he had enough food. He would be kept comfortable within my body's aluminum womb.

Sailors in the olden days of yore would sometimes bring hounds with them on great journeys. It brought a sense of satisfaction to be doing the same, in a sense. It helped distract me from my grief.

I would likely need to adapt the medical nanobots used for my own longevity, depending on his lifespan. It would make me run out sooner, but I was lonely enough to trade for a little companionship.

At the thought of my loneliness, I turned an eye towards where I had come from, the Crab Nebula. The Ark-ships would have long since fled there to avoid possible Qu investigation, but I had no idea where Ark-ship Sol would have gone. That information was strictly kept secret from me to ensure the Qu could never extract it.

Was my mother out there, looking back at Sol? Did her heart grieve for the loss of her daughter, as mine did the loss of our homeworlds?

Or had she forgotten me in the 7,000 years since I left?

Time dilation meant it had only been a bit over two hundred years for me, but for her? Seven millennia was more than enough time to forget one's grief and move on. She no doubt had found love and started a new family in that time.

She only knew me for a hundred years, after all.

Barely an eyeblink.

I turned away from my selfish sentimentality. I had a job to do.

I departed with little fanfare, aimed directly at Alpha Centauri. I would only reach 30% lightspeed this time, as time dilation was no longer needed for such a short journey.

At the halfway point. I left behind a beacon. It was a fusion bomb, shaped such that it produced lasers of gamma rays. At these distances, it was the only way to send a message back.

As secrecy was paramount for my mission, I was only to send a message from interstellar space to ensure the lasers would miss any listeners in the vastness of space. But just in case, it fired the message a hundred times, each directed towards randomly predetermined points in space, only one of which had a probe listening. Any possible listeners would never know which one was the real one.

Shaped charges crushed Plutonium, which crushed Hydrogen, which fused into Helium, letting out a tremendous amount of energy in the form of gamma waves. The shape of the explosion was carefully tuned such that the gamma ray burst was amplitude-modulated, allowing for a brief message to be encoded within.

QU PRESENCE NEGATIVE.
HUMAN PRESENCE NEGATIVE.

EARTH AND MARS GONE.

DEPARTING FOR ALPHA CENTAURI.