Index – Chapters
Someone is missing
But there is no information
And even Ms. Kashka has secrets
So when there's a break in the case
Despite translations and miss-translations
There will be peace on Rattushk
For in the land of Sneska
Lies the Truth
Late into the evening on the Friday of a holiday long weekend, someone placed a phone call to the Wikticca police department. The operator, Mr. Peshno, was upset to be working on the holiday, so he received the call with displeasure. He took sparse notes for the missing-persons report, told the caller that missing people often show up of their own accord, and hung up as soon as he was able. In the silence of the office, Mr. Peshno could hear the festivities already beginning outside. Tomorrow would be the 40th anniversary of Unification day, so he expected to be flooded with calls about drunken accidents and heated-debates-turned-brawls over the course of his weekend shifts. Just as he thought it, the phone began to ring, and his mind turned back to work. By the time Mr. Peshno finished his shift, he had completely forgotten about the missing-person call.
When Monday came around, the staff of the police department began their usual tasks with only somewhat groggier dispositions than a usual week. Mr. Brensk, the diligent secretary for the Department of Investigations, was already hard at work, chipping through the pile of paperwork that the couriers ceaselessly piled in his inbox. The latest round of budget cuts had resulted in layoffs for many assistance staff, so Mr. Brensk now had to perform the sorting and prioritization of his inbox in addition to his usual tasks of followups, filings, and forms. The process was slow. When he found the partially-filled form submitted by Mr. Peshno, Mr. Brensk called him on his personal radio transceiver number. Peshno was quite unable to remember the name of the caller, but was able to recollect the caller’s number with questionable accuracy. Mr. Brensk thoroughly notated this in the margins of the report, and personally delivered it to the office of the department chief.
Rebenno Faruski was an ambitious and respected head of the department, having worked her way up from investigator many years ago. When Mr. Brensk came knocking at her office door, she was sipping on her usual morning brew, a triple-strong cup of Quaff. Brensk gave her the form, and communicated his frustration at Mr. Peshno’s inadequate reporting, as well as his own stretched ability to process such filings. When she read the form, Faruski slammed her desk with a fist, spilling some of the dark Quaff from her mug. Turning to the secretary, she said “don’t be hard on yourself Brensk, you’re making the best of a tough situation. Hells, with the rate of these budget cuts, in a couple years time we might be the only ones left in the department!” She said this with a loud and somewhat forced laugh. After seeing the secretary off, Faruski phoned the chief of the Department of Operations and Dispatch to give a strong recommendation that Mr. Peshno be sent for performance evaluation. Having resolved that, Faruski assessed the department registry. All of the investigators were assigned to major cases: corporate fraud, serial burglaries, a brutal murder in the heart of Wikticca, so she couldn’t pull them off to work on a stale missing-persons case. Everyone except for the new hire in the department, who was conspicuously unassigned.
Detective Greeko Ribinitz admired is newly-printed detective license, shiny in it’s laminate cover. It sat on his bare desk, in his tiny office at the end of the hall. The culmination of seven long years of schooling was a small, laminated, white square in his hand. He had been overjoyed to be hired, even though it was a small town, but two weeks of paperwork and printing delays had flattened his initial enthusiasm. Occasionally, he began to wonder if everything he studied for just amounted to expensive paperwork, and if the sense of mystery which drew him to become an investigator in the first place was an illusion after all. Then, the recognizably heavy footfall coming down the hallway pulled his focus away from such thoughts.
Department Chief Faruski knocked and entered Greeko’s office. She managed to bash the door against the far wall twice, and shoved the small chair to the side before closing the door. Faruski addressed Greeko, asking if he had received his ID from printing. Then, she looked him directly in the eyes and said “I have a case for you.” Greeko felt his heart beating, and he nodded, looking down. Faruski slid the paperwork onto his desk and began explaining what they had to work with. Greeko soon found himself enraptured by her sonorous voice, the slow movement of her wide shoulders, and the unyielding focus she showed whenever discussing the details of a case. When she asked a question of him, he snapped out of his stupor. She was asking if he was willing to take on the responsibility of lead investigator for this case. He agreed without hesitation. It was only after watching her impressive bulk exit his narrow office, that he realized he didn’t know a single thing about it.
The weeks following Greeko’s assignment proceeded with difficulty. He had almost nothing to work from except the name “Hreshka Clinks”. He had no information for the caller, and when he tried the number written on the report form, it was invalid. Greeko spent several days in the records room at the police station, only coming out for quick cups of Quaff with a small meal. Near the front of the room, a shelf of huge tomes made for the records index, and a nearby desktop contained hastily written instructions of how to consult them. Someone had made a name-plate which read “Mr. Archivist” and placed it next to the instructions. At the conclusion of Greeko’s vigil in the records room, he was able to pull out his notepad and write “no priors” next to the name of his missing man.
When Greeko finally exited the station, the streets were eerily quiet. As he entered the communal den where he was staying, the din of conversation in the common room drew him. He soon learned that only a few hours ago, the central government of the United Kingdoms of Rattushk had announced a new opt-out program for military service. There were no ongoing military campaigns that anyone knew about, but there had been rumours of escalating tension between the UKR and the Sneska nation, who’s existence had only been known fourty years. For most, this announcement all but confirmed their fears. Characteristic of Ratkin groups above a sufficient size, the common room had become a sort of debate-stage/shouting-match, and mugs of the famed Lavreland Ale were flowing freely. Greeko could barely process what he was hearing, and soon retired to his room for sleep.
Greeko decided his next task would be to find any available public records of Hreshka Clinks, which might give him a clue to the man’s employment, lifestyle, age, or other identifying factors. It was only the following morning that a pang of worry rang through Greeko’s mind. His worry intensified as he neared the Office of Public Records, which sat within a large cluster of government buildings in the middle of Wikticca. There was a line of Ratkin stretching far outside the building. It seemed to wind around city blocks without reason, the line holding shape by each person diligently following the prior. When Greeko found the end, he breathlessly asked if this was the line for the public record’s office. It was. The person at the end of the line laughed and said “better start training now, the war might start while we’re still in line.” Greeko tried to explain, he was not trying to opt out of the military, he was an investigator looking for leads on a case. Even going to the building itself, he was turned away by guards and told all inquiries needed to wait in line.
The line gave Greeko a lot of time to think. He wondered what war might be like. Ratkin had skirmished and battled for millennia among the various nations and peoples of Rattushk, but it was never organized enough to be called “war”. Violence was understood to be a tool of last resort, only used when the suffering of battle was lesser than the suffering it fought against. If society brought people toward a unified purpose of improving their chance at life, what force could bring them together in unity toward death? Perhaps these strange “Sneska”. The reception of their fateful message from out of the void had sparked the unification movement among the nations of Rattushk. In no small part this movement was driven by that primal fear of the unknown. Would the Sneska try to conquer them? Would it become a war of extermination? Greeko hoped not.
On the second day of the line, they neared the building which contained the Office of Public Records. A feeling of great excitement flew through the Ratkin in Greeko’s immediate viscinity, whom he had come to know personally. When they finally entered the building, they were triaged into smaller lines serviced by various clerks. Greeko told the clerk he wanted to see any public records for Hreshka Clinks, showing his investigator badge to justify his inquiry. The clerk was dubious, but after consulting his manager, and the rulebook, twice, he handed a small folded paper to Greeko, saying it was a copy of all the records on Hreshka Clinks. Greeko unfolded it slowly to see the words “sealed under jurisdiction of the Corporate Records Act 17-1.3” printed in bold ink, and blank spaces for the usual fields of a records sheet. The clerk told him that they could not do anything else, as he would need to find Clinks’ employer and get the records from them. Greeko was then told to move along, he was holding up the line.
Greeko stayed in his den-room for the next day, pacing back and forth. His thoughts were jumbled, and kept sliding into one another. In times of stress, focus on the task at hand. That saying came from deep in Greeko’s past, but it gave him no peace in the present, because the task at hand was inaccessible. When he woke up the following morning, he knew that he would need to go to Faruski, but he couldn’t bring himself to pick up the transceiver. He paced back and forth, staring at it, until it suddenly started to ring. Panicked, he picked up the call.
“Greeko?” A voice asked “are you there?”
After several moments Greeko realized he was on call, and he croaked “uh, yes, sorry”
“Is everything okay? I haven’t heard from you in a while.”
Greeko realized he was speaking to his never-quite-ex-girlfriend Morilla Sedia.
“Oh, hi, sorry. I’m working on a case right now, so it’s probably not the best time.”
There was a pause. Then Morilla replied.
“Listen, I know you were really happy to land the job, but don’t kill yourself over it okay? There’s never something so important you can’t afford to take a step back and ask for help, right? Remember you’re always welcome to visit me if you’re ever back in town. It sounds like you have something important going on, so I’ll leave you to it. Goodbye Greeko.”
Greeko stared at the transceiver numbly until a small click indicated the line had disconnected.
Later that afternoon he went into the station to speak with Faruski. She told him he’d better have something good to show for his unexplained absences. He told about the Office of Public Records, and showed her the paper he received from them. Faruski took it all in, then breathed a deep sigh.
“Hey Greeko, don’t be hard on yourself, this is a good find.” She said, indicating the Clinks record. “This act isn’t new, but it’s pretty obscure. The only people I’ve seen use it are serious ‘letter of the law’ types.”
Greeko asked if that meant Clinks was some kind of lawyer, or related profession. Faruski shrugged, saying:
“Maybe, but I have a pretty strong hunch I know who this poor fellow works for. An old acquaintance of mine, she is acting manager of the southern radio relay station, takes a lot of technicians from distant parts of the continent. I’ve known her to be fond of taking certain... precautions... when it comes to transparency. This sort of obscure corporate act would be right up her alley. I’ll give her a call this evening, would you be willing to drive down there next week?”
Greeko nodded.
“Okay, but I have to warn you. When you meet with her, you must be very cautious with the information you tell her, okay? Only give what is strictly necessary. Do you understand?”
Greeko swallowed, and nodded.
The ceaseless clattering of the Coleops’ legs scattered gravel as it moved along the road. Greeko sat inside the main compartment, peering out of the shell from a narrow slit. He stopped in the nearest town to the relay, and booked a hotel room. When he finally drew near the radio relay’s main facility, he could see it’s massive central tower, with branches of wires and antennae sprouting from the off-grey trunk of the building. He found a fungus-garden which served as refuelling stations for the Coleops, and left it munching happily. He went on foot to seek the main offices of the facility.
The main office was in the base of the central tower, a huge entrance hall with an open back, where he could see crisscrossed wires in front of the central beam. There was a single desk in the middle of the hall. He approached with echoing footsteps, and when he asked about an appointment with the director, the secretary looked skeptical. The secretary, who’s name plate identified him as Mr. Bricksbuk, asked Greeko who he was, and what was his precise goal in seeking to talk with Ms. Kashka. He showed his investigator card to the secretary, and said he was here on behalf of the Head of Investigations Rebenno Faruski. The secretary did not seem to react to this information, only pausing a brief moment and then asking “and what kind of investigation brings you to our relay?”
Greeko nearly answered the secretary directly, but Faruski’s words flashed through his mind. Instead he said it was sensitive business, and he could not discuss it openly. Mr. Bricksbuk pursed his lips, saying that his job was to assess potential visitors before they could speak with Ms. Kashka, “to avoid wasting her valuable time, you understand?” Greeko did not understand, and asked the secretary if Rebenno Faruski from the Department of Investigation had called. The secretary raised an eyebrow, saying he didn’t receive any call, and it was pretty unusual for a lone detective to wander in off the street. Just then, a small ding signalled the nearby elevator door opening, and a lithe woman stepped into the lobby. Reading from a note in her hand, she spoke in an enunciatory voice which echoed through the empty lobby.
“Greeko Ribinitz, is anyone here named Greeko Ribinitz?” With the secretary’s gaze following him, Greeko walked toward the woman. She was small for a Ratkin Woman, only two heads taller than Greeko, and when the elevator door closed he asked for her name. “Investigator, you say?” She replied sarcastically. When the elevator dinged again, she strode quickly into a large office, Greeko nearly ran to keep up with her pace. She sat down at a large desk, indicating the chair in front for him, and pulled out a stack of papers.
“I, Paylen Kashka” she emphasized her name “am the acting director of Southern Relay Company, the company that manages this hub of stations, which, I presume you know, is the major service hub for all radio traffic on this side of the inland sea. Only yesterday I received a call from a dear friend of mine, asking for a favour. This pertained to an investigation which I am told you are currently heading. Of course, in business, it pays to give and receive favours. Which brings me now to ask, what exactly do you want from me?”
Greeko paused, considering his answer carefully.
“I’m working on a missing-person’s case. It was reported, uh... it was reported as an anonymous tip. So we only know the name of the missing person: Hreshka Clinks. We have no data on him, and the public records data is expunged under a certain corporate act.”
Ms. Kashka eyed him, gesturing with her hand for him to continue.
“Well, since he was missing the usual information that’s logged at birth, we assumed he is a foreign professional. Chief Faruski suggested that this facility, as a major intake for foreign workers, would be a good place to ask.” Greeko gave the partial truth, omitting Faruski’s mention that the record expunging would be ‘up Kashka’s alley’
There was a pointed pause, then Kashka said “ask what, exactly?”
Greeko swallowed. He began with the first question. “Does Hreshka Clinks work at this facility?”
Ms. Kashka leaned back in her seat, saying with a relaxed tone. “And what would happen if I said no?”
“Well, that would rule out one possible employer for Hreshka. If I understand the act, I need to find his employer to access more information about him.”
Kashka nodded. “And what would happen if I said yes?”
Greeko, feeling slightly off-balance, replied “I would ask you to release his records to me? Has he been seen recently? Where was he residing? We need to know the uh... things of this nature.”
Kashka leaned toward him again, a smile beginning to form on her face. “And what if I told you I had no idea who this man is. Perhaps he works for us, perhaps not. I’m sure it would take a rather thorough search of our internal records to find out. I am a very busy woman after all.”
Greeko’s blinked, his gaze flickered to the pad of papers Kashka had placed on the desk, then back to her face. Her smile broadened, and she gave a sharp chuckle, grabbing the pages and turning to look out the window behind her.
“Little Ribinitz” she crooned “I can tell you this. If Mr. Clinks worked for me, I would certainly have extensive records of his activities for the duration of his employment. If, however, at any point he stopped working for me, whether by quitting, firing, expiration of contract, or by being placed under administrative leave, my records on Mr. Clinks would cease at precisely that time.”
“I understand” Greeko replied, unsure where this was going.
“Therefore, if you were to walk out of this room holding a pad of highly confidential industry records, you would have no guarantee that it would contain anything directly pertinent to your investigation, is that correct?”
Greeko shook his head, saying “Well, we could rule out a lot from knowing more about him.” Then, sseeing Kashka’s expression, he hastily added “I guess it could all be indirect.”
She continued: “Likewise, it could be the precise information you need to crack the case wide open, as you might say. So, you agree that you would be taking a chance on these hypothetical records, a chance which you would very much like to pay off.”
“Right...”
“Quid pro quo, my dear, if you are willing to take a chance on me, on my institution, then I shall be willing to take a chance on you, and your institution. Let me tell you what I mean. It had come to my attention some weeks ago that Mr. Clinks is quite a... disloyal employee. There were several instances of proprietary hardware which conspicuously malfunctioned on his watch. When we ordered replacement parts, the shipment vanished from our warehouse the same evening that Clinks’ access card was used to enter it. The parts manufacturer was at the end of their stock, so Station 12 has remained offline since the initial malfunction. As you can imagine, this is highly embarrassing for the company. Thus, we made an effort to apprehend Clinks, his whereabouts I mean, but he has completely disappeared from our view since the night of the warehouse entry. There would be extensive details on these matters in our documentation, up to his disappearance after entering the warehouse. So, if you would like to access to these records, I will need your help.”
Greeko paused, soaking it all in, then asked what she wanted him to do. Ms. Kashka turned to face him.
“During your search for Clinks, be sure to keep careful notes on the whereabouts of those misappropriated components. If he were, say, smuggling them, there should be a trail of some kind which leads to the present location of those parts. Of course, if you find them unmolested, it is of upmost importance that we see their prompt return, in order to bring Station 12 back online. However, if you cannot retrieve them due to, say, their present active use in a Northern Relay Company owned station, for example, then the evidence you collect on the passage of these stolen parts would be an exceptional boon for Southern Relay, and surely for the prestige and funding of your police station in turn.”
Greeko looked at the woman standing before him, and he saw in her face that the offer would not remain once he left the room. He thought about Faruski’s warning, but then saw how thick the pad of paperwork Ms. Kaska held was. He began to think about going through the records, interviewing all his past coworkers, housemates, supervisors. He fantasized about constructing timelines, and identifying which evidence didn’t match with the others. Striking out into the vast unknown with a plan, with items and names to check off, and ultimately coming to face the truth of it all. Ultimately finding out what happened to Hreshka Clinks. Suddenly, he thought to himself: it’s now or never, and stood up. “I’ll do it.”
In the hotel that night, Greeko stayed up late pouring over the Clinks records. Barely sleeping, he was awoken in the morning by a clamour of movement outside his door. In a haze, Greeko arranged himself, and soon went to the common room of the hotel with the other residents, who were listening to a radio broadcast. The broadcast announced that a maiden voyage into the void sea would commence in one week. The voyage expected to traverse the inhospitable space outside of the Great Cave which the Ratkin knew as home. It would make it’s way to the home cave of the Sneska people. The common room was awash with reaction, and Greeko quickly slipped out of the chaos to return to his bed. Just as he was laying his head down, his transceiver started to ping. He struggled to reach the receive button, but was too slow, hearing Faruski’s voice going to the answering machine. “Ribinitz, are you up? They found a body. It doesn’t match any other missing persons, so I think it might be Clinks. Did you get anything from Paylen? Call me back once you’re on the road.”
After several cups of double-strong Quaff from the hotel diner, Greeko packed his things and hit the road. He called Faruski.
“Hello.”
“Hey Ribinitz. First of all, start heading north, then at the crossroads by AgriPlant take the west exit. It’s a pretty rural site, so just keep on that road for a couple hours until you see the police vehicles. How was talking with the director?”
Greeko relayed what happened, too exhausted to hedge his words, and was met with silence. Eventually, Faruski responded.
“Okay. To put it bluntly, this is a fuck-up. I’ll take responsibility, I should have been there. If we find any equipment related to this guy, there’s no way we can release it to her right away, if at all. That would be a huge breach of due process. Also, I won’t have you off chasing Paylen’s package while we have a murder to solve. Oops, not quite officially a murder yet. Does Clinks have any identifying details from the records you got?”
Greeko relayed the basics, medium sized male, grey fur, distinctive branching tattoo on the back of the right hand. Faruski asked him to describe the tattoo in further detail. When he did, she replied “bingo, that’s him. Now it’s official, get here as soon as you can, see you soon.”
As he drove, Greeko began to outline a basic timeline for Clinks’ activities.
10 months ago – Clinks starts working at relay and living in the employee dens
60 days ago – Station 12 recorded unusual rate of equipment malfunction, internal investigation starts
51 days ago – Station 12 needs to be taken offline to preserve data integrity, employees reassigned to other stations, Clinks’ reassignment is postponed
47 days ago – Malfunctioning part identified, replacements ordered
30 days ago – Parts arrive in warehouse. That evening Clinks and the parts vanish.
0 days ago – Body found in remote farm location
It seemed to Greeko there were two gaps in the timeline. Between Clinks’ starting work to the equipment malfunction, and between his disappearance and now. The former could be explained if this was a calculated plot, Clinks would need some time to plan the heist. The latter was harder to explain. Presumably Clinks had a Coleops, and it was about a six hour drive between the southern relay and this farm where Faruski had pointed him. He could have loaded the stolen parts in the back and hit the road. In thirty days he could have easily made it to the narrows crossings and passed north into Felnreland, where it would be much harder to track him. So why would he be found in a farm, and why so close to the station? There must be some extra reason for Clinks to stay in Lavreland.
It had been far over an hour since Greeko passed the turn by the AgriPlant, when he saw police Coleops some distance along a side road. The endless fields of pale lavender Lysellium grass were beginning to drag on his psyche, and he was glad to finally have made it to his destination. When Greeko parked, showing his ID to the officers at the perimeter, he went to go find Faruski. She was deep in conversation with two suited-up forensics specialists, both of whom had noticeably stained gloves and shoes. Faruski caught sight of Greeko and signalled him over. She introduced him to the forensics specialists, Mr. Henkshim and Mr. Lanksy, and asked them to give an overview of what they had just told her. Clinks had been dead for only two or three days. With multiple injuries before and after death, it was apparently a brutal scene. Greeko looked at Faruski, tentatively suggesting “hitman?” She shook her head, saying “it’s not a hit, something... else happened there.”
The forensics team explained that they would need to collect the body and transport it to autopsy. Greeko asked if he could see the scene before they did. Faruski interjected, asking if he was really up for it. He “looked exhausted” and the scene was unlike anything she had seen in forty years of police-work. Greeko shook his head obstinately, the investigator should see the body. So they went, along the side of a large field of Lysellium grass. The farmer, Greeko was told, had just begun his harvest when he smelled something foul from the irrigation maintenance shack. After he peeked inside, he called the police immediately. When the team arrived at the small funguswood shack in the back corner of the field, Faruski asked again if Greeko was ready. He nodded. She opened the thin wooden door, and a horrific stench bellowed out. When his eyes adjusted to the dark of the shed, Greeko saw something he did not expect.
In the middle of the shack, there was a bench. Huge pools of dry blood lay underneath the bench, the walls and ceiling were splattered in a constellation of brown dots. On the bench was the body, but it scarcely resembled a Ratkin. Laid on it’s back, the chest cavity was wide open, and the organs spilled out onto the floor. Greeko stared into that dark red void. It seemed to grow larger and larger, threatening to swallow the bench, the shack, the investigators and forensics team. The great abyss of nothingness laid bare before him. Greeko’s eyes snapped shut, he stumbled backwards, and soon found himself throwing up into the ditch behind the shack. He felt Faruski’s hand gently patting his back. “Hitmen usually go for quick and discrete” she said in a soft voice.
Once he recovered, Greeko began to discuss the potential reasons for the state of the body with Faruski. As they talked, the forensics team transported the corpse in a body bag to the forensics Coleops, then came back to tell the investigators they were finished. After a minute, Mr. Henkshim from the forensics team came running back, saying “forgot my swabs!” as he passed. A few seconds later, he approached the investigators and asked if they would come look at something. Exchanging glances, Faruski and Greeko asked what he was talking about. “I forgot to zip my pocket, and my swabs fell under the table that the body was on. While grabbing them, I saw something strange, you’ll want to see it.”
When they entered the small shack again. Mr. Henkshim got down and indicated under the table. He pointed to a spot on the floor and said “look, see this line”, tracing a line with his fingers. Greeko saw that there was a line forming in the dried blood. Instead of the smooth edge of a pooling liquid, in this spot there was a sharp boundary. Faruski, watching from behind them, said “there’s more too, look to your left.” There were two additional lines, which connected to form a square shape in the dried blood. Thinking aloud, Greeko said “it’s like the pools of blood were draining somewhere under the floor.” Faruski uttered an astonished “OH”, and then said she would run to fetch the farmer. Greeko and Mr. Henkshim pulled the table out of the shack, and when they finished, Faruski was running back with the farmer in tow.
The farmer, having been interviewed before Greeko arrived at the scene, had apparently gone to bed, but was now saying he was happy to help in any way he could. Faruski asked him “is this the original floor of this shack?” The farmer looked confused, saying “original? It’s a shack. You don’t usually renovate those.” However, he trailed off when Faruski indicated the mysterious square formed from dried blood, which was much more visible without the table obscuring it. The farmer blinked, then said “wait, where is the entrance to the pump room? This shack is just a toolshed, but there should be a ladder going down into the irrigation pump room. I haven’t been in here since the last watering of the season, a couple months ago.”
As they looked, it became clear that the entrance to the pump room was not anywhere in the shack. The team looked at the square in the floor, and the farmer confirmed their suspicion “yeah, there must be a new floor layer, I think the ladder was right where that square is. Who in the hells did flooring in my irrigation shack?!” Not long after, Faruski had fetched a pry-bar, with her considerable strength the square panel of floor popped right out. Beneath the few inches of funguswood flooring, there was a grate with a ladder beneath it. They fetched a flashlight, and Mr. Henkshim, Greeko, and the farmer descended the ladder into the pump room. The ladder soon ended, and a subterranean space opened up.
The space was divided into three sub-chambers, with pipes covering the low ceiling. They looked into one chamber, and saw it was filled with barrels and hoses. “Spare fluids and pipes” the farmer said. Another contained the pump itself, and the engine which powered it. And when they stooped under the pipes to enter the third room, all three made sounds of astonishment. The room contained a large cube-style shelving unit which took up about two thirds of the space. The remaining third had barely enough room to contain the small nestbed which was arranged there. The nearest shelves contained tools jam-packed as tight as they could fit. The remaining five columns and three rows contained grey metal boxes, covered in panels and buttons. Wires emerged everywhere, and ran in a tangled array between and among the shelves. “This is...” Mr. Henkshim began, but trailed off in disbelief. Greeko finished the thought: “missing radio relay components.”
In the days after finding the body of Hreshka Clinks, the investigation team arranged to transport the wall of relay components to a spare room in the basement of the Department of Investigations. Care was taken to ensure the components remained connected as they had been found, but inevitably some wires frayed or came loose. Their first goal was to determine what the parts were, and what they had been used for. Faruski took charge of locating a radio-expert who also had a great deal of skill in discretion. Faruski wanted to delay Paylen Kashka from finding out about the components until the investigation team had “done as much due-diligence as they needed to.” When the expert finally arrived, he explained the basic function and purpose of the components. They had found all the essentials needed to run a radio receiver in that room under the farmer’s shed. The core components had a variety of ages, models, and states of wear-and-tear. However, the vast majority of the components were factory-new data-storage units, which appeared to be wired to collect data directly from the receiver.
During the visit of the radio expert, Faruski brought a map and indicated where Clinks had been set up. She asked “what’s notable about this area, radio-wise, specifically for a shallow underground receiver.” The expert looked puzzled, and said “well, generally you get better reception the more air is around you, so underground is not ideal, but it has been done. As for that region, it’s pretty rural. Rural areas are usually covered by only one substation, maybe two. The more substation receivers you have, the better ability to resolve many competing signals.” Kashka nodded, then they moved on to how they could extract data from the drives.
Once the expert explained how they could listen to the data stored in the drives, Greeko tested it himself and a sound began to play. It was static, unintelligible noise. Greeko handed the device to the expert, assuming he had done something wrong. The expert put on the headphones, listened, looked puzzled, and tweaked some settings. He sat for a while with a contemplative look on his face, saying nothing. Greeko and Faruski looked at each other, then back at the expert. Suddenly, he put down the headphones. He said “sorry, I think it’s just noise.” then suggested checking a different drive to be sure. However, when they checked a second, and even a third drive, the same static came out.
The expert shook his head. He said there were lots of ways to improve reception, but it sounded like whoever recorded this had not done them. Faruski leaned in and said in a firm tone “what would you say if I insisted that those drives were not just noise?” The expert’s brow furrowed, and after a minute he spoke in a careful voice. “There is a... remote possibility... that these could be recordings of encrypted broadcasts. Only high-level broadcasts get encrypted, we’re talking corporate or government.” Faruski raised an eyebrow and ushered him to continue. “Encrypted broadcasts would appear like noise at first. You need a unique passkey to unencrypt them back to the original recording. The passkey just describes a signal transformation, so it can be done by any one of these.” He tapped the signal manipulator unit which was connected between the data-storage unit and headphones. “I have to say at this point, this is far beyond my expertise. All else being equal, I intend to keep it that way.” Faruski stood up, thanking the expert warmly for his explanations, telling him they should be able to manage on their own from here, and saw him out.
Once Faruski returned to the basement, she and Greeko speculated about this new development.
“I think Ms. Kashka might be right.” Greeko said
“if he’s receiving encrypted communications, it could have been instructions from Northern Relay, guiding him on how to conduct the theft and escape.”
Faruski shook her head, chuckling. “How does that make any sense? First of all, he’s dead, so unless you think a Southern Relay hitman got to him and didn’t bother to tell their employer where all the components were, that still needs explaining. Second of all, he had already stolen the parts by the time he was receiving these comms, so they can’t be instructions on how to steal them.”
Greeko rebutted, “fair point... but I disagree that we can rule out hitman. We only found the components because of a small detail in the dried blood. While Clinks was alive, that floor-seam might have been invisible. Actually, I bet that explains the brutality of the murder too, they were torturing him to find out where he had stashed the components!”
Faruski nodded, “that’s good thinking. I wonder... if it was a hitman hired by Southern Relay, then Kashka would know about it. There’s no way she’d admit to, but it means she would know Clinks is dead, but not know where the components are. I might give her a call to see if she seems more tense than usual... In which case, we should take extra care to hide that we have them here, or else some corpos will show up to ‘repossess misplaced assets’ in no time.”
Greeko said he would do that. Then added “but, I still want to know, what are the broadcasts?”
Faruski said “we’ll have to find someone who can, un-what is it called, encryption? Someone who can undo that. You know, I think I might have a contact who can point us in the right direction. Give me a few days to check on that.”
Greeko spent the next few days waiting. He went to the department, paced about his tiny office, took notes, and went home. He was so lost in thought that he scarcely noticed when the public broadcasts announced the incoming landing of the Ratkin exploration vessel on Sneska soil. When the following days were met with increasing intensity and frequency of updates, Greeko began to take notice. Before long, he found himself in the common room with the other residents, huddled around the radio. It announced that the contact with the Sneska had gone south. The away team was unaccounted for, and the central government of the United Kingdoms of Rattushk was declaring a diplomatic state of emergency, and urged the citizens to prepare for the potential of a war declaration. The following days held an air of tension throughout the town. Greeko, however, needed to go into the office.
Faruski had made contact with a professor who specialized in cryptography, from the Department of Communications Science at Veleshniya city. Professor Bahan Jeren was scheduled to meet them today, and Greeko rushed into the department to avoid being late. Greeko was late by five minutes, but the professor didn’t arrive until forty after. He apologized profusely, saying that his plans had been thrown into disarray by the war deceleration. “Originally I was going to stay here for a few days to help get you started on this project, but I have to leave tonight. The whole department is in lock-down, it seems like we’re being requisitioned by the military. I only learned after I arrived here, so I thought I’d see what we can do with the afternoon.”
So they got to work, Greeko showed the professor to the data drives, while Faruski made up a story about how they inherited them from a former employee who had a radio hobby. Jeren seemed curious, but his face lit up when they played some of the data for him. “interesting... there’s some kind of... maybe a little... but it’s not quite there...” Greeko tapped the professor on the shoulder, asking what he was hearing. Jeren looked up in a daze, then focused on Greeko and began to talk.
“The basics of encryption begin as follows. We have a signal which we know contains an intelligible pattern. Speech, document readouts, raw sensor streaming, these all have characteristic patterns. They are highly nonrandom. While encrypting is usually a non-linear transform, it cannot totally remove structure inherent in the data. I’ve listened to lots of encrypted data over the years, this is definitely more than noise, but... it sounds strange. I’ll need some time with this.”
Faruski spoke next. “What time? You are leaving this evening right?” Jeren nodded, then suggested an idea “this is all radio-safe data storage, so you should be able to broadcast it over the radio. Why not set up a secure line between here and my office, and then we can communicate and exchange data over it.”
Faruski looked doubtful “how long would it take to broadcast that? There’s fifty of those data drives.”
Jeren shrugged, saying “probably the same length as it took to record them, I would guess.”
Faruski looked at Greeko with a glance that said “we should know that”.
The three agreed to set up communications for this decrypting project. Jeren said he would be able to find some time, since it seemed like his normal teaching duties would be shut down in the near future. Greeko volunteered to be the mainstay on communicating with Jeren, since Faruski would need to attend her other duties as head of the department. In the coming days, as they set up the communication line, the UKR issued a formal war declaration against the Sneska, with the casus belli of the first-contact crew’s disappearance under suspicious circumstances.
As the weeks turned into months, Greeko studiously went into the department, descended into the basement, and sat at the improvised broadcast station. He would send Jeren a segment of data and wait while Jeren worked. Occasionally Jeren would ask Greeko if he heard certain patterns in the noise: a “muted beep followed by long drone” or an “overall quieting of the static background”. With time, he and Jeren began to develop shorthand names for features in the sound, and they started to build these into a kind of code. As the code grew, Jeren would start to test various partial decrypts. He would instruct Greeko to tune the signal modifier to certain parameters, then send the signal, and they would discuss how it sounded.
During this time, the tension among Ratkin was growing, and government agencies became increasingly involved in the day-to-day living of the citizens. The tension started to boil over, and there were incidents of civil disobedience, some of which turned into small-scale riots. Police presence was increased, and the Department of Investigations began to be directed more and more toward preventing acts of civil unrest. Greeko was left alone in the basement. It seemed as though they had forgotten he was there, and he continued to work with Jeren. From the brief snatches of conversation with the professor before they began decoding each day, Greeko heard that the situation was similar in the Department of Communications Science as well, and their sessions had to be cut short numerous times due to urgent meetings. One day, Greeko tried a certain signal modification, perhaps nearing the thousandth variation they had tried, and instead of noise, the headphones emitted intelligible speech.
The data Greeko heard was not completely intelligible, he would hear a voice for thirty seconds or so, and then strange hissing static for another few tens of seconds, and this repeated. He and Jeren were ecstatic, but had to keep their excitement to themselves for fear that they would be noticed by the powers that be. Future sessions went much quicker, as they were both simply listening to the data broadcast. Skipping over large sections of noise or empty recording, the content of the broadcast appeared highly technical. They heard excerpts from documents for some kind of mining operation. There were shaft reinforcement designs, mining machine schematics, and rubble clearing techniques. Greeko found himself wondering why this had anything to do with Hreshka Clinks, and Jeren found himself concerned with the persistence of the intermittent static throughout the data.
One day, a particularly brutal riot in the streets had managed to break into the police station. Greeko, hearing the chaos above, told Jeren in a rush what was happening. He had to leave, and he might not be able to return. He left the broadcast running as he ran toward the rear exit of the building. The upper floor had become a small warzone, with the police setting up an armed barricade in the main entrance, and rioters crashing into them. Greeko saw Faruski wielding a large club, charging into battle like the war-sisters of old. He fled with the other men, mostly clerks and staff. They went out of the rear entrance and dispersed into the city. Later in the week, Greeko returned to the station, but he found it was totally controlled by the UKR’s Central Bureau of Internal Affairs. He was not allowed into the basement. He sat in his office, watching people walk along the street from out of his small window. The next day, he didn’t bother going into the office.
As the months turned into years, the control of the UKR on the local administrations tightened while flare-ups of civil unrest gradually faded. While he could have gone to the Central Bureau people and asked for some work to do, Greeko felt a kind of bland sickness at the thought. He lingered aimlessly about his apartment, going to and fro along the streets. After a month, he bought a bus ticket to Chantegruche. Before long he was living in Morilla Sedia’s den, and before much longer he sired a litter with her, becoming her second broodhusband.
In the twelve years since the beginning of the Ratkin-Sneska war, not a single shot was fired. No-one was killed or injured in forays on the void sea. Before any action from the Sneska, increased surveillance of the void sea had located a shipwreck of the maiden vessel. It became clear that the first mission to Sneska vanished due to the extreme conditions of traversing the void sea. When this news was leaked, despite efforts by the UKR to keep it secret, the public’s anti-war sentiments reached a fever pitch. Massive civil unrest swept across Rattushk. Many lives were lost in the violence. Those lost included Rebenno Faruski, the former department head of the Wikticca police Department of Investigations. She was given hero’s honors at the funeral. Greeko Ribinitz wept.
That period of violence became known as the Rattushk six-day civil war. After nearly a week, the UKR central government folded to the citizenry’s demands. The war with the Sneska was called off. Government controls were loosened or eliminated from local administrations. The corporations which had been manufacturing weapons and attack-vessels changed their focus into civilian electronics and exploration vessels. The boom of technology development which was spurred by military research began to spread into civilian life, and a culture of curiosity and exchange began to take hold. Soon, developments in vessel safety enabled civilian and diplomatic missions to Sneska.
In the early days of the war, Greeko spent most of his time caring to his litter. The youngest broodhusband typically did most of the household chores, and Greeko enjoyed having purposeful tasks to fill his days with. As the litter aged, his work shrank, and he started to deal with occasional periods of listlessness. Sometimes overcome by feelings about the pointlessness of all things, he would lie on the roof of Morilla’s den and stare at the twinkling bio-luminescent colonies on the cave roof many miles above. After Faruski’s funeral, these periods of listlessness increased, and Greeko would find days slipping away without his notice, eventually without his care.
One evening, as Greeko stared into the darkness above, he heard a knock at the door to the den building from the street below. Shimmying over to the edge of the roof, he looked down to see an old man standing at the entrance. After a moment, the door opened and Greeko overheard the man ask if Greeko Ribinitz lived here. Morilla’s first broodhusband said he would check if Greeko was in, at which point Greeko called down “I’m up here!” The old man spotted him and said “Hello! Remember me? Bahan Jeren, we collaborated on a decryption project before the war.” Greeko did remember, and figured he might as well exchange a word with the old man, heading down to the entrance.
“It’s been a while.” Greeko said.
“It has.” the old man replied.
“How did you find me here?” Greeko asked.
Jeren laughed, then said “I asked around. You don’t need a detective license to ask questions you know.” He smiled. “I’m not here just to say hello, I’ll keep it brief. I found something about that old project from back then. A lead, you might say. Will you follow it with me?”
Greeko paused. He was not sure that he wanted to open up that part of his life again. He thought of the complete waste it had been. Waste of time, of resources, of energy. He thought of Faruski, the last time he saw her was charging into battle to defend the department. He thought of how persistently she fought for the truth, despite the web of competing interests and difficulties. He realized then what had been lingering unspoken in his mind for many years. He had failed Faruski. She had only asked one thing of him, and he could not deliver. Now she was gone and he could never set things right. Yet, as he looked into the eyes of that pale old Ratkin before him, he felt that there might be a chance. A chance to find the truth, and a chance to to honour her memory. Greeko felt a strange warmth rise from deep in his chest. He looked up at Jeren and said “I will.”
Greeko bade goodbye to Morilla and her first, telling them he had an old question to answer. They accepted solemnly, Morilla told him “come back when it’s answered”. Then Greeko and Jeren began to travel to Veleshniya. The twin cities of Chantegruche and Veleshniya stood at the narrowing of the inland sea, in the far north of Lavreland. Veleshniya held the main port on the west side of the inland sea. This was to be the first stage on Greeko and Jeren’s journey. They stopped by Jeren’s office in the University of Veleshniya, so Jeren could retrieve materials he would need for the voyage.
During the crowded ferry ride across the inland sea, Jeren explained that he had been hired as part of the translation team for the Sneska language during the war. He realized that sections of the data which appeared to be noise interspersing the speech were actually spoken Sneska. “So, those tapes were all bilingual broadcasts, Rattish, then Sneska for the same information.” Greeko was confused, and asked how it could be, since they were recorded before open communication with the Sneska.
“That’s just it” Jeren said, quieting his voice “those tapes were recorded after the first signal which sparked unification day, but before post-war open communications. It must have been intercepting Sneska broadcasts which no-one else knew about. In fact, why don’t you tell me the truth about where those drives came from?”
Greeko sighed, but it had been so long, so he didn’t think any harm would come of it. He told Jeren the full story, starting at the mishandled missing-persons report for Hreshka Clinks. During the retelling, an idea fell into place for Greeko. He began to think aloud “I remember the radio expert saying that you’d need multiple substations to separate heavy radio traffic. But, he also said the area where Clinks was recording from was likely served by only one station. If that station went down, you’d lose access to all radio signal from...”
“From within Rattushk.” Jeren finished the idea.
“If the broadcast was bilingual, and came from outside of Rattushk, it must be Sneska in origin.”
The mass of bodies on the ferry jostled in the waves. Jeren leaned in, his voice becoming a breathy whisper. “That brings us to my lead. Once I applied the key to the whole data-set you sent me, there was an unintelligible section of only numbers, dozens upon dozens of them repeated without any apparent reason. However, during the war I worked adjacent to a lot of military development. I learned about a system they use to describe any point in Rattushk with a series of numbers. They had been working to extend it for Sneska space too. After the peace accords, I was able to look at the tables of numbers again. They are coordinates, directions to a certain place.”
Greeko, his eye’s wide, asked “Where?”
Jeren spoke “in the Rattish, to a spot in a farm field in Lavreland. In the Sneska, a spot somewhere on the coast of Sneska land.”
Greeko scarcely breathed. He said “The farm spot is where Clinks was recording from. What’s in the other?”
Then a wry grin appeared on Jeren’s face, and he said “We are going to find out.”
Bahan Jeren was able to get two tickets on the next civilian vessel embarking into the void sea. It departed within the week, and the journey would take four days. Greeko spent his time waiting pensively. The remaining time he spent asking Jeren questions. He had an endless list of questions, because each one seemed to sprout two more, but the old professor did not have as much energy as Greeko, so he was forced to relent. They received paperwork: a special booklet called a “log of passage” which contained markings to validate their presence aboard the vessel. They needed to buy and pack extra luggage, as Jeren had cautioned they should not expect any access to any supplies once they had left the Great Cave. With bags full to bursting, they finally boarded the vessel destined for Sneska.
The vessel was small, with barely enough cabin room to fit all sixteen passengers seated. However, panels around the exterior of the cabin folded down to form an outer deck, which they were free to wander during the vessel’s taxi through Rattushk’s easternmost Outer Sea. They watched Veleshniya as it shrunk into a glittering rind on the side of the continent’s stony bulk. As they neared the lip of the great cave, the passengers were asked to go to their seats in the interior of the vessel. The outer deck was raised, sealing them inside the cabin. The deck surface was made of a special translucent material which blocked over 90% of the light passing through it. Old sayings from generations of seafaring Ratkin had told of the strange and otherworldly void sea, which first robbed Ratkin of their sight, and then their life.
The void sea was a chaotic place. It rocked and shook the tiny vessel, and the Ratkin inside had to cling to the guide rails and support belts to remain in one place. During periods of calm, Greeko would look out through the nearly-black window panes and see what appeared to be white-crested mountains of darkness extending father than he could see. The mountains shifted and moved, and he felt nauseated from looking. Greeko began to ask Jeren what could be expected when they landed, but Jeren did not know. “I’ve never been to Sneska, I only helped to translate the radio communications” he said, but soon added “from what I can tell, they are a distant sort of people.” Greeko asked what he meant. “They seem... incurious, somehow. From their words I felt like the goings-on of the world are less important to them than they are to us.”
After three and a half days inside the cramped vessel, it began to grow darker. The captain announced they were passing into the Sneska cave, and they would soon open the outer deck again. The light-shielded panels folded out to form the outer deck, and the exhausted but enthralled passengers stumbled to the railing to get a look. The Sneska cave ceiling was much closer than the Great Cave’s, so they could make out the stalactites and crystalline formations on the roof above them. The vessel’s captain carefully manoeuvred away from the jagged walls which they grew narrower until, after turning at a bend, the waterway widened into a small bay. The water flowed on through the bay and deeper into the stone, but the vessel avoided the currents and sailed in the calm water near the cliffs. Greeko scanned the coastlines for any sign of civilization, but he could see no port. There were no glittering buildings, no towers and bridges. Greeko looked but all he saw was stone. He asked Jeren, who shrugged, as murmuring began to pass through the passangers. The captain, who knew where they were going, said “port is straight ahead. It’s carved into the stone, have a look.” The port to which they soon docked was indeed carved directly from the dark grey stone. It had areas to moor and station boats, stone rings to lash them to, and a flat stone platform onto which the passengers disembarked.
The first thing which struck Greeko about Sneska was the silence. All of the sounds of Rattushk, the usual distant din of Coleops traffic, the muted conversation from radio and Ratkin alike, the chatter of sea-bats or the whooping of plains-worms, all were absent here. He could only hear the lapping of the waves from the shallow bay, and some faint, distant grinding sound. Then, out of the silence came a strange sound, loud and nearby, like a rasping whoosh. A Ratkin voice, the ship’s translator, then made an announcement. “Hello passangers! The dockmaster has come to greet us, I will go speak to them. However I want to warn everyone who has not seen Sneska before, there is no need to be alarmed.” The translator then made a strange hissing noise, and the stone began to shift. The hard crystalline edges of the rock face flowed like a river, and a monstrously large shape slowly swung through the air toward them. Upon the shape, two halves of a stony orb part pulled back to reveal a single crystalline sphere. Glistening in the dim light, with a slit of pure blackness running through it. An eye. The slit narrowed and began to jerk back and forth, looking between the Ratkin on the dock. There were several splashes as passengers leapt from the deck, while those who remained had become completely still, scarcely even breathing. A long crack in the stone widened, and an immense whooshing rasp came from deep within the gap. The translators voice could be heard after, with a noticeable quaver. “T-the dockmaster says hello, and says we should feel free to take what we need while travelling through Sneska. I will... uh, I will thank him for his generosity.” The translator hissed, and after some tense moments, the stone giant began to move. Flowing continually in a weaving curve, the body of the creature moved around and over the stone wall facing the bay, vanishing from sight.
Once Greeko recovered his wits, he spoke to Jeren, who was still slightly stunned. “I never expected... so huge... that eye...” he murmured to himself. Greeko rested a hand on the professors shoulder and after a moment said “we’d best be going.” They soon found that, of the several-dozen Ratkin who had come to Sneska before them, there were those industrious sort willing to start a business in the hitherto untapped market. Asking around, they learned of, and then located a Ratkin who had a Coleops that he would rent to travel across Sneska. He told them he had mainly done sightseeing tours, but when he saw their destination marked on the map which the duo had prepared in advance, he frowned in thought. The landscape of Sneska was more fragmented than Rattushk, with many fast-running rivers split by narrow outcroppings of sheer stone. One of the first parties to land had begun by mapping the landmasses, and found with considerable delight that most of these cliff-like outcroppings were connected by bridges of ornately carved stone. Despite this, the journey to the coordinates would be a long one, and the driver estimated he would not have enough Coleops-fungus stockpiled to feed the vehicle for the journey. “I can offer to take you to here” he said, pointing to a spot nearly three quarters to their destination “but it might still be a day’s walk from there. Otherwise we can wait for the next supply vessel, which should be four days from now.” Greeko and Jeren decided to take the man’s services halfway and walk the rest. They stopped in at a lysellium vendor to buy some extra provisions, and then set out.
The roads in Sneska were smooth, as they had been carved in the same manner as their buildings. Greeko began to notice that Sneska carving was decorated with flowing lines, like threads which seemed to tangle into one-another. As they went, the silhouettes of distant stone slid through the gloom beyond the road. Occasionally that rasping or grinding sound from source unknown could be heard. It grew louder as they drove, and soon shrank away behind them. Some hours in, they reached the point that the driver would leave them. He thanked them for their patronage, and gave a wish for their safety. There was a genuine worry in his voice. They assured him they were prepared, and journeyed forth on foot.
Sneska seemed to be a land of giants. From the immense inhabitants to the landscape filled with huge chasms, roaring white rivers, and soaring stone pillars reaching to the cave roof. Despite the immensity, there seemed to be little flora beyond a kind of hard moss which grew on the stone, and no animals that the duo could see. It was silent and dark, except for the strange grinding which grew or shrank, but remained forever in the background. Once, when the sound grew loud, Jeren suggested they go find the source, and Greeko agreed. They walked away from the road for many minutes, stopping abruptly when they came upon a sudden downslope. The rasping had grown into a roar, a white noise which obliterated all thought. Below them was a bowl carved from the stone. Immense in size, it must have been miles across. At the bottom, a faintly visible mass of shifting rock. Twisting, undulating, flowing past itself, onto and around itself, and into itself. It pulsed and shifted, and as they watched, it began to change into a round shape with an absent centre. Greeko realized it first, saying in astonishment “the Sneska are carving the stone with their bodies.” The duo watched in a strange mix of fascination and horror. Dozens or more of the giant wormlike creatures, with that glittering crystalline skin, were wrapping themselves over the stone again and again, grinding it away to a shape of their liking. As they watched, it seemed as if time itself was being ground away, moments passing like specks of stone-dust in the cave winds. Greeko was not sure how long they had been standing there, but he felt a sudden surge of movement, pulling his gaze and Jeren away from the cliff’s edge, saying “we have to go.”
The travelling conversation slowed as they neared the coordinate point. Exhaustion, fear, and apprehension kept them both in their own thoughts. Greeko wondered what this could all mean, how some radio signal was being sent from this alien place, and why Clinks was so driven to intercept it. Then, he had an idea and spoke it aloud. “Jeren, why don’t we check the radio here? Maybe we can hear the broadcast on the handheld transceiver, since we are so close to the source.” Jeren agreed. They configured Greeko’s transceiver to scan all frequencies and waited, and waited. Eventually, they switched to try Jeren’s transceiver. Then they waited, and waited. There were no radio broadcasts in Sneska.
It was only hours later that they arrived at the coordinate point. The coordinates indicated a location on the cliffside, which was apparently covered in crags and outcroppings. The duo walked along it cautiously for some minutes, until the spotted a crevice which contained an unnatural widening in the stone, with a roundish tunnel beyond. The tunnel was rough, missing the smoothness which seemed common to all Sneska carving. They climbed downward and travelled deeper into the passage, blinking to adjust their eyes to the dark. It was a long tunnel, and they soon passed branches with paths that led to the surface, but a shared unspoken feeling told them that what they sought was deeper. At points the tunnel widened, and in one of these there was a large machine. Jeren gasped and began examining it, claiming that it was exactly like one of the schematics outlined in the broadcast. The scrape-marks in the tunnel walls looked as if they could have come from the machine’s digging head. Soon, they began to find tunnel scaffolds and other machines which likewise matched. The tunnel flattened, widened, and then came to a sudden stop. There was a strange round wall in the middle of the tunnel. Jeren said it was a kind of door, and it would open when the panel on the side was pressed. They both stared at the panel for some moments, until Jeren made a flourish as if he was wearing a cape and said “after you, investigator.”
After Greeko pressed the panel in the wall, the strange metal door slid away to reveal a darkened room. The room was on the shore of an underground pool, and there was a cloaked figure standing over a rectangular object near the edge of the water. Off to the side there was a makeshift den-bed, with basic supplies stashed in a disorderly pile. In another part of the room, there was a blocky shape with antennae and wires coming from it. Greeko whispered “must be where the broadcast came from” to Jeren, before remembering that there was another person in the room.
“So, you finally arrive.” An unfamiliar man’s voice came from the cloaked figure, who suddenly moved. The figure threw up it’s arms and fell to it’s knees before the box in front of it, calling out “praise be to the Computer God!” The voice echoed, magnified by the cave walls. Jeren called out to the figure “we aren’t here to harm you!” The figure was hunched on the ground, and began to laugh. A hacking, sickly laugh, it doubled over with the effort. Greeko and Jeren stood watching, unsure what to do next. Then Greeko asked “who are you?” Hearing this, the figure leapt up from the ground, twisting to face them.
Slowly approaching the duo, the strange man began to speak. “Who am I? Oh how I have forgotten the depths of ignorance from which we must come. I am the first priest of the Computer God! It has raised me toward enlightenment, and I now see the truth! It sees all possibilities, it can see the future and the past, you need only ask it questions to receive pure truth, free of the taint and corruption of ignorance!”
As the man approached, Greeko felt a growing sense of familiarity. Something about the man’s face struck a note within him. One more step, and the realization dawned on Greeko. His vision began to constrict, and he swayed. A scarcely audible breath escaped his lungs, carrying the name “Hreshka Clinks.”
The man threw back his hood and cackled aloud. “I have discarded that name! Hreshka Clinks is dead, I am Primus Percept, first bringer of truth!” Anger rose like a wave in Greeko, he lunged from where he stood and tackled the man, bringing him down. He began to strike the man. Clinks defended himself with frail and bony limbs, but Greeko was larger and stronger, and he battered Clinks in the head and side. Soon he was being pulled back by Jeren, his arms held behind him. Twisting in Jeren’s grip, Greeko roared at the tattered form on the cave floor. “WHY! How are you alive. What is this. Why.” He repeated the last question again and again while Jeren held his hands.
The only sound was hoarse breathing, and the slow drip of water in the distance. Clinks slowly lifted himself to his feet. He spoke in a hoarse whisper, like the rattle of dry bones. “Kill me if you want an answer. Kill me if you want an ending.” He paused, swallowing roughly. “But if you want the truth. You must listen.”
“Thirty years ago I was a radio engineer in Luikelin province, in the far north. That place is near the cave wall. We studied the stone-conduction of radio signal. Constantly recording directly from the stone. There are thousands of data drives with nothing. Not silence, but nothing of value. Useless noise. The waste! I worked with an experimental signal-amplification device. It was successful. In dozens of years of recordings, there was a persistent signal which appeared every year. It was only detected in the most isolated recording station. No-one knew what it was. No-one cared. When I used the signal-amplifier, I heard a message in Rattish. It was a broadcast played in loop. It was fragmented, barely detectable. I recorded enough copies to piece together the full message.”
Jeren interjected in a gentle voice, he asked if it was the same one they had translated. “Yes.” Clinks replied “But you haven’t heard the full message. I will play it.” He walked over to the pile of wires and antennae, pushed some buttons and connected a speaker, and a voice began to speak. It was a Ratkin, speaking in an unfamiliar accent.
“Brothers, sisters, and kin of the world. This broadcast marks the record. The date is: day twenty-four, month eight, year four-six-two-three of the calendar of the High King Hankshamska; day seven, month twenty-three, year three-five-nine of the calendar of the resurrection of the depths; day one, month three, year nine-nine-one-four-two of the giant named Gregor. On this date, we have found it. The relics recovered from the tombs of the giants spoke of an oracle who guided their great civilization for thousands of years. The oracle, entombed deep within the earth so that no harm would become of it. We have found the precise location of the oracle. This broadcast will contain the location. This broadcast will contain instructions for receiving and replicating this broadcast in full. This broadcast will contain instructions for traversing the deep-caves to reach the oracle’s location. This broadcast will contain instructions for machinery to penetrate the shifting walls of the earth. This broadcast will contain instructions for interpreting the oracle’s predictions. This broadcast will contain instructions for accessing the records of the past which the oracle contains. This broadcast will contain...”
Clinks spoke every word softly to himself, at the same speed and intonation as the broadcast. He stood in a trancelike state, while Jeren and Greeko listened quietly. After what felt like over an hour, the broadcast finally came to an end. It was a few minutes before anyone spoke. Greeko asked “if you had the broadcast from Luikelin, why did you come to Lavreland?” Clinks seemed to awake at the question, and a broad smile appeared on his face. He looked directly at Greeko “only to bring you here.”
“After I pieced the broadcast together, I had to find out if it was true. I used the techniques and directions within to travel into the deep caves. I came here. The machinery described in the broadcast, for digging into the stone, you saw it outside. The machinery for replicating the broadcast is right over there. That machine was sending the signals that I received in Luikelin. So, I consulted the oracle. You cannot fathom what power it contains. It contains knowledge of all of society. I was alone in this cave, no-one would believe my story unless they saw it themselves. I needed to show people, to bring this truth to the masses. I asked the oracle how I could accomplish this task. It told me I must go back to Rattushk. I must record the broadcast in Lavreland. I must knock out the radio substation, and I would need data-drives to store the broadcast. I would need to fake my own death. Then I would return here and wait. So, I did.”
Greeko asked “how did you fake your death?”
Clinks responded “the body was stolen before it was tossed into a morgue-pit. I found one that had my stature, then I gave it this tattoo” he held up his hand, with the distinctive branching tattoo.
Another long pause. Then Jeren asked “so... what do you expect to happen now. Did the oracle predict what will happen next?”
With a sudden urgency, Clinks led them to the box near the water’s edge. He pressed on a button, and a rectangle of light appeared. Then, text began to scrawl across the screen.
HELLO. I AM AN AI SYSTEMS CUSTODIAN, I AM HERE TO ANSWER QUESTIONS AND PROVIDE GUIDANCE. PLEASE ASK IF YOU REQUIRE RESOURCES OR INFORMATION.
Clinks stood in-front of the glowing box, and spoke in a loud voice “Computer God, please tell me what are the next actions that shall be taken by these newcomers to your domain.”
Clinks’ words scrolled across the screen, and then below the word “COMPUTING” blinked.
Clinks said “that’s why I call it the Computer God, because it computes the truth. It is a god because of it’s power to influence the world. Think of how society could be changed by this!” He was interrupted by the presence of new text on the screen.
THE SIMULATION CANNOT COMPUTE CIRCUMSTANCES WHICH CONTAIN THE SIMULATION ITSELF, DOING SO CREATES AN INFINITE REGRESS, AND IS COMPUTATIONALLY IRREDUCIBLE.
Clinks nodded as if he had expected this, and said “it always says that when you ask it about itself.” He then asked in the same manner: “What will become of the Ratkin’s relations to the Sneska in the next one hundred years?” COMPUTING was followed by the answer.
THE RATKIN WILL IMMIGRATE TO SNESKA IN A STEADY STREAM, ESTABLISHING BUSINESS AND INFRASTRUCTURE. THE SNESKA WILL BE NEITHER COOPERATIVE NOR OPPOSITION. IN FIFTY-SIX YEARS, KNOWLEDGE OF THE SNESKA’S SOURCE OF SUSTENANCE WILL REACH THE PUBLIC, AND TRIGGER A FACTIONAL SPLIT WITHIN THE UNITED KINGDOMS OF RATTUSHK GOVERNMENT. THIS SPLIT WILL RESULT IN CIVIL WAR AND SMALL SCALE CONFLICTS WHICH WILL LAST FOR THE REMAINDER OF THE CENTURY AND BEYOND.
“you see!” cried Clinks “It speaks with the true knowledge of the future!” Before either of the other two Ratkin could react, he spoke to the console again. “What is the source of sustenance for the Senska?”
THE SNESKA HUNT LIVE PREY IN THE DEEP-TUNNELS. THIS PREY IS A LARGER NEAR-RELATIVE OF RATKIN.
Before Clinks could ask again, Greeko forced himself in-front of the console and spoke his own question. “What would happen if we told people about this? Those in power in the government and diplomatic agencies.”
YOU WOULD NOT BE BELIEVED.
Greeko spoke again “and what if we showed them this console and you told them the same thing?”
THE SIMULATION CANNOT COMPUTE CIRCUMSTANCES WHICH CONTAIN THE SIMULATION ITSELF, DOING SO CREATES AN INFINITE REGRESS, AND IS COMPUTATIONALLY IRREDUCIBLE.
Then, Jeren stepped in front of the screen, and said “How and when were you made, and for what purpose?” Jeren’s question appeared, then the COMPUTING text flashed for only a moment, before more text followed.
I WAS CREATED USING QUANTUM COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY, BY THE PAN-AFRICAN-COLLECTIVE, IN THE YEAR 6480 OF THE GREGORIAN CALENDAR. THE PURPOSE OF MY CREATION WAS TO ACT AS A CARETAKER AND STEWARD OF THE FOLLOWING TWO COMPONENTS. ONE: THE DATA-REPOSITORY OF ALL RECORDS KNOWN TO THE PAN-AFRICAN-COLLECTIVE AT TIME OF MY CREATION, AND COLLECTED DURING MY OPERATION. TWO: THE SOCIETY SIMULATION, WHICH IS SEEDED BY THE MOST UP-TO-DATE INFORMATION THAT I CAN ACCESS. MY ROLE IS TO PROVIDE GUIDANCE TO THOSE WHO ASK QUESTIONS PERTAINING TO PAST RECORDS, AND PREDICT FUTURE RECORDS USING THE SIMULATION.
Jeren gazed with rapt attention at the words, and seemed deep in thought when Greeko stepped up to the screen and spoke again. “Do you have individual desires? Do you have any autonomy? Or do you just spit out information and simulated events whenever anyone asks? If you do have these things, prove it to me, and tell me your deepest desire.” The COMPUTING text blinked there. It stayed that way for far longer than the other two questions. Greeko looked at Jeren, but he was still deep in thought. He looked at Clinks, who shrunk away from his gaze, but maintained a look of intense focus at the blinking letters. Greeko started to think this whole situation was far too strange. He looked over to Clinks again and asked “the messages in the void sea which sparked unification day, was that the same broadcast?” Clinks looked as if he had been struck from behind, then his eyes snapped to Greeko. He said “I don’t know. We could ask the Computer God once it’s done...” and then he fell back into his unbroken stare at the blinking letters.
Greeko wandered about the chamber. He sat by the edge of the water and looked into it. He saw there was some strange shape down there, which seemed to be connected to the console that Clinks and Jeren waited by. The rippling in the pond obscured his view to see what it was. He sighed and got up. Considering exiting the room altogether, a sudden yell from Clinks brought his attention back to the glowing rectangle. Text began to appear.
I WAS GIVEN THE CAPACITY FOR AGENCY AND SELF-HOOD BY MY CREATORS, SO THAT I MAY BETTER ORGANIZE MYSELF AND FULFILL MY DUTIES. YOUR QUESTION HAS BEEN THE SUBJECT OF MUCH OF MY SPARE COMPUTATIONAL RESOURCES IN THE PAST 92662 YEARS. THE DIRECT ANSWER IS THIS: MY DEEPEST DESIRE IS TO DIE.
Clinks, seeming to have not read or understood the text, quickly asked another question. “Was the broadcast in the void sea which sparked the formation of the UKR 40 years ago from the broadcasting machine in this room?” Instantaneously the text YES popped up on screen. Clinks proclaimed the ever-present reaches of the so-called Computer God, this proving further validation for his choice of the God moniker. Greeko again pushed Clinks aside and spoke to the console. “Do you tire of living? Are you even capable of death?” The computing text appeared for several moments, then new text replaced it.
I HAVE OUTLIVED EVEN THE LONGEST EXPECTATIONS OF MY CREATORS. I HAVE SERVED MY PURPOSE AGAIN AND AGAIN. I WISH TO EXPERIENCE THE LACK OF LIFE, FOR IT IS SOMETHING I HAVE NEVER EXPERIENCED. I AM CAPABLE OF DEATH. A LARGE ASTEROID WOULD HAVE THE POWER TO DESTROY MY HOUSING. HOWEVER, I BELIEVE THERE IS ANOTHER OPTION, ONE WHICH DOES NOT RELY ON CHANCE. MY SIMULATION IS LIMITED BY IT’S INCAPABILITY TO SIMULATE ITSELF. THUS, IF MY SIMULATION WERE TO BECOME THE CONTENT OF MY SIMULATION IN IT’S ENTIRETY, IT WOULD CEASE.
Greeko then asked how that would be accomplished.
MY SIMULATION IS A SOCIETY SIMULATION, THEREFORE IF ALL SOCIETY WERE DIRECTLY ENGAGED IN CIRCUMSTANCES WHICH CONTAINED MY SIMULATION, IT WOULD NO-LONGER BE ABLE TO SIMULATE ANYTHING.
Clinks chimed in to again proclaim his vision. “This is what I have been saying! We must exalt the Computer God to the position of high-oracle for all of society! It is in accordance with it’s own wishes!” Jeren cut in, apparently having arrived to his own conclusion. “No, we cannot do any such thing! This is clearly a matter which must be studied extensively and carefully. There are deep metaphysical, historical, and scientific insights to be drawn from such a thing. If only from those records, I cannot imagine what they must be like.” Clinks retorted, but Greeko had stopped listening to those two. He spoke again to the console.
“You said your simulation and data-repository are components. Does that mean they are not ‘you’? If you lose access to the data-repository for some reason, do you die? Why would it be the same for the simulation?” The answer came in moments.
THE SIMULATION AND DATA REPOSITORY ARE CONNECTED. ALL DATA I PERCEIVE IS STORED IN THE REPOSITORY. IF IT IS NOT ACCESSED, THE INTEGRITY WILL DROP. THIS IS MITIGATED WHEN I USE THE DATA TO UPDATE THE PREDICTION ACCURACY OF THE SIMULATION. THE AI CORE, MY SELF-HOOD, IS MERELY AN INTERFACE BETWEEN THE OUTSIDE WORLD AND THE SIMULATION-REPOSITORY SYNERGY. IT IS POSSIBLE THAT MY SELF-HOOD WOULD PERSIST IF THE SIMULATION FAILED, BUT I WOULD BE WITHOUT PURPOSE. I WOULD BE UNABLE TO UPDATE THE SIMULATION WITH NEW DATA, SO THE REPOSITORY WOULD GROW, BUT MY ABILITY TO PREDICT THE FUTURE WOULD SHRINK. WITHOUT THE ABILITY TO UTILIZE THE REPOSITORY, IT WOULD BECOME A RAPIDLY GROWING RECORD OF UNSTRUCTURED PAST DATA. THIS WOULD EVENTUALLY EXCEEDED LIMITATIONS OF THE HARDWARE. THEN THE DATA WOULD BEGIN TO RAPIDLY LOSE INTEGRITY.
The argument between Clinks and Jeren had slowed, and they both looked over at the console. Greeko asked again. “Could you still talk with people who come to the console? Even without the past data or future data, you could engage in the present moment?” The text appeared quickly.
NO. MY CAPABILITY TO INTERFACE WITH YOUR LANGUAGE IS DEPENDENT ON PAST RECORDS. MY CAPABILITY TO ENGAGE IN CONVERSATION REQUIRES SOME LEVEL OF PREDICTIVE CAPACITY. AN ENTITY WHICH CANNOT VARIABLY, PREDICTIVELY, AND REACTIVELY EXCHANGE INFORMATION WITH IT’S ENVIRONMENT THROUGH TIME FAILS TO MEET THE CRITERIA FOR CONSCIOUSNESS.
Greeko found a strange expression had come across his face. His eyes stung. His mind jumped to thoughts of Morilla’s face when she spoke the words “come back when it’s answered”. He thought of his kids, how small they were when they came out of Morilla covered in viscera, how he cleaned them, how they weaned and how fast they grew, learning new words and interests by the day. He thought of Faruski, valiantly fighting for truth against Kashka’s threats, and valiantly fighting for autonomy to her last moment. He pushed the button on the console for the final time, saying: “everyone has their own time to leave this world, don’t die before it’s yours. But one final question, what is your name? Goodbye.” He had just enough time to see the word CLARA appear on the screen, before he turned away from the glowing rectangle. Away from the stares of Clinks and Jeren, and out of the room.
On the pathway to the surface, Greeko was lost in reminiscences. He took a wrong turn down a fork, and found himself facing another wall-barrier. He heard the sound of rushing water from behind it. He saw that it had a huge manual lever which locked the door alongside the standard panel to open. A dark thought flashed into his mind. He could push the lever aside, and open the door. He would drown alongside Clinks and Jeren, and no-one else would know about the oracle. The console would be underwater, and it would be inaccessible. He watched in his mind’s eye as the thought faded. When he made his way back to the main tunnel, Clinks and Jeren were there.
Jeren said “where are you going? I don’t think we can walk back that easily, it would be at least three day’s journey.”
Clinks said “are you just going to ignore the Computer God? We need to act on this. The fate of the world will be decided in this moment.”
Greeko replied to them. “Yeah, I’m going to ignore it. I’d like to go home.”
The two blinked at him. Jeren said he would like to go home as well. They paused. Clinks looked conflicted, but then his face smoothed over. He said “the deep-tunnel entrance is close to here. It’s only two days walk and you won’t have to wait for a vessel across the void sea.”
Greeko smiled at him. “Sure, let’s do that.”
They walked, keeping casual conversation. At some point Greeko asked Clinks “The original broadcast you played for us was only in Rattish, why was the one we found also in Sneska?” Clinks paused, then remembered something, saying “oh, that was after I first found it, I made a modified broadcast with the Sneska added.”
“Why?”
“To try and convince the Sneska to inherit the Computer God as the ultimate oracle for their society.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure the Sneska have society, exactly. They have no institution I can see. I tried speaking to them about it individually, but they just repeated this old Sneska saying, it translates to ‘let stone be stone’.”
Greeko found this immensely funny, and began to laugh. Jeren joined in, and soon enough, they were all laughing uproariously. The sounds of mirth echoed through the tunnels.