And the Children of Humanity lost their essence
And they began to sustain the Enemies of Humanity with their lives
And there remained neither the righteous nor the guilty, neither victims nor executioners
All became one under hellish oppression
"Book of Sorrow"
Verse XVI
"Parallax…" I muttered, puzzled. "What are you doing here?"
The BAS rarely screwed up. Sometimes its conclusions didn't suit me, and I'd go my own way, but that didn't make the data wrong.
Ninety-four percent was a damn high probability—almost a guarantee. That meant somewhere on this planet was something I truly needed. The local savages might've torn the ship apart, scattered its pieces across the world, even trashed some of it—but that changed nothing.
When Ideals hit captured worlds, we brought humanity's System with us. The lyrdagi quickly learned to block our access to humanity's infinite energy pool, delaying their species' doom. That is, until the Confederation's orbital yards launched the first Parallax.
The assault bot for humanity's finest warriors carried the full might of cutting-edge tech—most of it beyond Alien reach. Parallaxes became beacons of our victory. Those ships turned into reyz-energy relays, shrugging off all blockades. They didn't even care about their own condition.
The beacon's structure was etched into every bot component with 3D notches—remotely activatable. You could cobble together a working relay even if the ship took a direct acid bomb hit. If just twenty percent of the material survived, startup took minutes. Then we'd roll in…
I got so lost in thought I nearly missed the BAS ping.
Additional data detected
Here too! The local System happily grafted foreign objects into its framework, twisting them into mockeries of humanity's past.
A remnant of infantry armor became "Noble Irrg Hide." Knowing its origins or even a shred of history, that name was a slap in the face.
Irrgs were lyrdagi cannon fodder—brainless, gluttonous brutes made mostly of jaws and stomachs. Five of the former, three of the latter. Even Laughers earned more respect.
"Noble Irrg," I spat to the side in disgust. "And what've we got here?"
Vakr-Butcher's Blade
Durability: 3500/3500
Bonus: Double Edge—blade sharpness remains constant over time, no honing required.
"Genius," I sighed. "As if anything in this world could scratch this alloy."
Same nonsense as the IPA remnant's description—there, local dreamers touted its "extreme resistance to knife strikes."
The descriptions were dumb and primitive, but two facts stood out. The space-grade alloy chunk had been reworked and altered, and the infantry armor modded to fit local conditions.
Picture Nox's village—no one there could've pulled this off. So somewhere on this planet was a hub with skilled enough craftsmen to handle these materials. Maybe there I'd find the rest of the Parallax—or clues to its location. For now, I had to focus on the task at hand, unpleasant as it was.
I returned to the gate activator I'd found earlier, sat on the ground, and pulled out a knife. A careful slice on my wrist exposed the port. Beneath the skin, the bioimplant's gray mass peeked out.
"Activate direct sync mode," I said reluctantly.
The BAS reacted instantly. A pale tendril emerged from the implant, like a blind deep-sea monster's limb. The built-in control system hijacked my optic channels to assess the situation. The tendril twitched left, curled, and plunged downward. I braced for the inevitable side effect.
A wave of cold spread from my wrist, morphing into sharp, prickling pain. Syncing with Alien gear was always torture. Easier to destroy it than seize control—but I had a different goal now.
Forced sync system activated
Preliminary hack difficulty assessment in progress
Energy masking protocol launched
Pain surged through my body in waves. Back in the day, I'd dampen some of the impulses from pain receptors or use medic chems. Now, I didn't have near enough energy for the first, and the second probably didn't exist here.
Assessment complete
Success likelihood with full adaptation: 98% (soft option), duration: 1 hour
Success likelihood with partial adaptation: 80% (medium option), duration: 30 minutes
Success likelihood with direct control: 68% (hard option), duration: 10 minutes
"Hard option," I hissed through gritted teeth. Decent odds—usually, the third option capped at ten percent. This local System was pretty basic.
Activating direct control scenario
All senses vanished at once. That was the biggest downside of this hack method—I was a sitting duck, blind and deaf, with all BAS resources funneled into cracking the gate system.
Occasional outlines of Alien energy structures flickered in the dark. A couple times, I thought I glimpsed familiar patterns.
"Phew…"
Sensation slammed back. A sharp blade of grass poked my cheek. The air swam with thick floral scents and the tang of fresh blood. The sun roasted my neck.
I lay on my side, listening. Birds screeched in the grove. Something small rustled in the grass far right. Once I was sure no one was near, I opened my eyes.
Five meters away, a tall energy arch shimmered ghostly. The forced activation had scorched large patches under the power supports, but it held steady.
Beyond the greenish veil, I saw the same grove—but with a clear, meter-wide trail.
I gathered my prepped gear and weapons, then stepped confidently through the energy film. The world dulled slightly—a normal reaction to tunnel shielding. I'd guessed right.
The forest beyond the trail barely changed. Odd spots dotted plant leaves—could be light tricks… or markers…
The spots followed a pattern, but I couldn't crack its purpose. I figured the forest was split into sectors. Why or how remained a mystery, though I tasked the BAS with decoding it.
The trail bore clear human footprints—crucial for me. I spent over a minute studying its start but found no three-toed lyrdagi tracks. Maybe Aliens didn't use these paths at all.
I set off after the villagers, lugging an arsenal: swords, spears, chainmail, the two-hander. Back in the day, I wouldn't have felt the weight—a plasma generator was five times heavier, and we hauled those as standard gear.
But my body hadn't recovered yet. The recent fight and general fatigue didn't help. A couple hundred RE and some recovery matrices would fix that…
Weirdest part? I had all the know-how—knew what to do and how—but felt like a sports flyer with no engine. Capable, just not now. Still, I felt leagues better than when I woke up.
I trudged steadily along the villagers' tracks, hoping this tunnel had no side branches. Finding those would be a pain. If Doe pulled the group out into normal space via one, tracking them would get tricky.
A loud chirring sounded right, and I instinctively swung the two-hander at it.
The weapon jerked in my hands—I barely kept balance. The tunnel's shield flared brighter for a second, then normalized.
On the other side stood a Laugher. Its force fields scraped the wall before me. Colors and shapes shifted—huge green claw, red jaws, pale mist of acid vapors… This one was seasoned and creative.
Its skill showed in its camouflage and utter stillness. Without the tunnel film's special filter, I'd never have clocked it.
It blended perfectly—unlike the one I'd killed, this mimicked a living plant. I'd seen a dozen like it in the grove. My memory was sharp, and I could swear the copy was spot-on.
"Shit," I summed up after watching the energy display for a bit, then moved on.
I didn't need BAS calculations to see the obvious: in my current state, I wouldn't survive outside the tunnel. Laughers took days to adapt to new turf, but true terrain blending took a year. This was way beyond that. I'd lucked out with the first one. And if I was right…
Structural grid analysis complete
Cell: 30x30
Likely purpose: containment zone control for LNT-711 "Laugher"
Twenty minutes in, attacks ramped up. By half an hour, the roar of force fields and Laughers' ghostly voices turned the tunnel into a hell-branch. Every cell was packed, forming a solid barrier.
Their glowing silhouettes meant little to someone clueless about Laughers. A bush here, a log there, a grassy pit…
Crossing that line on foot would need an artillery division—or a pair of Ideals. A real containment strip, like around key lyrdagi sites. But why here?
BAS: Data upload
The Laughers were packed too tight for free movement. I hoped the data in my system's memory stayed academic.
The tracks lost sharpness. Big dents and drag marks appeared—someone panicked and got hauled, others crawled. The villagers ditched some gear, but I didn't pick it up.
The monsters' howls faded. Attacks on the tunnel dwindled, and Laugher color spots thinned out.
Human voices finally sounded ahead—I picked up pace. Around a bend, I glimpsed the column's tail. A disheveled woman trailed, sobbing loudly, begging to go home.
No one listened. The group pushed hard. On a straight stretch, it was clear they'd stretched thin. Up front was the lead trio: Doe, Nox, and his son.
The girl had to lead as Guider. Nox and Dog stuck close because it was the safest spot.
"Step aside," I said quietly, passing the straggler. She collapsed, shielding herself in terror.
"Don't hit me, Dog," she whimpered. "I'm going, I'm going…"
That bastard. Anger simmered inside. I'd spared his life, hoping he'd rethink his ways. Too bad the elder's son wasn't ready to change.
The tunnel was too narrow to easily bypass the single-file or paired marchers. A third-category footpath—simplest, lowest energy draw.
Instead of another turn, I saw a greenish cap far ahead—exit to normal space. Dense forest loomed beyond the energy veil. The grid markers vanished—we'd crossed into monster-free turf.
"Step aside," I repeated, passing another pair.
Voices and a woman's哭泣—Doe?—drifted from the front.
"You promised!" Nox's creaky voice was unmistakable. "Do what you must—I don't care how!"
"I can't, Nox!" Definitely Doe. She held a raised hand to the energy film, trying something—not for the first time. "The trail drained me. I need time."
"We barely escaped those creatures!" Nox grumbled, holding back. The girl was still key to saving the rest. Odd his son wasn't in on this talk. "I'm old and not even tired."
The column muttered—everyone was pissed, scared, desperate to escape this nightmare. I moved forward, catching hostile glares at Irma. No one cared she'd saved them from Raiders—they blamed her for everything.
"You don't get it," Irma shook her head, defeated. "None of you do!"
"Open your hole, girl!" a bearded guy near me shouted. I "accidentally" swayed.
The bundle of three spears on my shoulder swung out, clocking his jaw. He clutched his face, whirling at me—then deflated under my cold stare. His red face paled, eyes dropping.
"She said she needs time," I said loudly. The stragglers already gawked; now the rest turned. "Clear enough?"
Redirecting attention was easy—they needed a scapegoat, and I fit the bill.
"Achilles…" Nox stammered, eyes bouncing between my haul and my face—spears, swords, blood-crusted chainmail. He tallied odds and darkened fast. "How did you…"
"How much time to recover?" I asked Irma calmly, locking eyes.
"An hour," she replied, crushed. "Maybe more…"
"What's the problem then?" I didn't get it.
"The trail's fading!" a woman behind me yelled. "I was last—I saw it! Wild beasts are coming. This girl's feeding us to the forest spawn!"
"True?" I drawled lazily. She faltered mid-sentence. "I followed you. The trail's fine."
I scanned the column again, frowning.
"She's right," Irma said softly. "I feel the bindings straining. If the trail collapses…"
She didn't finish. The others didn't need to know, but I did: the tunnel's fields would snap into a line, slicing everything between into a thin sheet. Protective structures worked that way. The girl had bitten off too much ferrying this many—she'd run dry.
Irma looked pitiful. She knew what was coming and couldn't stop it. Otherwise, panic would erupt, and they'd tear her apart.
I sized up the group—none posed a threat. One nagging detail remained.
"Where's your son?" I stepped close to Nox.
"He…" Nox mumbled, staring at the ground. "He's not here because…"
"He stayed behind," Doe said, gazing at the forest beyond. "At least someone'll survive…"
"You're jumping to conclusions," I said evenly. Irma looked at me with hope, then set her lips stubbornly. "You're right."
I couldn't stop her in time. Her eyes glazed—an interface at work—then distortion bands flared around her briefly before crumbling into useless sparks. She hit the ground. Nox gasped, lost.
"Happy now?" I snapped. I'd only caught part of their talk, but I'd bet the old man hounded her the whole way. Here's the result. "What's next?"
"She'll manage," Nox bleated, glancing nervously at the crowd. "Doe's a strong girl. She'll get us out…"
Get us out… This prick only cared about himself, even now. If the girl didn't burn out from overload, it'd be a miracle. Time to take charge.
BAS: Key mimicry. Similarity mode, I ordered mentally, kicking internal systems into gear. Once I'd cracked a corridor's key, I could use it for a day. The external effects perfectly matched the field's creators' energy signature.
Similarity mode activated
Key mimicry protocol launched
Gate opening in 3, 2, 1…
The tunnel vanished. We stood on a launch platform choked with thick brush. The crowd cheered briefly—then fell silent.
Figures in green-spotted clothes rose around the clearing's edge. Dozens of arrow tips eyed the group hungrily. A clean-shaven man with a short crop of gray hair stood before us.
"Kill them," his flat voice whispered through the air.