Post by Trenton Vinh on Jun 3, 2011 0:51:45 GMT -5
Spector looked through the window at the creation laying on the medical bed beneath him, through the transparent viewing window.
Beside him, his aide and bodyguard Dalek muttered a foul term about the despicable creature they gazed upon.
Spector ignored the words of his cohort; for his mind was elsewhere.
Mere seconds ago he had sent the video feed of the mysterious encounter he had with the human on Shadowville, during the invasion.
He processed the word invasion with a touch of a smirk. It had been much less an invasion, and much more of a slaughter. There had been no resistance.
It would have been futile had they even tried.
The juggernaut of the Iskalloni fleet was in motion, its round wheels and well-greased gears turning soundlessly, moving the great war beast into regions of space that he had only previously hoped to invade.
Their new ruler had allowed them the power, and the drive, to push inwards towards the center of the Galaxy.
All will be consumed. All will become machine.
Spector stood at just over seven feet tall. Most of his generation; the beings he called the Iskalloni 2.0, were around his height. But he still towered over most of his underlings.
His left arm had been improved, what had once been weak and fragile flesh was now a mechanical blaster, a death-cannon that operated upon his every whim.
One of Spector's eyes had been improved as well, and half his brain was now metallic, motherboard and operating system that more than tripled his neural capacity. It connected to a central network that allowed instant communications to the other 2.0's under his command.
His every whim need not be spoken aloud. He merely had to think, and his subordinates would make it reality.
He understood everything now. The universe worked in simple ways to a being like Spector.
Planets and atoms were no different. Sentient and organic life was the enemy -- weak and pitiful, struggling incessantly to find meaning in a meaningless moment of life before being snuffed out forever.
The only immortality came from overcoming the mortal weakness and transcending life. From allowing oneself to be improved, they would progress and make change. One could never comprehend, without making themselves capable of comprehension.
With his mind downloaded and stored onto the processors that now replaced what had once been the contents of his skull, he never need worry about illness or age; all one needed was replacement parts.
His processes turned to replaying the video sequence he had recorded of the meeting on Shadowville.
Spector's left eye immediately showed him the stream that he had looked over a dozen times since returning from the slaughter.
While ordering his troops through the city, he had turned to spot a man in robes, a human standing and viewing him.
The man had been there, but had not been present. He was somewhere...else.
It was as if he were a hologram of flesh and bone. Not able to be touched or interacted with, but as if he were merely viewing Spector from a far away time and place.
He understood the human in a nanosecond. Algorithms had launched and an overlay showed the man's measurements; 6 feet tall, dark hair, eyes to match. Caucasian, one that would appear attractive to other humans. Between twenty-six to thirty. Fit, healthy. One of high intelligence. On his belt was a small cylindrical object, unidentified for now, but assigned a warning threat level of 3. A blaster pistol was assigned a threat level of 1. It would do little harm to Spector if fired.
Hundreds of symbols and subtext ran across his vision, and as Spector's face twisted into a dominant smirk, he had turned away.
There was little he could have done at the time, but he would learn the identity of the man, and would be the one to kill him.
But first, he had to understand.
Spector ran an analysis on his systems, and considered the need for an upgrade. Was there a programming error that kept him from understanding the man's presence?
How could a pitiful organic be somewhere, yet be unaffected and so distinctly not there. There was no logic that explained it.
So Spector had sent it to the Autarch. His ruler, the being that knew all, the being that had transcended humanity and mere flesh to become a living machine.
Some Iskalloni despised their new ruler, some called that he be slain, cast-out. But Spector would have none of it. Their ruler had brought a new age for the Iskalloni. He had taken the weak 1.0 generation, and improved upon their limitations.
There had been many limitations. But they had been altered, changed. Their leader understood. And he had created beings closer to perfection.
Spector was nowhere near perfect, this was proven by the fact that he couldn't understand some things. Not all was so simple, it seemed.
But he would understand someday. The Autarch would speak wisdom, and the Iskalloni would grow to comprehend.
"It seems we have a success." Dalek stated emotionlessly.
Spector canceled the thoughts and returned to the present moment. The being that had been a human mere days ago, was now part Iskallon. His brain had been altered entirely. A pathetic human child, now a masterpiece of technology.
It would take time for the new being to move, longer for it to begin to process the gravity of what had been done to him, but when that time came, the boy would transcend many Iskalloni. Thus far, the child was the most advanced cyborg of all. It would be intelligent beyond Spector; perhaps coming close to the Autarch himself in terms of brilliance.
Only time would tell.
Spector turned away from what had been a grisly operation. Blood stained the bed the child lay upon, and all that moved now was the Iskallon operators, and one of the tiny fists of the child, reflexively twitching as neural network connected with computer network.
Flesh and steel had become one once more.
Flesh and steel would soon overtake sentience. Technology would rule over everything. And the Galaxy would fall to its knees.
*****
Aeolan Kicka looked past the Jedi Master that sat across the table from him, his eyes wandering across the few dozen ships that floated on the other side of the viewport.
Roth Fenix had just finished explaining the dire situation that lay ahead, and had just told him the risks he would be undertaking if he accepted the mission.
Suicide mission. Aeolan thought bitterly.
He scratched at his chin, where his three-day stubble was growing.
Roth asked, "So, will you help me? Trenton should have reinforcements by the end of the week, they will back us up as soon as they can."
Aeolan sighed and lowered his head, his hand coming up from his chin to slide through his hair. He answered slowly, "Roth...what happens if Trent can't get backup? He's an exile. A fugitive. He could be arrested or killed just for setting foot on Coruscant. He may never even make it to the Senate. Then you and me, and all my men, are stuck in The Void with a few ships. We'll be slaughtered."
Roth shook his head, as always, speaking as if he knew what was going to happen before the rest of the Galaxy caught up,
"This is Trenton Vinh you're talking about. The man will get what we need, he's never failed me or you, and he won't start now."
Aeolan raised a hand and returned, "I know who he is and what he is capable of. That doesn't mean he will be able to summon an entire G.A. fleet to our side. Look at the odds, Roth."
At the mention of odds, Roth looked down at the Sabacc deck that lay between them on the table. Aeolan carried the deck everywhere with him; he was a Galaxy-wide known Sabacc champion.
The lights in the room were dim; Aeolan's ship was a gambler's paradise. His part-smuggling ring part-legitimate casino business had been busy in the past years, but the man had stayed true to himself -- he was a pilot and a Corellian above all else.
"You know...that Sabacc cards were once used for fortune telling." Roth said, not removing his eyes from the stacked cards.
He casually flipped the top card, revealing its face: the Commander of Staves.
Aeolan nodded darkly, and a smirk crossed his face, "I do know that, and the Commander of Staves represents a messenger on a fool's errand. Seems fitting."
Roth smirked back. Aeolan was his only hope for now, someone had to hold the Iskalloni in the Marcol Void before they could traverse it and enter the trade routes. Once past that point, their movements would be nearly impossible to predict.
Aeolan's fleet had rendezvoused with Roth and Tylera in the Kal'Shebbol system. Aeolan's fleet consisted of a few dozen ships, mostly corvettes and frigates, freighters and fighters.
The two men sat in a conference room in the largest ship of the fleet, a Nebulon-B class frigate. At 300 meters long, it was only a dozen meters larger than some of the corvettes that defended it, but it was a deadly vessel, despite its luxuriousness.
For years Aeolan had used it as a casino ship, with two dozen private rooms for passengers and a pair of small gambling rooms. It was now a warship of sorts, with a dozen turbolasers and concussion missile launcher tubes.
It also housed the fleet's only tractor beam.
Aeolan spoke again, "This fleet, my Black Star Alliance, is a ragtag bunch, but we are brave and loyal men. We do not wish to see peace threatened, but we will not stand fast only to die slowly. We are not a foolish bunch, my friend."
Roth kept his eyes low, and flipped another card.
This card was the Destroyed Starship, which in the old divination, represented cataclysmic changes. Death, destruction. It was considered the worst card in the deck.
Roth was not a man of superstition. But he was a mystical man, being a Force-User.
The third card Roth flipped was the Universe, a card meaning the subject would have the chance to do whatever they wanted.
Roth said softly, "Let's say these Iskalloni traverse the Marcol Void without resistance. Within two weeks they can show up anywhere from Corellia to Malastare. The Rimma crosses several trade routes, and from those routes they can spread anywhere in the Galaxy."
Aeolan responded, "And you are asking me to risk a thousand or so of my men, including myself, in the hope that one man -- one fugitive -- can get the aide of the Senate and the Military, and then arrive in time to save us?"
Roth bowed his head, and replied, "I'm asking, you to take a bet, my friend. As a gambler, you understand odds, variables, risks. Reward comes from them."
Aeolan shook his head, "Reward or total loss."
Roth nodded towards the deck, "I'm asking you to flip a card, and to hope that the outcome is a desirable one. What do you think the odds are?"
Aeolan sighed, "The odds here, come in two chances: Slim and fat."
Roth frowned, "And the reward will be saving the lives of millions of defenseless people. Possibly more."
Aeolan flipped the next card.
It was The Wheel. It represented random chance, good or bad luck, new beginnings and endings.
He let out a breath. Roth, realizing he had been holding his as well, did the same.
Aeolan didn't meet Roth's eyes, and said, "I hope your friend can get us the help we'll need."
Roth responded, "I do too, my friend. I do too."
Beside him, his aide and bodyguard Dalek muttered a foul term about the despicable creature they gazed upon.
Spector ignored the words of his cohort; for his mind was elsewhere.
Mere seconds ago he had sent the video feed of the mysterious encounter he had with the human on Shadowville, during the invasion.
He processed the word invasion with a touch of a smirk. It had been much less an invasion, and much more of a slaughter. There had been no resistance.
It would have been futile had they even tried.
The juggernaut of the Iskalloni fleet was in motion, its round wheels and well-greased gears turning soundlessly, moving the great war beast into regions of space that he had only previously hoped to invade.
Their new ruler had allowed them the power, and the drive, to push inwards towards the center of the Galaxy.
All will be consumed. All will become machine.
Spector stood at just over seven feet tall. Most of his generation; the beings he called the Iskalloni 2.0, were around his height. But he still towered over most of his underlings.
His left arm had been improved, what had once been weak and fragile flesh was now a mechanical blaster, a death-cannon that operated upon his every whim.
One of Spector's eyes had been improved as well, and half his brain was now metallic, motherboard and operating system that more than tripled his neural capacity. It connected to a central network that allowed instant communications to the other 2.0's under his command.
His every whim need not be spoken aloud. He merely had to think, and his subordinates would make it reality.
He understood everything now. The universe worked in simple ways to a being like Spector.
Planets and atoms were no different. Sentient and organic life was the enemy -- weak and pitiful, struggling incessantly to find meaning in a meaningless moment of life before being snuffed out forever.
The only immortality came from overcoming the mortal weakness and transcending life. From allowing oneself to be improved, they would progress and make change. One could never comprehend, without making themselves capable of comprehension.
With his mind downloaded and stored onto the processors that now replaced what had once been the contents of his skull, he never need worry about illness or age; all one needed was replacement parts.
His processes turned to replaying the video sequence he had recorded of the meeting on Shadowville.
Spector's left eye immediately showed him the stream that he had looked over a dozen times since returning from the slaughter.
While ordering his troops through the city, he had turned to spot a man in robes, a human standing and viewing him.
The man had been there, but had not been present. He was somewhere...else.
It was as if he were a hologram of flesh and bone. Not able to be touched or interacted with, but as if he were merely viewing Spector from a far away time and place.
He understood the human in a nanosecond. Algorithms had launched and an overlay showed the man's measurements; 6 feet tall, dark hair, eyes to match. Caucasian, one that would appear attractive to other humans. Between twenty-six to thirty. Fit, healthy. One of high intelligence. On his belt was a small cylindrical object, unidentified for now, but assigned a warning threat level of 3. A blaster pistol was assigned a threat level of 1. It would do little harm to Spector if fired.
Hundreds of symbols and subtext ran across his vision, and as Spector's face twisted into a dominant smirk, he had turned away.
There was little he could have done at the time, but he would learn the identity of the man, and would be the one to kill him.
But first, he had to understand.
Spector ran an analysis on his systems, and considered the need for an upgrade. Was there a programming error that kept him from understanding the man's presence?
How could a pitiful organic be somewhere, yet be unaffected and so distinctly not there. There was no logic that explained it.
So Spector had sent it to the Autarch. His ruler, the being that knew all, the being that had transcended humanity and mere flesh to become a living machine.
Some Iskalloni despised their new ruler, some called that he be slain, cast-out. But Spector would have none of it. Their ruler had brought a new age for the Iskalloni. He had taken the weak 1.0 generation, and improved upon their limitations.
There had been many limitations. But they had been altered, changed. Their leader understood. And he had created beings closer to perfection.
Spector was nowhere near perfect, this was proven by the fact that he couldn't understand some things. Not all was so simple, it seemed.
But he would understand someday. The Autarch would speak wisdom, and the Iskalloni would grow to comprehend.
"It seems we have a success." Dalek stated emotionlessly.
Spector canceled the thoughts and returned to the present moment. The being that had been a human mere days ago, was now part Iskallon. His brain had been altered entirely. A pathetic human child, now a masterpiece of technology.
It would take time for the new being to move, longer for it to begin to process the gravity of what had been done to him, but when that time came, the boy would transcend many Iskalloni. Thus far, the child was the most advanced cyborg of all. It would be intelligent beyond Spector; perhaps coming close to the Autarch himself in terms of brilliance.
Only time would tell.
Spector turned away from what had been a grisly operation. Blood stained the bed the child lay upon, and all that moved now was the Iskallon operators, and one of the tiny fists of the child, reflexively twitching as neural network connected with computer network.
Flesh and steel had become one once more.
Flesh and steel would soon overtake sentience. Technology would rule over everything. And the Galaxy would fall to its knees.
*****
Aeolan Kicka looked past the Jedi Master that sat across the table from him, his eyes wandering across the few dozen ships that floated on the other side of the viewport.
Roth Fenix had just finished explaining the dire situation that lay ahead, and had just told him the risks he would be undertaking if he accepted the mission.
Suicide mission. Aeolan thought bitterly.
He scratched at his chin, where his three-day stubble was growing.
Roth asked, "So, will you help me? Trenton should have reinforcements by the end of the week, they will back us up as soon as they can."
Aeolan sighed and lowered his head, his hand coming up from his chin to slide through his hair. He answered slowly, "Roth...what happens if Trent can't get backup? He's an exile. A fugitive. He could be arrested or killed just for setting foot on Coruscant. He may never even make it to the Senate. Then you and me, and all my men, are stuck in The Void with a few ships. We'll be slaughtered."
Roth shook his head, as always, speaking as if he knew what was going to happen before the rest of the Galaxy caught up,
"This is Trenton Vinh you're talking about. The man will get what we need, he's never failed me or you, and he won't start now."
Aeolan raised a hand and returned, "I know who he is and what he is capable of. That doesn't mean he will be able to summon an entire G.A. fleet to our side. Look at the odds, Roth."
At the mention of odds, Roth looked down at the Sabacc deck that lay between them on the table. Aeolan carried the deck everywhere with him; he was a Galaxy-wide known Sabacc champion.
The lights in the room were dim; Aeolan's ship was a gambler's paradise. His part-smuggling ring part-legitimate casino business had been busy in the past years, but the man had stayed true to himself -- he was a pilot and a Corellian above all else.
"You know...that Sabacc cards were once used for fortune telling." Roth said, not removing his eyes from the stacked cards.
He casually flipped the top card, revealing its face: the Commander of Staves.
Aeolan nodded darkly, and a smirk crossed his face, "I do know that, and the Commander of Staves represents a messenger on a fool's errand. Seems fitting."
Roth smirked back. Aeolan was his only hope for now, someone had to hold the Iskalloni in the Marcol Void before they could traverse it and enter the trade routes. Once past that point, their movements would be nearly impossible to predict.
Aeolan's fleet had rendezvoused with Roth and Tylera in the Kal'Shebbol system. Aeolan's fleet consisted of a few dozen ships, mostly corvettes and frigates, freighters and fighters.
The two men sat in a conference room in the largest ship of the fleet, a Nebulon-B class frigate. At 300 meters long, it was only a dozen meters larger than some of the corvettes that defended it, but it was a deadly vessel, despite its luxuriousness.
For years Aeolan had used it as a casino ship, with two dozen private rooms for passengers and a pair of small gambling rooms. It was now a warship of sorts, with a dozen turbolasers and concussion missile launcher tubes.
It also housed the fleet's only tractor beam.
Aeolan spoke again, "This fleet, my Black Star Alliance, is a ragtag bunch, but we are brave and loyal men. We do not wish to see peace threatened, but we will not stand fast only to die slowly. We are not a foolish bunch, my friend."
Roth kept his eyes low, and flipped another card.
This card was the Destroyed Starship, which in the old divination, represented cataclysmic changes. Death, destruction. It was considered the worst card in the deck.
Roth was not a man of superstition. But he was a mystical man, being a Force-User.
The third card Roth flipped was the Universe, a card meaning the subject would have the chance to do whatever they wanted.
Roth said softly, "Let's say these Iskalloni traverse the Marcol Void without resistance. Within two weeks they can show up anywhere from Corellia to Malastare. The Rimma crosses several trade routes, and from those routes they can spread anywhere in the Galaxy."
Aeolan responded, "And you are asking me to risk a thousand or so of my men, including myself, in the hope that one man -- one fugitive -- can get the aide of the Senate and the Military, and then arrive in time to save us?"
Roth bowed his head, and replied, "I'm asking, you to take a bet, my friend. As a gambler, you understand odds, variables, risks. Reward comes from them."
Aeolan shook his head, "Reward or total loss."
Roth nodded towards the deck, "I'm asking you to flip a card, and to hope that the outcome is a desirable one. What do you think the odds are?"
Aeolan sighed, "The odds here, come in two chances: Slim and fat."
Roth frowned, "And the reward will be saving the lives of millions of defenseless people. Possibly more."
Aeolan flipped the next card.
It was The Wheel. It represented random chance, good or bad luck, new beginnings and endings.
He let out a breath. Roth, realizing he had been holding his as well, did the same.
Aeolan didn't meet Roth's eyes, and said, "I hope your friend can get us the help we'll need."
Roth responded, "I do too, my friend. I do too."
