Spatium Upended--A Trilogy, page 3
To the average Êlkê, observing an Êlkên, active in œšîhÿê from a distance, was comparable to seeing a ÿâzêø on a mission from Qûæ, to torment them. They would then often shield their iris behind the dense wall of green secretion and summon Ńxhæ and her transcendental powers to their rescue. The Êlkên often found this amusing and frowned upon what they considered to be the stale, retrogressive, and dogmatic doctrines of the Êlkê.
The top incentive for the Êlkâr plying their chosen trade concern was the outstanding possibility of making it to eternity and be immortalized amongst the selected few, whose consciousness and minds were kept alive and relevant to contemporary Êlkâr discourse.
The parallel government tasked with this scoring system was chosen by the beneficiaries of those services in the trade concern’s chosen geographical area of business.
This system, too, provided an area for discontent and consternation amongst the subspecies. The wîqâø points scoring system was a system too vital to leave in the hands of mere mortals, the Êlkê priests argued.
It set the stage for an interstellar battle involving the custodians of the hñêø Nebula that would have far-reaching consequences for everyone involved.
1 = ᗑ: ÊLKÊNQÎ
ÊLKÊNQÎ NØDHÊ LATE HST.
ØICRÔ WAS A smooth consummate spy, a role he wore to perfection. He was an impostor and embedded deep in the heart of Êlkên territory—the core of its scientific and space exploration high command.
He knew the likelihood of being outed was increasingly a reality, yet his resolve far outweighed any fear of reprisal, sanction, personal risk, injury, or an assured end. He reasoned that, in death, he could make âhjâ, which was considered immortality amongst Êlkâr of all stripes. He was quick to caution that thought—the Êlkên high command would eventually have to determine this outcome—he thought to himself, in half-resignation.
Øicârô’s mission, like that of the Êlkê subspecies that came before him, had to be fulfilled. They longed for a reprieve from their perceived oppressors, the Êlkên subspecies.
Being mindful of the fact that there was a secret Êlkê cult and fellowship known as Qÿêø—the Gatekeepers—dedicated to his mission, failure was simply a non-starter.
Unlike the Êlkên that believed in science and all of its empirical truths and conclusions, a large majority of the Êlkê were adherents to the various, Ńxhæ inspired sects. They mostly believed fundamentally in the power of Ńxhæ, the sun deity, and her army of Ÿâzêø lieutenants. This level of adherence and worship meant that, in top-secret Êlkê circles, Øicârô was revered as a possible Ÿâzêø, sent down from the void to save the Êlkê from their Êlkên oppressors.
He glanced around the large hall—easily more than a thousand Êlkên gods as most Êlkâr regarded them. He wondered if there were any like him, an Êlkê god of sorts, one that was in the service of Ńxhæ. One whose brain did not function strictly in Øûhçæ—a unique Êlkâr deep, throaty, static electricity sounding hum, dispatched via a çwûž—Electromagnetic Wave Spectrum—sound wave.
This uniquely Êlkâr speech-less system employed a combination of hyper-quantum superpositions to reach exponentially sophisticated states of reasoning. These malleable states were discernible only by the intended party or telepathically by others with secure access to the specific çwûž frequency in deployment.
THE ÊLKÊN OVERSAW one of the most successful intergalactic type-2 civilizations in their local Cosmos. Here, the scientific and social fabric systems were anchored around the fundamental laws of physics. Electromagnetism as an arm of physics was considered the basis for resolving every complex equation and mysteries that occurred in the Universe.
As an interplanetary civilization blessed with multiple moons, they needed to master the laws and systems that undergirded the relationship between its sun, planet, and moons. Electromagnetism presented that opportunity.
Consequently, the mathematical theories that defined their understanding of complex ideas were resolved and captured for posterity by solving its native çwûž index. Ideas such as the obscure forms of matter, gravitational orbits, planetary obliquity, magnetic poles, rotation, and revolution of the planet related to its moons and sun, were featured.
They achieved this by deploying their inherent knack for electromagnetic energy. Discovering native gases in their atmosphere that could create plasma events on varying wavelengths and spectrums helped accelerate the varying use-cases and applications developed from this science, notably of which was its propulsion systems.
Over several millions of mûlêvâ prior, enterprising Êlkên merchants have developed varying tools and complex engineering around the çwûž technology. The frameworks were built on nanotechnology, where their sub-atomic and molecular level particles and architecture were configurable.
They only needed permission to develop on a specific spectrum; these were approved, secured, and then dedicated to that machinery or devise.
The state commissioned weapons systems, small personal weapons, communication systems, AI drone-ship systems, probes, unibody space vessels and their çwûž-powered plasma engines, consumer products, and all manner of advanced technologies, products and devises were developed for use on the planet. These were equally made available also on its moons, habitable asteroidal clusters and lone, orphan planets, captured in their cosmic sphere of influence.
The varying gravitational forces, orbital styles, surface temperatures, electromagnetic compositions, surface rock, inner core, and the native soil systems of its moons were determined by the scientific orthodoxy, through complex applied mathematical equations and via deployed çwûž algorithms. They widely distributed the data across secure, dedicated çwûž-specific spectrums like every other aspect of life on the planet and its moons.
The çwûž system underpinned their breakthrough propulsion system. Here, they converted the electromagnets’ forcefields in the object’s path in motion into raw kinetic energy, thus producing continued thrust and, by inference, uninterrupted fuel supply for light-years travel.
They accomplished this by simply applying the Magnetic Polarity System. The magnetic forcefield of an object in motion resolved the magnetic properties of objects in its path, then attracted and repelled polar oppositions as required while traveling in a predetermined pathway and at speeds approaching the speed of light. This way, they avoided any collision with the billions of other celestial bodies in their immediate flight path.
This uniquely Êlkâr law of the Cosmos permitted them to build a network of safe and secure electromagnetic superhighways or tunnels within the confines of the invisible forces that control the physical world around them.
ØÎCRØ LOOKED OUT the transparent metallic wall, and out there was his humongous spacecraft, casting a cloudy shadow over painting the lake beside it, in its glorious electric-blue color.
On this occasion, it wasn’t on its customary launch site, as this top-secret mission dictated an equally unorthodox flight procedure. Nothing was to stand in the way of this proposed planet-altering campaign.
The dense green cloud in his æńê cleared up to reveal the transparent, oval-shaped iris. It slowly filled up with a clear substance that bubbled from the bottom of the æńê. He felt giddy and wanted to show it. This biochemical display of emotion was a uniquely Êlkên thing to do. He relished that he was perhaps the only one of the astronomers gathered, who, though not genetically hardwired to be there, prevailed to now commanding the superior çwûž-powered ship.
No matter how this ended, he thought, it was already as it were, an incredible feat, for a supposedly inferior Êlkê.
In a few hours, he was scheduled to power the large vessel onto Vøhçû-œ. He imagined how incredible it was that they entrusted the precious lives of these Êlkên gods in his mere mortal Êlkê hands. There was zero room for error. The Êlkên never made mistakes, he had reasoned. Except, in reality, he was not one of them.
His øûhçæ hummed when he spoke, and although he solved problems employing complex theories and formulas, none of these changed the fact that he was indeed an Êlkê plant. This realization was upper on his mind.
He glanced back at the podium where the most senior Êlkên female member of the government, Vÿxhî, presided over the tense and highly classified emergency briefing of the planet’s highest security, scientific, legislative and judicial council, aka the Tœmńâk. It hosted a top-secret meeting with the topmost elite group of hyper-quantum astrophysicists on the planet of Žøêrhâ.
ÊlkênQî, the biggest and most advanced of the seven principal continents on Žøêrhâ and located to the south of the planet's equator, hosted the event. It was also home to most of the elite Êlkên in their world. The debate centered on either tackling the immediate plan of creating a third weather season in Žøêrhâ's mûlêvâ or taking on the long-term existential threat that Ÿûxâ posed. Those that favored the supposedly more immediate threat posed to Žøêrhâ won the day.
“The Êlkê kind have overtaken ÊlkênQî.” Vÿxhî’s cold stance was glaring in her rhetoric.
“It would help greatly if Vÿxhî would desist from this absurd comparison with—”
“What? With what?” She retorted. As one of the tallest Êlkên males, Fhûqâž offered his disagreement and was promptly shut down.
Fhûqâž had never shied away from confronting Vÿxhî, an Êlkên female of equal biological height, which was a significant status and class determinant amongst the Êlkên subspecies. They had equal social standing, as he was one of the few males at the Tœmńâk.
Membership on the Tœmńâk was based purely on meritocracy, and the female Êlkên were eons ahead of their male counterparts in the required leadership fields.
“ÊlkênQî needs strong and decisive leadership, not cowering to the lowest common denominator!” Vÿxhî was livid, as her high pitched øûhçæ hum bellowed across the large conference silo.
“We are all Êlkâr; Êlkên and Êlkê alike. We provide leadership and guidance, yes, but we also live on this planet and her moons as one Êlkâr race.” She met Fhûqâž’s rebuttal with loud grunt-filled hums, which signified discord.
The Êlkâr race was a sophisticated, social, and scientifically savvy civilization that had, by now, thrived for tens of millions of mûlêvâ. Theirs was a race of interstellar adventurers and masters of their fate. As it pertained the hñêø Nebula and the larger Cosmos beyond, they had gone on and secured their place in history.
“Our predecessors built this fort almost fourteen million mûlêvâ ago. We cannot, in good conscience, be debating conceding authority to the Êlkê and their deities. Does Fhûqâž imagine this will make us seem more noble or acceptable? ÊlkênQî remains the most significant inhabited continent in all of the hñêø. Its powers come from us, not the other way around. We have to be steady. We have to be resolute…” Vÿxhî quipped as she stepped off the podium and walked down the aisle.
She paced the hall with her ferocious and darting eye rotating around atop her æńê while registering a firm gaze on each delegate present. For this to happen, the dense green secretion would clear up at intervals, following in the path of her stare.
“…Or does Fhûqâž propose we also give that up?” She stared coldly at Fhûqâž, sounding off in a sarcasm-drowned øûhçæ.
She spoke with an air of confidence and certainty expected of a top Êlkên operative while oblivious of a breach to their supposedly fool-proof, highly advanced, and AI-enabled verification system that all Êlkên scientists had instituted and deployed across the planet and its moons.
The development of the uniquely øûhçæ-based system of communication set them apart from the Êlkê subspecies whom they had to educate on its use. The hummed and written languages used these peculiar electromagnetic codes to communicate orally and process data at rates comparable to hyper-quantum computers. They had invented AI-enabled hyper-quantum computer systems over eight million mûlêvâ ago. These AI-enabled entities attained a state of culture a short few mûlêvâ later. In this state, the machines possessed the power of reason and will.
The machines were now able to perform tasks with the aptitude of a very advanced form of the Êlkâr humanoid.
“I will gladly give my place in exchange for a better way,” Vÿxhî added as she stepped back onto the raised platform and then toward her transparent lectern made of a dense plasma field, not unlike the one in her ńœhæ. She turned over to the enormous heptagon-shaped screen next to the stage. “I would like to get R0ûàn's take on all of this.” She hummed, addressing her statement toward the translucent screen.
As was customary during such big gatherings, the ÊlkênQî Space Station had an active audiovisual link with R0ûàn and his knowledgeable group of øāńx, from their lunar base on Vøhçû-œ.
The øāńx, which was composed of half-Êlkên and half-machine to whole machine AI, had been tasked with discharging the outcome of the strategy session that Vÿxhî helmed.
Unlike the Êlkên in œšîhÿê, the øāńx were primarily female and male Êlkên subspecies that made the ultimate sacrifice of living out their entire lives as half-Êlkên and half-machine øāńx. Êlkên data scientists and handlers reprogrammed a significant portion of their brain cells they had replaced during the transition.
R0ûàn was the head Êlkên in charge of the main øāńx Brigade. He spent half of the mûlêvâ crisscrossing between the six lunar stations, where he had dedicated øāńx scientists working around the clock. His team was responsible for the research that went into making sure Žøêrhâ was always a step ahead of the uncertainties that life in the hñêø presented.
He addressed the delegates through the large heptagon-shaped screens that floated midair at every section of the silo.
“For now, two numbers are of utmost significance: fourteen and forty-nine.” R0ûàn began his address. The heptagon-shaped screen revealed a highly sophisticated control center. Over three dozen øāńx specialists, semi-levitated, hovered around their respective heptagon-shaped screens.
Their silicon exoskeletons radiated with the çwûž circuitry that powered them. Anatomy was similar to the Êlkâr save the absence of the specific plasma energy field, the ńœhæ.
They crunched and punched away into keyboard-type platforms that illuminated upon each touch. Suspended heptagon-shaped graphs, numbered charts, colorful and brilliant pictures all made for rich imagery as R0ûàn cruised midair around the silo and toward a massive wall, illuminated from top to same bottom type of heptagon shaped screen.
“We would certainly like to hear more of that,” Fhûqâž said, taking a few steps toward Vÿxhî at the pulpit, as they both peered at the screen.
“Absolutely, here we are.” At eight feet tall, R0ûàn appeared dwarfed by the massive screen from which he addressed the silo.” We are currently tracking Vøhçû-œ’s orbital trajectory.” He continued using the live AI drone-ship feed on the screen to show the moon’s orbital path relative to Žøêrhâ.
“My team and I all agree that, in as little as fourteen hours from now, we should be able to surgically sever from Vøhçû-œ, a radius of one thousand nine hundred seventy cubic miles, representing ½ of her total landmass.” He quipped in his peculiar øāńx øûhçæ hum.
A digital simulation described how this happened. “An extensive period of forced orbital redirection should get the new moon into Žøêrhâ’s orbit within the proceeding forty-eight ÿlêvâ.” The delegates present seemed pleased with the briefing.
“We hope to have concluded mandatory evacuations back into the subterranean lunar base of the larger portion of Vøhçû-œ right after this briefing, but they should definitely be completed before the evacuation ship arrives.” R0ûàn was referring to the underground lunar base built on the larger of the twin Vøhçû-œ moons that they planned to use as storage for much of the immovable equipment. An incoming spaceship from Žøêrhâ, which they hoped would take him, his team of øāńx scientists, and every piece of portable equipment back onto Žøêrhâ, before returning to Vøhçû-œ and embarking on this daring and ambitious planet-altering feat of space engineering.
Vÿxhî and Fhûqâž seemed pleased so far. He stole a glance at her. She, in turn, clenched her hands as a sign of concurrence—a rare moment of accordance between these two highly esteemed Êlkên.
“With regard to the number forty-nine, however, you are all familiar with the existential threat posed by Ÿûxâ.” R0ûàn appeared to relish his highly regarded task. An uneasy silence permeated the silo. “By the next forty-nine mûlêvâ to be exact, Vøhçû-œ will be exposed to Ÿûxâ’s path, and this will force Žøêrhâ off its spatial axis by as much as five inches … away from Vrâê.”
There were a series of low pitch øûhçæ hums across the hall. The trepidation was palpable. Everyone present knew what a five inch displacement meant for Žøêrhâ and her remaining moons. Perhaps without overstating the extent of Ÿûxâ's threat, every other planetary body in its path had so far been consumed by its vast magnetic core.
The Êlkên race, with its long and sophisticated history, was on the cusp of being wiped off the face of the constellation of which it had successfully mastered and dominated. What was worse, a school of thought amongst the øāńx scientists feared that Žøêrhâ would not be the only casualty from Ÿûxâ's death path. They had solid empirical proof to back their theory that at least twenty-one other planets from the hñêø Nebula would be no more should no change occurred to mitigate it.
The minutest shift in Žøêrhâ’s spatial and orbital axis could result in electromagnetic imbalances, not to mention the effects of solar flares and the worst-case scenario of having one or more of the remaining six moons set on a direct collision course with Žøêrhâ. With the electromagnetic radiation-powered çwûž as their primary source of power generation, this could ground all of their technology and render them vulnerable to any possible attacks from outer space. They dreaded this possibility.
