Heading underground

 Mere glimmer of a red dusk was all that was left from the daylight when Lara returned to my hotel room. It was somewhat rudimentary, but one would not expect lavish luxury in such a remote, sparsely inhabited place. To the contrary, it was lucky that the isolated village in the Northern Labrador offered accommodation in the first place.

She had spent the entire afternoon photographing the area of interest, some thirty kilometers southward, from an airplane flying at low altitude. Having taken off her heavy aviator jacket, she dropped a handful of memory cards on a little desk I had in the room, which served as an improvised command center.

Minutes later in front of my laptop, we were already examining aerial photos she made, looking for any sign of Gatnamot, the ancient underground temple mentioned in Icelandic sagas. My programming knowledge was very limited and crude, but I had managed to prepare a program which would hopefully detect and point to any regular structures or straight lines in the photographs, and spare us from checking all of them manually.

It did pick around forty photographs of some interest, even though we were both aware that the likelihood of them all being false positives was extremely high. Lara, nevertheless, insisted on checking them right away. Matching her energy, especially when she wanted to research or uncover something, was often difficult.

The process was slow, with lots of zooming and matching any interesting shapes we spotted to their occurrences in other photographs, from different angles. They invariably turned out to be natural structures which, from a given angle and with the artefacts produced by the camera and the encoding, initially seemed interesting.

I clearly remember we were looking at the twenty-fourth photograph, right after a tea break we had taken to rest our eyes following more than two hours of examinations. Regardless of Lara's undiminished energy, it was coincidentally me who spotted something unusual. Rocks of various sizes and colors spread over grey soil were nothing unusual, but a certain one, isolated from the rest, seemed as if it was roughly rectangular.

Zooming in as far as the limited resolution made it sensible, we could only just discern creases in the rectangle, suggesting it was built, constructed from blocks, rather than a naturally occurring structure.

The moment was electrifying—was it indeed artificial in origin? Lara bit her lip, and I had no doubt she wanted to go and explore the place right away, but even she understood we would have to wait until daylight.

We went through the rest of the photographs nevertheless, and then set out to identify the exact location of the stone rectangle. Luckily, this was not particularly difficult: each photograph had a precise timestamp, and Lara's airplane's avionics had logged its exact location: all we had to do was to find and interpolate the airplane's location at the moment when the key photograph was shot.

And take plenty of rest.

 

With the area offering no easy rugged landing spots, and no helicopters available, next day Lara rented the best off-road vehicle she could find—a stout former military truck converted for civilian use. Again, contrary to many artificially tweaked depictions of Lara, she liked company on her travels, and insisted I join her, at least as long as she was on the surface.

We set off toward the coordinates calculated the night before, guided by the onboard GPS. Among the truck's many virtues, passenger comfort was missing and, combined with the rugged terrain, the journey was both slow and exhausting. Still, after over two hours of Lara's skilled driving, we finally approached the area we had been looking for.

Holding the photograph on my map, I managed to get the key bearings and navigated Lara to drive us to the vicinity of the rectangular rocky object, but not too close: we wanted to avoid the wheels destroying any possible clues in the ground in the object's proximity.

Stopping and observing the object in front of us was another electrifying moment, because the structure was clearly artificial in origin. Surrounded by a large patch of rocky dirt, there was a stone platform roughly the size of a snooker table, made of tightly fitting individual stone blocks. There was no chance of it having been randomly assembled by nature.

We left the truck and carefully approached the object, diligently recording and photographing everything as we walked.

"Looks rather like a grave of a giant," she said.

The sides of the object were featureless, so we climbed on its top. The only features I could discern were creases between the stone blocks—everything else seemed like normal wear and tear throughout centuries, possibly over a millennium.

It was an interesting find in itself, to be sure, but there was no entrance nor any special details I could see. Lara's knowledge, however, allowed her to see facts where I could not. She kneeled and inspected the blocks we were standing on.

"Observe the surface," she spoke. "See these slightly asymmetric dents? Clearly modeled with a narrow iron chisel, which fits with the Viking theory. And individual blocks have dents of differing sizes, meaning multiple stonemasons were involved."

She stood up and considered for a moment. "Help me inspect all the blocks. It was not uncommon for the stonemasons of the era to chisel their initials or signatures on the stone blocks they made."

I had only begun the search on my half when Lara jubilantly called me. Indeed, near the edge of one of the stones, two little symbols were engraved: a rather narrow letter 'R', followed by a 'Y' with an extra vertical line at the top, resembling the Greek Psi.

"These are runes," she said with a very serious tone. "Think about it: runes. On American mainland. Yes, we know of the Norse colonization of Newfoundland in the eleventh century, but this is something else. Do you think we have found Gatnamot?"

I thought for a while before answering. My thoughts raced. "I think yes," I squeezed finally. "Based on Icelandic sagas and legends of the Naskapi, we found it exactly in the narrow area we predicted it would be. I think anything else would be an unthinkable, fully impossible coincidence."

"So do I. This alone will rewrite many history books."

We stood in silence, aware of the gravity of our find. Then Lara circled the small platform, looking for any further clues. Suddenly she stopped and turned toward me.

"But there is some... discrepancy. This is nothing like how the sagas describe it, nothing grand. A stone slab, and an important one at that, but nothing majestic nor sacred."

She was not wrong, but I had a natural answer. "Don't forget: these are sagas and legends, and thus likely to exaggerate everything, even if they refer to a real place. Perhaps Gatnamot indeed is no more than this slab, but the word-of-mouth and the need to embellish stories distorted it over time into the grand halls you are talking about. Think of Greek mythology as a good analogy: there is a palace at Knossos, and a very nice one at that, but the legends added the narrative about the famous labyrinth, for the sake of drama."

"You may be right. Perhaps the old storytellers would not be content with the narrative of the famous warriors gaining superhuman powers on a mere slab of stone, and therefore invented the underground temples, secret halls, and whatnot."

"Exactly. Even the legends based on truth are typically full of such fantasies and dramatizations. In nearly all cultures. Still, let's search onward—perhaps there are other clues we have missed so far."

The next set of runic initials was less of a surprise, and from the third onward, it was hardly news anymore. Luckily, it was a sunny day, and sharp shadows helped noticing small details.

Lara was examining the central element of the structure, a large square block of stone, when she called me. That one was not perfectly flush with the surface, and she pointed me to an unusual set of indentations on its side, near the top edge. They were visibly chiseled, and formed a line which was supposed to be straight, but was slightly irregular.

"Any idea what this is? Was the stonemason testing his chisel here, hoping this side would never be visible?"

Lara was not yet aware she had made a brilliant discovery.

"I know what this is," I said in amazement. "I have seen them in Nordic structures already. These are anchors for the metal hooks, to make lifting easier!"

"Lifting? So this panel is supposed to be lifted?" I heard the excited tremble in her voice.

"Indeed! You can even see these micro-fractures where the metal hooks, probably pulled by a group of people, wore down the stone over time. This entire panel is not just floor... it's a heavy trap door!"

She flexed her fingers. "We need to find a way to lift it," and for once, I agreed with her.

There was no way two people, no matter how athletic, could lift the slab manually. But our truck gave me an idea.

"We have a winch on our truck we can try. No idea how thick—and therefore how heavy—the panel is, but maybe it is within the capability of the winch."

Lara parked the truck right in front of the structure, while I attached the winch hook to the panel. We started the winch which, predictably, first raised the truck's front wheels onto the platform. Then we stopped the winch, braked the car, even put several rocks in front of its wheels to improve its stability, and restarted the winch.

One could hear the winch motor struggle, but after a few moments, with heavy rumble, the panel started to rise slowly. We stopped the winch and rushed to the newly-opened hole.

As it turned out, the ancient legends had not exaggerated. Underneath the panel, there was a steep stairway leading down underground, and turning right after ten meters or so.

She looked seriously at me. "You know I cannot not enter."

"But...! Without equipment?"

She smiled and walked to the back of the truck, where she took a backpack. "Never leaving home without it. Now, listen—I will not break my word, and will therefore not insist on you following me. But if I am not back by seven o'clock, feel free to leave and seek help from the authorities."

Before I could even form some kind of a reply, she was already kneeling next to the panel and entering the underground.

Secrets of Labrador

Lara was there a few minutes early: the clock tower in the town center had not yet rung six o'clock when I heard the sharp clang of the knocker. Moments later, I was leading her into my humble little chalet's cozy sitting room. She wore rather inconspicuous casual clothes—black jeans, grey sneakers and a simple blue shirt atop a white blouse. Her hair was not braided, but bound into a simple and practical ponytail.

Without much pomp, I pointed her toward the sofa and drew her attention to a kettle on the table. She quietly enjoyed the black tea for a few moments and looked out through the window at the relentless night rain.

Despite of all the usual commercially influenced stories which portrayed her as crass and ruthless, Lara was altogether not at all unpleasant. She was just terrible at small talk, which could occasionally be misinterpreted as arrogance, for those who would never progress past the shallow topics.

"So," she said after we updated each other on the main news since the previous Winter when we had last met, "you already know what brought me here."

Of course I knew. Even if she had not told me many times before when we were arranging her visit, I would have easily guessed her quest to be related to the new revelations about the Naskapi.

Sitting in my favorite armchair facing Lara, I took a glass of whisky from the mantlepiece. "I will tell you what I know, but first—just for my curiosity—how did you find out about the Naskapi? It was you who approached me first."

"More mundane than you would think, really," she said shrugging her shoulders, surprised by the question. "Almost all was based on rumors in the archaeological circles. I say 'almost', because a little, very little, came from subtle hints in the Norman legends."

It took me several seconds to understand the connection, and I slapped my forehead. "Oh, of course! It actually makes sense. It all does."

She was intrigued by my reaction. "What do you mean?"

"You see," I explained, "my sources are mostly Icelandic in origin: complex threads of their ancient sagas interwoven in a somewhat consistent tapestry. Not the Hyperboreal theory, mind you, but the truly Icelandic matter, which..."

"...shares the same Viking roots with the first settlers of Normandy," Lara confidently completed the sentence.

"Yes! That's a clear link. I will have to explore that route a bit."

"All right—but what did you learn so far?"

I anticipated the question, so I took a notebook I had ready on a shelf, and spread the bookmarked page on the table for Lara.

"See here: there are seventy-six references to the far eastern lands in the collected sagas. Some are clearly fanciful and are simply used as means of sending a character on a long, difficult voyage. But others are more coherent, more structured, and simply sound as if they refer to a specific, real place."

I let Lara comprehend the diagram. "Indeed," she said at last. "But what made you think they all, or most, refer to the same real place related to the Naskapi?"

"These references are not copied here in full length: it would take too much space. But I read them all, and they mention various main landmarks with remarkable consistency. See—I enumerated them here below."

I flipped the page and showed another diagram to my reputable guest.

"Here, then, is another list, showing all the landmarks mentioned in the legends of the Naskapi, at least legends that survived. At first glance, there are no exact matches. But then..."

"Right," Lara's quick wits spotted the connections easily. "Some are suspiciously similar."

"Are they not? The great triangle and the divine spire. Then, the notched bay and the gulf within the gulf. This is perhaps the clearest one: the wavy forest and the dark sea woods. Given the exaggerations commonly found in the ancient legends, along with the elapsed time that distorted the descriptions throughout the generations, these matches are not half bad."

"This is an excellent find," she said with suppressed excitement. "I am somewhat surprised no etnologist or historian has spotted this yet."

"Do not forget that the systematic study of the Naskapi legends is a very recent thing. It was only three or four years ago when McFerell and Black published their first works, and it took them until last Summer to systematize it all."

Lara asked, "how many matches did you find altogether?"

"Four likely ones, and additional two that are at least worth considering. As soon as I compiled this short list, I procured as precise maps of the areas historically inhabited by the Naskapi as I could, and looked for the actual landmarks they could represent."

"How could you be so sure they were not in Eastern Iceland?"

"Because an entire army of historians already did the same, never found any matches there, and assumed the landmarks were purely fictional. But no one had looked for them in the lands of the Naskapi, namely, Labrador."

Lara smiled at me. "And you found them."

"Strictly scientifically speaking, that is a matter of interpretation. Perhaps I found them because I was specifically looking for them."

I asked Lara to join me at the dining table where I unrolled a large map of Labrador, and pointed to several places I had circled with a red marker.

"The four likely and two possible matches are all shown here. I obtained some aerial and satellite photographs too. In any case, it may well be that the both folklores refer to these exact features. It is, however, a big supposition, because the landscape must have looked differently that long ago."

She just nodded, quietly sipping her tea and absorbing the information.

"Now for the key point which is, I admit, pure speculation. For one reason or another, it is not mentioned in the Naskapi legends, but the Icelandic sagas occasionally do refer to a mythical location of Gatnamot. Have you heard of it?"

Her brown eyes narrowed. "Gatnamot? It sounds vaguely familiar. Was it the underground temple?"

I smiled at her. "Yes, the mysterious secret place visited by the most distinguished warriors, where they supposedly temporarily gain superhuman powers required for an upcoming battle. In the sagas, unsurprisingly, these powers often turn out to be the key element overturning a defeat into victory. And even though Gatnamot appears across multiple sagas, its exact location is never described in any. Neither is it linked to any such landmark."

"Which, obviously, did not dissuade you," she said with some humor in her voice.

"It would have, were it not for another set of hints provided in the sagas. It has to do with the distances. Distances between locations linked to known landmarks and Gatnamot. Those I collected on this page in my notebook. See here: in this instance, the brave soldier Ketill walks two days and two nights from the spire to Gatnamot, and then takes one more day to reach the coast. In another example, the swordsmith Einar rides his trusty horse from the great bay to Gatnamot, passing over some hills on his way, and reaches it after three days. There are five such examples in the sagas."

I took a pencil and continued, "assuming all these timings are correct, and combining them with estimated speeds of walking at day, at night, riding a horse over hills, and so on, it is possible to find a patch of land which roughly satisfies all five examples from the sagas. It is here," and with those words I used my pencil to indicate a spot some ninety kilometers inland from Labrador's northeast coast.

Lara looked at the map for a moment, and then turned toward me. "But surely, it cannot be such a precise point," she said slowly. "Due to tolerances in the speed estimations, and probably imprecise legends."

She was right. "True: this is just the center of the resulting area. It is actually a rough circle of some ten, perhaps fifteen kilometers in diameter," I said.

She nodded, immersed in thought. "You narrowed it down remarkably, but it is still about a hundred square kilometers of land. Not something one can search easily, especially if having no hints of what one is actually looking for."

It was my turn to smile. "I anticipated your question in advance, and gave it some thought in the meantime. The situation is not as bad as it seems, because a great majority of those hundred square kilometers can be eliminated right away."

"How?" she asked, with undeniable sparkle in her eyes.

I took a precise satellite photo of the area in question from my notebook. "As you see, the area is full of tiny lakes. If Gatnamot was on the surface, it would have been discovered centuries ago. Therefore, if underground, as the sagas sometimes vaguely indicate as well, it would either have to be at a safe distance from any lakes in order to prevent flooding due to porous soil, or on a slightly raised surface. This reasoning alone eliminates at least three quarters of the possible area."

"And probably we can narrow it down a little further," she continued. "Whether they built a temple or a barn, people of the era naturally prioritized locations in vicinity of rivers. There is a river in the area, and the best bet would be to start searching around it."

"That's a good point," I admitted.

Her gaze was still on the map, but I was sure her thoughts were already deep into preparations for the journey to Labrador.

IX: Time to rise

N08.91 W01.90

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VIII: Farce Face

The next thing I remember was opening eyes some unknown time later. Firstly I saw Dr Maston, whom I recognized as a chief medic of the Resistance. I was laid down on a bed. Noticing my awareness, Maston spoke in his typically calm voice.

"Morgan? Good to see you recovering so quickly. Do not worry ― you will be just fine. We are in the resistance base. Our search squad found you a bit beaten and scarred among the cliffs near the Scarpine outpost, where you went on your mission two nights ago. We're not sure whether you lost your footing or were perhaps surprised by a Scarpine patrol. Anyhow, the important thing is, you will be back to your usual self soon."

I nodded, and he continued. "Dr Kelley told me to call for him as soon as you have regained consciousness. I will call him now. He probably wants to know about the outcome of the talks with that defecting Scarpine officer you met."

Obviously, the secret of my mission's true purpose was still kept well. And so, a couple of minutes later, Kelley indeed came and sat next to me, looking quite excited.

"Having heard you are recovering quickly is second recent good news. Let me tell you what has been going on since yesterday morning."

He looked around whether anyone was close enough to eavesdrop. Having assured himself that was not the case, he continued, "The ripple generator you have started on your mission is doing its job well, and even more importantly, we are on to something. Last night those alien ripples loitered indeed around the Scarpine's outpost, were recorded by our device which emitted the number series, and then ― incredibly ― those ripples immediately changed their behavior. They came to the device, did some kind of a more powerful ripple a few times, as if probing around it, did a few circles around it, and then disappeared after a few minutes ― probably relocating somewhere."

"So we have a basis for communication," I replied with my still somewhat raspy voice.

"Yes! I don't remember having felt so scientifically excited for years! And you can imagine how hard it is having to remain quiet about it. Not only do we have a solid indication this is indeed a form of intelligence, but also that it is probably not hostile."

The warning from the E-Man did not escape my thoughts, however. "What do you suggest as a next step, then? We should be careful, to say the least, with the powers... beings... that can deform spacetime."

"That's right. But as we both agreed two weeks ago, what is the worst that can happen? Reducing our chances in a war where they are slim anyway?"

"Therefore, Morgan, I think we should try to communicate one way or another. I am already working on a drawing we could encode in a series of pulses..."

Kelley was interrupted by Alice rushing into the room. "Dr Kelley, come quickly! Morgan, you're fine! Come along too. You won't believe what you are about to see!"

This gave me a burst of energy so I managed to stand up and follow them toward a communication console in the next room. A videostream had just been turned on and a smiling face appeared.

Dr Kelley opened his mouth in awe. "Great Scott! Is that really you? You are alive?"

I was shocked as well. It was none other than Dr Rosenbaum, my ex-boss, the lead researcher of the Blue Mega's Anomalous materials lab! The man who had designed, among other things, the famous anti-mass spectrometer. He had disappeared after the incident and everyone assumed he must have died ― together with thousands of other personnel ― in the thermonuclear explosion that wiped the Black Mega off the Earth. Even more shocking was his appearance: he seemed a bit tired, but looked exactly like how I remembered him. I couldn't help asking myself whether his contract might have as well been offered to the highest bidder?

"Well, as far as I know, I am, old pal," said the figure. "Oh, Morgan, you are there too! You haven't aged a day!"

"Where are you? Where were you all this time?" I asked.

"Judging by my antenna direction and signal strength, probably about forty to sixty kilometers north from you. I think I am not extremely safe here in this area, so let's first get me to your base, and then we can discuss all that has happened and is happening."

"That is a good idea, a squad will leave to pick you up immediately," replied Kelley. "Turn off the transmitter now for your safety, and blip your beacon once every half an hour, so that the search party can find you."

Auth.sig:
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VII: The Encounter

Awaiting the impact, I got ― millisecond by millisecond ― more horrified about the height of my drop. There is no way for me to survive this.

But... but... surely two, three seconds had elapsed! Four? I must have crashed against the rocks by now. Darkness. Am I dead, is this being dead? Can I move? It was still dark around me, but now ― it was really pitch black. Not even a cleft at night can be so unnaturally black. And... I don't feel the air streaming around me anymore. I must be dead. I must. Yet why am I conscious? This was somehow even more terrifying than "only" dying.

And then ― from that complete silence, I heard a quiet yet distinctive clearing of throat. Suddenly I realized the answer to all these panicked questions.

"Sorry to prejudice, Dr Ferryman, but I would expect this was not a sudden suicide attempt?", said the well known slow and hissy voice, unmistakably belonging to the E-Man. "Any worthy scientist would surely prefer to know the outcome of his experiments."

I noticed him standing to the right ― as always, in his tidy suit, with a briefcase, and watching me with his striking eyes.

"Just as well we met, Dr Ferryman, because I needed to talk to you. My employers and I... appreciate your scientific endeavors. Yet, I need to emphasize that you may be risking tapping forces your current peers are not yet fully ready to understand. I was allowed, therefore, in these unusual circumstances, to connect ― or rather, reconnect ― you to an individual you can help and be helped by."

He began fading away, but still had time for one last sentence. "But making the right decision will remain your job, when the time comes, Dr Ferryman."

As usual, not only was I completely paralysed during his talk, but I also had no feeling of my body, as if only being a tiny, blurry cloud of consciousness floating through this horrible void. What was the E-Man warning me of? And why did he not just intervene himself ― as he had already shown to be capable of ― into the matter he refers to? And who was the individual he had so vaguely mentioned?

Everything went dark, my consciousness included.

Auth.sig:
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VI: Fall

Three days later, everything was ready. We decided to take advantage of darkness, and picked a night ahead of, according to our intelligence, the Scarpine's troop shifts, when they were expected to be on their guard the least.

My plan was to take about ten kilometers by an existing road using my trusty old buggy, cover the remaining two kilometers of rocky cliffs on foot, hide the backpack somewhere among many cracks, and return the same way back. Dr Kelley did his part in spreading a false rumour about Morgan secretly meeting a commander of a Scarpine squad wishing to defect to our side.

I set off in the middle of the night, aided by bleak moonlight and a pair of strong night vision goggles. Although the car was running fully on electric power, I did not want to draw any unnecessary attention by driving too fast. After all, the destination was rather close.

The old road led through a silent, vast pine forest. The conditions indeed could not have been better; I was convinced noone had noticed me. Exactly as expected, after about twenty minutes I got to a sharp curve where I was to continue on foot. Having hidden the car in the woods, I took the backpack and proceeded further north into a cliffy, inclined area densely scattered with large boulders. Far ahead I could see a dim haze where the Scarpine outpost was supposed to be.

Though I had to slow down and watch my every step on those treacherous rocks, there was not even the slightest hint of enemy interference. It was almost unreal not to have a herd of Scarpine soldiers and creatures hunting me at every step. Still, I found myself unawarely checking and re-checking all the time whether my Tau Emitter, an aging but still a brilliant weapon in every way, was securely fastened to my shoulder.

Step by step, I got to a vicinity of the Scarpine's outpost. It was perhaps twenty by thirty meters in size, on a small hill, surrounded by the Scarpine's trademark black shiny fence, and  with a couple of structures emitting white light and a quiet hum. No soldiers were to be seen anywhere, but that did not imply safety; all kinds of cameras and scanners could notice me just as well if I wasn't careful.

Proceeding further, I came to a deep cleft I needed to cross. It was just wide enough for me to jump over it comfortably, which I did, and then found myself some fifty meters from the facility. I didn't want to risk getting any closer, and instead started looking for a place to hide my cargo.

I was lucky. After only a few moments I found a small alcove hidden from plain view, and perfectly sized for my backpack. Everything had been prepared in advance; having placed the backpack inside, I just flicked a switch, checked whether a green LED blinked twice, which it obligingly did, and was ready to leave.

After a few seconds I was back at the cleft. I will probably never know what happened. Perhaps I was just overconfident, no longer having the burden of a backpack, or I took a slightly too short preparatory step, or just slid. Anyway, I started falling, trying in my last thoughts to remember how deep could the cleft be, and whether I hold any chance of surviving, let alone returning to the base.

Auth.sig:
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V: The Message

After a long stint of violence, returning back to my role of a theoretical physicist, at least temporarily, was a refreshing change. Kelley's knowledge was superior to mine, as one would expect, but I enjoyed doing some research and progress on my own, a sort of scientific thrill I hadn't properly felt since the good old times at the Blue Mega.

It took Kelley and myself some two weeks to come up with a device that could cause similar spacetime ripples to those measured in the field. We agreed that it was yet too early to spread the information to the other scientists before we get to learn what are we actually dealing with. Fortunately, having its own troubles after the havoc previously caused at the City 7-10 and the subsequent battles, the Scarpine mostly left us alone during that period.

As we knew nothing about the possible intelligence we were attempting to contact, we agreed the best approach was a simple one: emitting ripples in bursts with durations proportional to the first 64 prime numbers ascending, followed by a couple of dimensionless natural constants in binary system. Any advanced intelligence could not fail to notice the significance of these numbers, and would hopefully reply in a similar manner, establishing at least a basic foundation for further communication. Starting the device in our base did not yield any results, but we thought it unlikely anyway.

"We will rather need to start it somewhere near the structures where those ripples appear more often," Dr Kelley told me that afternoon in the lab, opening a map on a computer before us. "That is, near the Scarpine's facilities. Take a look at this map ― as you can see, about twelve kilometers north from here, a Scarpine outpost can be found on these cliffs. We are not sure what its purpose is, but our intelligence suggests it may be related to their crystal-growing operations. It is not large, but maybe large enough to be of interest for those ripples. Before we go for the large facilities, I suggest we try this one."

It would be too much of a coincidence to expect those ripples loitering around the outpost exactly at that time, so we agreed to leave our device running hidden somewhere around the facility, sending out its signals and recording any replies, and transmitting them back to our receivers. Fortunately, we managed to fit the device and its power source into a large backpack.

"It is crucial, Morgan," said Kelley, "that this entire experiment remains known only to you and me. Therefore I fear we do not have much choice but to perform this insertion on our own."

"Which means," said I with some humour, "I will be the lucky one."

"Ha! But you understand, Morgan, that among the two of us, you are by far more competent and prepared for such things. And besides, after what you have been through so far, this should be a routine mission for you."

I was about to say that the routine missions are, in my experience, those that go awry the most, but thinking twice, I really agreed there was very little danger involved.

Auth.sig:
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IV: The Initiative

"Well, Doctor, that really is bewildering," said I, even myself surprised despite all that I've been through since the Blue Mega incident. "If it was allied to either side, it would probably not need to monitor both us and the Scarpine, I'd imagine."

"Yes, Morgan, that is what led me to the conclusion that this... intelligence... is probably the third side. Possibly a neutral, observing side, but nevertheless present. And it may be the ultimate result of a post-singularity evolution: being, or beings, that have transcended the vulnerable existence in the form of lumps of ordinary particles, and now exist as these indestructible, untouchable ripples of energy, somewhere in the spacetime, perhaps spanning dimensions we know nothing about."

Having absorbed this, a possible link of these ripples to the E-Man occured to me. Have we finally discovered the first tangible piece of information leading to him and his unexplicable intentions? Anyhow, despite Dr Kelley's honesty and openness, for now I decided against telling him about my suspicions.

Even if Dr Kelley had noticed something unusual in my behavior, he was too polite to inquire, so I just said, "Assuming all this is true, and we are indeed witnessing the existence of a super-race beyond matter, what are we to do about it? What does it effectively change for us ― have you been considering that question?"

"A little bit I have indeed, Morgan ― though my intention was also to discuss the options with you. My own opinion is that we should try contacting this race one way or another, probably subtly at first. Put it this way: by doing nothing, the most likely thing to happen is a status quo with us facing, at best, a war of attrition against a huge and technologically largely superior enemy. As I said earlier, a war we, once we dismiss all the nonsense about the knightly brave warriors saving the world, have only a bleak chance of winning. We're holding a weak hand, so to speak, and forcing a reshuffle if we can do so could at least improve our chances. Even if it turns against us, we will have likely done no more than just accelerated our inevitable fall. Would you agree, Morgan? What do you think?"

This was a difficult strait to navigate; if this was indeed some agency of E-Man, how would he react by being contacted or his plans interfered with? He has always been the one who initiated the contact so far. Or had we actually discovered some effect of the Vortexites? We were aware of their ability to tamper with spacetime, at least occasionally. All these possibilities were equally scary, but somewhere deep in my mind I knew Kelley was right. And, I did tell him so, having given it some thought.



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III: On Spacetime

Dr Kelley made a brief pause and leaned against a tree.

"You know about my habit of keeping half-baked theories to myself. Although I would have liked taking some more time to work on this alone, these recent developments made me change my mind. I may suddenly perish anytime just like poor Ali did, and someone would need to continue my research."

"Now this may sound crazy, Morgan, but there are indications that this war is not... well, it does not involve just two sides. That is, the Scarpine and us along with our allies. I have gathered some evidence and one simple way to interpret it is that there is one ― at least one more side in the conflict."

The surprise must have been visible on my face, because Dr Kelley quickly went on.

"Yes! Isn't it crazy? This secret third side has not intervened yet, has not even revealed itself directly. But it is present ― possibly as an observer, or maybe looking for the right moment to join the fun. Also, I don't have any idea whether the Scarpine is aware of it."

"How do you happen to know about it, then? And only you at that?"

Looking for words, Dr Kelley sat on a small rock for a few moments before continuing.

"That's where the weird stuff begins, Morgan. I will let you take a look at the exact measurements yourself later if you want, but I'll tell you the essence now."

"Just like everyone else here, you're aware, of course, that we are eager to research as much of Scarpine's advanced technology as we can. That's why we have tried to keep plenty of clandestine sensors and various measuring devices near the hubs of Scarpine's activity, and in the battles."

"And it did help us a bit. If nothing else, we've learned the chemical composition of the Scarpine's poisons and biological weapons, of the materials they use for construction, and such things. Helpful, but nothing game-changing really."

"That is, except for the gravitational and dimensional sensors. Their noisy results, with tiny peaks not correlating with anything else, never made any sense whatsoever. Convinced something is wrong with the equipment, firstly I just discarded its results. After some checks and re-checks, it turned out that the equipment was just fine, so I started looking for some other source that may have caused these weird measurements. After a while, even those got eliminated, one by one. Finally, about two months ago, I was a bit fed up and had some spare time, so I chose to change my approach; instead of fixing these unexplicable results, I actually attempted to interpret them as such instead and see how far can I get. To my total surprise, after a few hours of analyses, these measurements began revealing patterns. Terrifying patterns."

Not waiting for me to ask the obvious question, the good Doctor went on.

"Rather often - say, in about half of all the fights against the Scarpine we have monitored, as well as around one third of the Scarpine's large facilities, bursts of spacetime ripples appear. Tiny ripples, true, far too small to be noticed without specialized equipment, but they are definitely there."

"My first impression was that we may be measuring some kind of a side-effect of Scarpine's weapons, particularly their energy sources. But I've dismissed that theory. Those ripples aren't just appearing. They... they move around and behave like an intelligent ghost-creature, a spectre curious about our business, spending some time around until the outcome of the battle becomes clear, then disappearing ― probably teleporting somewhere else ― and reappearing when something of importance happens."

"It has... at the lack of a better word, visited us even in our headquarters a few times when we had tested new equipment or discussed it. As a minute distortion of spacetime, it can, of course, travel through anything, probably at the, or close to the, speed of light. Its behavior suggests it can understand what we ― and the Scarpine ― are doing, at least on a general level. But I'd go one step further and suggest it may be some kind of a super-race we're observing, or an effect of its presence."

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II: Revelation

Dr Kelley made a brief pause and leaned against a tree.

"You know about my habit of keeping half-baked theories to myself. Although I would have liked taking some more time to work on this alone, these recent developments made me change my mind. I may suddenly perish anytime just like poor Ali did, and someone would need to continue my research."

"Now this may sound crazy, Morgan, but there are indications that this war is not... well, it does not involve just two sides. That is, the Scarpine and us along with our allies. I have gathered some evidence and one simple way to interpret it is that there is one ― at least one more side in the conflict."

The surprise must have been visible on my face, because Dr Kelley quickly went on.

"Yes! Isn't it crazy? This secret third side has not intervened yet, has not even revealed itself directly. But it is present ― possibly as an observer, or maybe looking for the right moment to join the fun. Also, I don't have any idea whether the Scarpine is aware of it."

"How do you happen to know about it, then? And only you at that?"

Looking for words, Dr Kelley sat on a small rock for a few moments before continuing.

"That's where the weird stuff begins, Morgan. I will let you take a look at the exact measurements yourself later if you want, but I'll tell you the essence now."

"Just like everyone else here, you're aware, of course, that we are eager to research as much of Scarpine's advanced technology as we can. That's why we have tried to keep plenty of clandestine sensors and various measuring devices near the hubs of Scarpine's activity, and in the battles."

"And it did help us a bit. If nothing else, we've learned the chemical composition of the Scarpine's poisons and biological weapons, of the materials they use for construction, and such things. Helpful, but nothing game-changing really."

"That is, except for the gravitational and dimensional sensors. Their noisy results, with tiny peaks not correlating with anything else, never made any sense whatsoever. Convinced something is wrong with the equipment, firstly I just discarded its results. After some checks and re-checks, it turned out that the equipment was just fine, so I started looking for some other source that may have caused these weird measurements. After a while, even those got eliminated, one by one. Finally, about two months ago, I was a bit fed up and had some spare time, so I chose to change my approach; instead of fixing these unexplicable results, I actually attempted to interpret them as such instead and see how far can I get. To my total surprise, after a few hours of analyses, these measurements began revealing patterns. Terrifying patterns."

Not waiting for me to ask the obvious question, the good Doctor went on.

"Rather often - say, in about half of all the fights against the Scarpine we have monitored, as well as around one third of the Scarpine's large facilities, bursts of spacetime ripples appear. Tiny ripples, true, far too small to be noticed without specialized equipment, but they are definitely there."

"My first impression was that we may be measuring some kind of a side-effect of Scarpine's weapons, particularly their energy sources. But I've dismissed that theory. Those ripples aren't just appearing. They... they move around and behave like an intelligent ghost-creature, a spectre curious about our business, spending some time around until the outcome of the battle becomes clear, then disappearing ― probably teleporting somewhere else ― and reappearing when something of importance happens."

"It has... at the lack of a better word, visited us even in our headquarters a few times when we had tested new equipment or discussed it. As a minute distortion of spacetime, it can, of course, travel through anything, probably at the, or close to the, speed of light. Its behavior suggests it can understand what we ― and the Scarpine ― are doing, at least on a general level. But I'd go one step further and suggest it may be some kind of a super-race we're observing, or an effect of its presence."

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I: Prologue

Alice, Dr Kelley and I remained the last to stand next to the freshly closed grave of Alice's father Alistair. Poor old Alistair Veers, among the best people I have ever met, had ― as is already widely known ― lost his life few days earlier in a brief but disastrous Scarpine's assault on our base. This was, of course, a devastating blow to both our morale and our knowledge. Even if he had written all his thoughts down prior to his unexpected death, we had lost a brilliant brain nevertheless.

Alice was broken, still unable to cope with what had happened ― and believing that, by having extracted Alistair's knowledge in his dying moments, Scarpine actually dealt as devastating blow to our rebellious cause as it did to her person. As we had learned in those few days since, a portion of rebels agreed with her, while others were less pessimistic and convinced this would one day turn out to have been just a setback in our war - or better said, in our resistance - against the Scarpine.

Dr Kelley, for some perhaps unsurprisingly, remained rather stoic. He was shaken to an extent, admittedly, but I had a feeling he thought that the need to keep us all together and continue no matter what happens, and lead us cool-headedly in those crises, were of the topmost priority. And despite feeling for Alice and mourning the loss of my colleague from the glorious days at Blue Mega, somewhere deep inside I felt he was right.

The view was tranquil, and would almost have qualified as a pretty one in this suffering world, were it not for a grave in front of us. Some two minutes of walk from us, in a small yet well defendable underground complex, members of the resistance were still unpacking what would be our temporary base. There was no point in remaining exposed at our original location after the Scarpine's attack. At least, our damage-limiting strategy of having a secret "B" site always ready for any eventuality had now proven itself useful.

Dr Kelley subtly tapped my shoulder and motioned me to follow him. He slowly paced away to a nearby tree, leaving Alice silently crouching in front of her father's grave.

"We need to talk, Morgan," he began in his typical concentrated, focused manner. "I've been thinking a lot about this all, not just Ali's death, but the wider picture. He was a fantastic man, and I feel for Alice, but our cause, clearly, must remain greater than any one man's life."

I nodded.

"It is painful to admit, but we have got to face it, Morgan ― we're fighting a losing battle. We may win a gunfight or repel Scarpine's attacks, even damage their infrastructure from time to time, but then, they can just keep depleting our resources and pushing waves after waves of their military forces until we all die out. The only reason why they haven't done so already may be that we are, after all, just a minor world in their grand scheme, unworthy of their deep attention. Or they are happy to play a waiting game, which they have almost no chance of losing."

"So, if we are ever going to win this war, it will not be by just fighting harder and harder, hoping the Scarpine would be driven out someday. For heaven's sake, it is an interstellar supercivilization we are up against, whose resources we can, for all intents and purposes, consider infinite. I admit, we could perhaps hope to turn out not being worth the trouble and thus make the Scarpine abandon their activities on the Earth, but the fact is that they seem stubborn enough in every goal they pursue. I wouldn't bet on it, anyhow."

"Fair point," I replied. "So what are you aiming at?"

"I think we will need to change our approach. Using weapons, we can at best keep defending ourself, but winning against such a massive force will require something else. I am not yet sure exactly what, but I have an idea that may be worth pursuing, and I need to discuss it with you."

"I'm listening, Doctor."


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