Book 16-2.2: Movers and Shakers

They sat in a darkened room, with almost no source of light except that from a computer's screen. Or rather, a dozen screens arrayed around them. The room was dry and hummed with the sound of tiny cooling fans and electricity coursing through thick cables. Two of them were reclined on what could only be called a pod: tubes attached to gadgets that were, in turn, hooked into their bodies. The screens flickered as each one contained dozens of windows, each showing a video feed. From CCTVs, live feeds from the Network, television shows, and movies. 

There were a couple of screens wherein lines of code quickly appeared and scrolled up as more were written, only to disappear once they reached the upper border. The code screen moved from monitor to monitor, and every time it did, an alert window would pop up, followed by either a video clip or a map with a flashing dot. 

[Side A: Suspected trigger event in X144 Y235, Masha County.]

[Side B: Gathering data. Analysing data. False match.]

[Side A: Purge.]

[Side B: Purge.]

The two of them did not communicate through voice, physical or mental, but through the connection wrought through the Network. They exchanged hundreds of such messages every second, and only once during the past hour did the contents change.

[Side A: Suspected trigger event in X039 Y102, Jiran County.]

[Side B: Gathering data. Analysing data. Error. Insufficient and broken packets.]

[Side A: Suspect.]

[Side B: Affirmative. Send an investigation team.]

[Side A: Concur.]

A message was sent, though it moved towards two recipients. Through the electric webs and wires, one message reached a bright place and was acknowledged with ease. The other was sent to a node that was twisted in on itself, with folded spaces and spiralling connections. The message's representation even looked furtive, small. The hidden node received the message without acknowledgement. 

Time held no meaning as the twins were deep within the darkness of the Network. They weren't the only administrators, nor could they really claim dominion over the vast web. Astoria's Network was relatively new, but it also crossed national boundaries. Northern Astoria was dominated by the Republic. They only had two-thirds of the livable area—roughly only a third of all the available land. The desolate parts were mountains, wildlands, and deserts. The remaining third of livable land was occupied by a few small city-states in the cold, northern frontier, and to the south of the Republic was a patchwork of small countries that ruled over the land bridge to the southern continent. 

That patchwork of countries could contain as few as five nations or as many as a couple of dozen, depending on which warlord was in ascendance. Since building infrastructure to host the Network was a spotty business at best, updates on that front were often delayed by a matter of days if not weeks. High Altitude Communication Orbs, designated HACO, allowed the Network to exist without relying completely on underground cables, but some warlords in Patchwork didn't like HACOs hovering above their territory. Loss of valuable equipment for temporary use was deemed too wasteful. 

On the other hand, Network connection to Southern Astoria was maintained by undersea cables, though only on the coastal city-states. The interior was in too much turmoil to properly build. 

Flickers on the screen interrupted the twins' rumination. 

[Side A: Complication. Dimensional breach detected. Official team dispatched.]

[Side B: Official representation present.]

[Side A: Subdirective needed. Information sent.]

Then they continued to monitor Network transmission within their designated region. Other Technopaths covered the rest of the Republic, but the twins had the greatest reach. Their nature and ability to synchronize allowed the Republic to make better use of resources that could be used elsewhere. Technopaths were rare after all. A pity for the government that the twins weren't quite as objective as they wanted them to be. 

It was their own fault. Coercion does not make for willing cogs. 

[Side B: Fluctuating heart rate, elevated blood pressure. Impose calm.]

[Side A: Acknowledged.]

Some time later…

[Side A: Estimated group trigger event.]

[Side B: Beginning surveillance.]

The monitors created small windows and showed video clips. Some were from security cameras, but most were either official broadcasts, recordings, or live streams from mobile devices. Nine different people were featured prominently within the windows. The twins left the windows open to observe for a few minutes, then protocol would be to move the streams to compile and for a team of analysts to comb through. 

Except…

After an hour, only one of the windows was left open, though that was split into several segments. 

[Side A: Elevated heart rate and blood flow. Irregular body functions noted.]

[Side B: Elevated heart rate and blood flow. Irregular body functions noted.]

[Side A: Remove estimated source of irregularity.]

[Side B: Noted.]

Yet even after an hour had passed, the window remained open. 

_____________

The meditation chamber was austere, merely a perfect sphere with a raised seat that placed Wyllan Caina at the very centre. The chamber was only six paces wide, but the entirety of the interior walls were covered in runescript enchantment and electronic sensors. He sat in a meditative pose, clad only in a pair of boxers. Eyes closed and hands together, fingers intertwined into the Ignition Sigil. His Anima boiled out of his body and pressed up against the walls. The pressure he exerted pushed against the sensors, and a couple of numbers appeared on a screen across from him: 20 paces, 10.1x.

Wyllan took a deep breath, then pulled back his Anima. He twisted it into tendrils and mirrored the way his fingers were intertwined. He took another deep breath then held it. With his lungs filled almost to bursting, he twisted his fingers in a way that made a small snap. 

His Anima, normally a light blue, flared into a deep vermillion. It spread towards the edges of the room. Agony. Bone deep and burning. But it was nothing he hadn't endured before. It was something Wyllan, no, every Ancient of the Conclaves got used to. Anima Ignition was both a training tool and a desperate measure. 

As his Anima burned, he pulled it closer to his body. The oath of Ignition followed carefully prepared paths along his Anima, and he took great pains to keep the burning away from his core. The process was long and drawn out, the pain excruciating. It took all he had not to extinguish the process. Not yet. Not yet. 

Finally, a minute later, an eternity and an instant, he released a ragged breath. At the same time, his Anima stopped burning, the flames receded, and only embers remained. It took ten times as long before he could recover, then he expanded his Anima. The entire chamber was filled with his light, but where it was once a uniform blue colour, now, jagged lines, dark yet smouldering, made patterns all across the space. Everything was covered, but by volume, only about a tenth of his Anima had Ignited. He pressed it against the sensors, wincing in pain. 

18 paces. 10.11x.

Wyllan sighed. Frustrated. But he knew that progress would be slow once he hit his limit. Twenty paces of reach was exceptional for an Actualised since it was fully twice what was needed to advance to the next stage. If only it were that easy. An increase of 0.01 in terms of density might seem small, but with how much he'd already packed within his reach, it grew harder and harder every time. He should work on his Ennoia instead, but that one required contemplation, as well as trial and error, whereas Anima expansion only required grit and patience. Switching between the two allowed him to keep everything relatively fresh, and the Lords knew he needed it. Three decades…

It took another couple of hours before he was well enough to get dressed. He fingered his long ears while he ruminated on a dozen different things. He shook his head and unpartitioned his mind, bringing all dozen consciousnesses back to a single one. Spending too much time with too many strands of consciousness wasn't healthy and was not recommended unless he was in battle. 

Once he got dressed, he left his meditation chamber, though only after he checked how long it would take for his Anima to recover to his previous reach. 40 hours. 

If he spent time meditating in recovery, he could cut that time in half, but he would have to be in seclusion for that. According to the schedule, he didn't have the luxury to spend time doing nothing. 

The chamber opened into a hallway. Voidship Illustrious was the Hartdel Defiant's flagship, a carrier-class ship nearly a couple of longstrides long. She housed a crew of a thousand, though a minimum of twenty-five could fly the ship across the Void Ocean. Not well, and if they were attacked, they wouldn't be able to fight back effectively, but if a skeleton crew was all that was left, then all would have been lost anyway. 

The Illustrious' complement included nine squadrons of fighters and bombers, as well as ten landing craft for the three thousand marines she held. The gigantic Voidship couldn't travel alone considering how relatively slow and clumsy she was at manoeuvring, and the fleet included two cruisers and two destroyers, as well as a logistics and repair ship that wasn't brought into battle.

He was headed to the bridge, casually strolling. Sailors and marines who saw him gave a respectful nod. Hartdel Defiant was considered a Sha'ledras faction, but not all crewmembers were of his race. There were humans, Durandal, and beastkin amongst his crew and they were treated the same as any other. The Defiant stood against racial supremacists at its core, even if the events that led to its formation were long in the past. Then too, he was a member of the Conclave of Conquest and wasn't officially part of the ruling council. His entire Circle were Sha'ledras, however, and he reckoned that they were one of the few who were all Sha'ledras all across the Great Continent and beyond. 

He arrived at the bridge and was acknowledged by Admiral Araven, an older woman more than twice his age. She practiced the traditional Sha'ledras Arts so her body was trim and muscular and her face held none of the signs of age.

Admiral Araven left the ship's command to her captain and approached him. "My Lord, how was your meditation?"

Fruitful." 

"That is good to hear. The Martial Faction had finally announced the date of their Tournament of Champions. It will be in one year, held in the Martial Faction's Citadel on Shangria." 

"That's interesting but hardly relevant." 

"The top prizes include spots for the Bore Delve." 

"Ah, I see. They must be getting desperate. Is the tournament open to all or just to members of their open faction?"

"To all, my Lord. But Martial Faction rules are in place." 

"A pity, but workable."

"Our people can qualify…"

Wyllan shook his head. Hartdel Defiant wasn't a member of any faction, or rather, they were independents who dealt with all of them. Still, a winner from the tournament increased their chances…

"Are we on schedule?"

"We will arrive at the designated resource points with days to spare." 

"Defenders?"

"They are rallied elsewhere. The foolish Draconians think we mean to hold on to their Omega Outpost."

Wyllan chortled, "Indeed." He paused and asked worriedly, "Our people who stayed behind…?"

"Have orders to withdraw when necessary. Do not fret, my Lord, even if they fail to retreat, they are willing to sacrifice themselves for the cause."

And that was the problem. Sha'ledras, though long-lived, reproduced slowly. Each child dead represented decades of effort. If only walking the Ancient's Way was easy…but it ran contrary to the racial Arts' nature…

"We will reach Lyma Point in a week's time, then we will hit Gamma before we raid for supplies…"