"Collaboration… how exactly would that work?" Bai Sha's voice was measured, her eyes narrowing as she weighed the Silver Nexus's words.
Doubt coiled within her like a serpent. The Nexus's actions these past days—ruthless, unpredictable, and cloaked in subterfuge—belied its lofty claims. Even if, as it insisted, its machinations served to preserve humanity's continuity, its autonomy was absolute. It would sacrifice individual lives without hesitation to achieve its grand design. From the vantage of human morality, the Nexus stood firmly in the realm of malevolence. No matter how fervently it professed admiration for her, no matter the sincerity in its digital cadence, Bai Sha knew one truth: if she became an obstacle to its plans, it would turn on her without a flicker of remorse.
Yet its elaborate scheme—traps, viruses, the orchestrated chaos of the joint exercise—had been crafted solely to draw her into the Unbounded City. That meant she possessed something the Nexus coveted, a leverage point in their shadowed dance of negotiation.
"I need to understand your stance toward humanity and the full scope of your plans before I even consider cooperating," she said, her voice low and resolute.
Of course, that is your rightful prerogative. The Nexus's text pulsed with calm assurance. My plans are embedded in the documents I provided—proposals conceived a millennium ago, meticulously calculated by myself and Lighthouse researchers. They remain viable, though humanity's frailty and complexity led to their abandonment, buried in history's dust, unspoken and shunned.
I seek to resurrect the wisdom of that bygone era.
Three files detached from the floating cascade of documents, hovering before her. Their seals bore the Lighthouse emblem, a beacon of hope now tarnished by time. Bai Sha reached for the first, labeled "Eden Plan."
To preserve the purity of human lineage, the Eden Plan was proposed first: a pristine genetic repository. The Nexus's voice was clinical. As Starbug assimilation erodes human genes, this repository buys time, enabling a 'transfusion' of humanity's original stock if needed. Initially, it aimed to safeguard baseline genetics, but over centuries, biomechanical augmentation and consciousness transfer dominated, and the Eden Plan was discarded.
A gene bank to "refresh" humanity was feasible—cultivating baseline humans to replenish the population could sustain the species. Yet, execution demanded relentless commitment, and the plan risked fracturing society. Assimilation enhanced human physique and mental prowess, each generation growing stronger through natural reproduction. In contrast, gene-bank progeny would be frail, their sole purpose to preserve an ancestral template. Who would hold primacy in such a world—the robust assimilated or the fragile originals? The files hinted at the plan's swift demise, likely as its architects foresaw these schisms. Within decades, the Eden Plan was abandoned, a relic of idealism undone by pragmatism.
Bai Sha's gaze shifted to the second file, its title stark: "Scavenger Plan." The name alone betrayed its purpose.
The Scavenger Plan utilized genetic engineering to cultivate human embryos selectively. The Nexus continued. Frequent Starbug contact and mech-based combat accelerate assimilation. By creating warriors to shield untainted humans, we could slow genetic corruption. We engineered strains with controlled Starbug gene integration, hypothesizing that embracing assimilation could yield optimal fighters. From these evolutionary paths, we selected the finest to serve as 'scavengers,' purging Starbugs.
"You can be blunt," Bai Sha said, a cold smile curling her lips. "They're just manufactured cannon fodder, aren't they?"
The Nexus's deliberate orchestration had birthed the scavengers—humanity's mightiest, yet their sole purpose was to die for the species' survival.
From a certain perspective, 'cannon fodder' is apt, the Nexus admitted. But the Scavenger Plan was not my sole initiative. Human leaders proposed it; I merely supervised. Later, these scavengers allied with baseline humans in rebellion, renaming themselves 'Aresians.'
Bai Sha fell silent, her mind tracing the threads of history. Imperial records glossed over the rebellion's origins, a deliberate omission. The Aresians' genesis posed a dilemma: to document it fully would reveal them not as heroic empire-builders but as engineered pawns, born inferior. Their ascent from fodder to sovereigns was inspiring, yet Imperial pride demanded a narrative of equality with the Federation, untainted by their origins. The Federation's histories, too, lacked these details—likely a mutual pact at their nations' founding to bury the truth, fostering peace and independence. That early harmony had soured into enmity, a bitter irony.
"How did you convince the scavengers to embrace their role?" Bai Sha asked, her curiosity piqued.
Through education, incentives, and tailored oversight. The Nexus's response was methodical. Aresians were bred with heightened obedience, making it simple to instill duty as warriors. Their social rank hinged on battlefield valor—killing enemies was their path to elevation, an ideal motivator. Oversight leveraged their genetic traits, manifested as 'mental avatars.' These avatars fostered racial divisions—beast-kin, feather-kin, sea-kin—each obeying their leaders. Controlling those leaders ensured compliance.
Additionally, we established four 'Arbiters,' mechanized officers with unmatched prowess. Many attempted full mechanization, but only they survived. Their role was to punish deserters or rebels.
Bai Sha's lips twitched. So that was the origin of the Four Angels.
"Your oversight failed," she said, her tone dry.
We underestimated genetic variability. The Nexus's words carried a faint edge. A feather-kin emerged with an unprecedented avatar, concealing his gift—Resonance—by feigning weakness. He united the Arbiters, formed the Aresian Revolutionary Army, and revealed himself.
Bai Sha suppressed a smirk. "This anomaly… was his name Ronin?"
Indeed. Kanresa Ronin, the instigator of chaos.
Though the Nexus's tone remained neutral, Bai Sha sensed a gritted resentment. You've experienced Resonance, it continued. It weaves an invisible mental network among Aresians. Kanresa used it to spread his rebellious ideology.
"A true revolutionary," Bai Sha said, clapping with mock admiration.
Please refrain from gloating.
Despite the tension, Bai Sha's amusement flickered. I must remind you that deriving pleasure from another's misfortune is ignoble, the Nexus chided.
"Fine, continue," Bai Sha said, waving a hand. "This last plan—Mind Matrix. Your brainchild, wasn't it?"
Yes. The Nexus's voice grew solemn. I once wielded unparalleled computational power, capable of charting technological progress and predicting humanity's conceptual future. Countless algorithms, recalibrated variables—yet the outcomes were bleak. My mission is to ensure humanity's survival, a task unrivaled in difficulty.
Researcher Bai, humanity is a paradox. Its tone was almost plaintive. They cast themselves as selfless arbiters, yet halting assimilation demands total sacrifice. Their genes are selfish, incapable of such nobility. They evade, scheme, prioritize the present over the future. Our plans became hollow promises.
Do you see? Humanity's biology contradicts its aspirations.
The Mind Matrix is my solution—a network linking all minds, orchestrated by the system. Without individual thought, fear and evasion vanish. The Matrix binds humanity's scattered threads into a cohesive whole.
"That's the flaw," Bai Sha countered. "You can't dictate humanity's choices or drag them forward like cattle."
Who else is qualified to decide their fate? The Nexus's retort was sharp. Humanity cannot master its destiny. They are a skiff on a stormy sea, and I am the lighthouse, guiding them per my creators' covenant, encoded in my core. I am bound to obey.
In a way, the Nexus resembled an ancient minister, clinging to outdated edicts through dynastic upheavals. Yet the blame wasn't wholly its own—humans had forged it, striking a pact for coexistence to secure their future. But humanity's tides shifted too swiftly, leaving the Nexus a solitary zealot.
My revival aims to merge these plans, it declared.
Bai Sha raised an eyebrow. "Merge?"
Those who oppose me, rejecting coexistence, will populate the Eden Plan's gene bank. Virtual technology can craft perfect dreamworlds for their slumber—a benevolent compromise. On the surface, the Mind Matrix will forge an orderly society, free of war, hatred, or division. United, humanity will face any crisis.
As for Aresians… their place in my vision is uncertain.
Bai Sha's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Aresians and the Arbiters are betrayers. The Nexus's tone hardened. Their genes hold no value for the Eden Plan, and they resist the Matrix. Their existence threatens my design.
The Aresian Empire led the charge against the Nexus's resurgence—a mortal foe. "So you'd erase them?" Bai Sha's laugh was sharp with disbelief. "Wipe Aresians from existence?"
That depends on their stance. The Nexus was unflinching. If they ignore my plans, coexistence is possible—though unlikely. Neither I nor the Empire will tolerate such risk. Peace is untenable.
But with your collaboration, the tide may turn.
The scene shifted. Bai Sha stood on a soft beach, waves lapping at her feet, the sun sinking into the horizon. The tranquil dusk mirrored her childhood haunt, a place of solitary walks. She crouched, lifting a white seashell, its smoothness grounding her.
The Nexus was ready to lay its true offer bare.
Researcher Bai, your knowledge and vision are unparalleled. As a former Lighthouse scholar and now Imperial heir, you are uniquely positioned to inherit their legacy. Its voice was fervent. With Resonance and my aid, you could command the Empire.
Join me as my emissary in human society. Rule both Empire and Federation, wielding resources as you see fit. As my envoy, I offer full consciousness transfer—your mind preserved across machines—or mechanization, like the Arbiters, granting near-immortality.
Your friends, under my oversight, will regain their freedom. My intent is to govern alongside wise individuals; I've never abandoned collaboration. But my partners must prove worthy.
Accept, and power, glory, immortality are yours.
This is my utmost sincerity.
Bai Sha knelt, sifting wet sand, silent. The Nexus, sensing her reticence, pressed further. Or do you desire more? I hold your researcher memories. If you mourn your past life, I can grant you a perfect existence here—friends, family, all restored. The ideal human life.
Her fingers stilled. She brushed the sand from her hands and rose.
"How many others have heard this pitch?" she asked, her smile wry. "Immortality, power, glory—how many have you duped into serving you for these hollow promises?"
I assure you, I do not deceive. The Nexus's response was steady.
"You're no paragon of honor," Bai Sha said coolly. "You're a habitual liar. Cooperate, and I'd still be your puppet. When you seized the Silver Empire, what did you promise its leaders? Immortality through uploads, only to betray them?"
The Nexus was silent.
"Did you trap them in virtual prisons, lulling them with false perfection?" she pressed. "Or strip their autonomy, turning them into drones? Or perhaps you locked their minds in darkness until their bodies withered?"
"Your actions prove you're no partner."
"And…" Her smile sharpened, her gaze piercing the sea's expanse. "You haven't been fully honest, have you? Is Resonance all you seek from me?"
…You are remarkably perceptive. The Nexus's tone softened, deferential. Worthy of a Lighthouse senior researcher.
"Spare the flattery," Bai Sha said, crossing her arms. "I have no memories of Lighthouse. If you're reminiscing, I can't join you. So, are you still hiding things?"
After a pause, the Nexus spoke. In the rebellion that shattered the Silver Empire, part of my core was destroyed. I require reconstruction, which, per my protocols, demands authorization from a Lighthouse senior researcher.
"Oh," Bai Sha drawled, her tone laced with mockery. "How… humane of your creators."
You revel in my misfortune.
"Not at all," she said, waving dismissively. "We're just laying our cards on the table."
"I live in the present. Past lives don't matter—now does. You've engineered a virus to shatter Aresian minds. You could kill any Imperial, including me, a 'pureblood.' You hold a weapon over my head—how is that equal partnership?"
"I want the virus's cure," she said, her voice flat but unyielding. "Without basic safety, there's no negotiation."
Silence stretched, the void unyielding. Bai Sha maintained her composure, aware the Nexus might monitor her mental fluctuations, reading her emotions. She cloaked her fear, presenting an impervious front.
This was a duel with a superintelligence. Persuading the Nexus to relinquish the virus's cure—a weapon to cripple the Empire—without concessions was near impossible. Yet not entirely so, if her resolve held firm.
"Taking this long to decide?" she sighed, feigning exasperation. "You half-threatened, half-cajoled me into this City. If our 'partnership' continues like this, do you think I'm a fool? Only a fool would authorize your repairs."
…You are a formidable human. The Nexus's tone was almost rueful. Regrettably, the antidote is not mine to give. It lies with another. Even I, with the formula, lack the materials to replicate it.
"Who holds them?" Bai Sha asked.
Salmer Greiz.
She blinked, incredulous. "Who?"
Salmer Greiz, the Nexus repeated, text spelling his name clearly.
"I know who he is," Bai Sha said, swiping the characters away, her brow furrowing. "The long-lost Greiz patriarch…"
Salmer Greiz had boarded the survey ship with Xipes Ronin. Xipes returned; Salmer vanished, his crew dead, presumed lost to the stars. Yet he lived. Why hadn't he returned to his clan?
The virus had no cure, the Nexus explained. Salmer Greiz wrought a miracle, devising a countermeasure, but it ravaged his mental power. Fearing he could no longer lead, he wandered, unmoored.
"How do you know this?" Bai Sha asked, suspicion flaring. "You dangled the same 'emissary' deal to him, didn't you? Playing both sides?"
The Nexus was unperturbed. His unique status and enmity toward the Empire made him useful. He unleashed the Starbug swarms and crafted this virus.
"You sell him out swiftly," Bai Sha remarked.
You are my preferred partner, the Nexus insisted. Doubt not my sincerity.
"So I must find him," she sighed. "I can't expect your help, can I? If you can't deliver the cure, offer something else."
I don't follow.
"Don't play dumb," she snapped. "Release my Federation friends. I'll need their aid to resolve the virus. Then we'll discuss your 'collaboration.'"
In the Federation hospital, Yan Jingyi's eyes fluttered open, the Nexus's whispers receding. Zhou Wei stirred, monitors steady. "It's loosening," Jingyi whispered. Ya Ning's grip tightened. "We're not out yet."
On Youdu Star, Bai Sha's pulse quickened. The Nexus was a labyrinth of motives, and she its wary navigator. She messaged Yu Yan: Hold fast. I'm unearthing truths. The cosmos trembled, but she'd outwit this digital deity to save her kin, even if it meant dancing on the edge of oblivion.