Found it turns out to be a section of ship had more scanner room fragments then i coukd do with make a base or two with that many and chair 3 and 2 pdfs
I'd thought that Selkirk would've brought along a builder tool to deconstruct the castle base until only one room, a sub dock, and the minimal facilities left to power that room were left (as to provide Polyakov and Co. worse facilities than the Floater Island.)
By the time I reached the base's executive accommodation section, I was ready to reconsider the Life Sciences career change business. I'm definitely over this lark. According to the ESU's readout, I've collected 850 samples of air, moisture and organic debris so far. Preliminary analysis indicates the presence of several thousand known species of bacteria, viruses and fungi, most of them typically found in, on and around human beings. Instead of finding Manannán's version of the Andromeda Strain, the most virulent organism I've found so far is good old Staphylococcus aureus. Golden staph. Still the undefeated champ, in spite of our best efforts.
Adaptability. That's how any living thing manages to survive. It's not about 'survival of the fittest'. All living organisms are 'fit' to survive, but the true test of any organism is its ability to alter its physical form to better suit an unfamiliar or hostile environment. Humanity has taken a more pragmatic route, altering alien environments to accommodate its physical form. As you might expect, this approach hasn't always worked in humanity's favour.
Occasionally, mankind bumps into an alien species with a similar modus operandi. That's when it all hits the fan. We have our shiny terraforming equipment, all very clean, scientific and user-friendly. They have spore colonies, pulsating gestation cysts and mutation chambers, held together by a slimy sentient biofilm that oozes menacingly all over the landscape. Philosophically speaking, we're both in the same basic business. Terraforming. The only appreciable difference is in the tools we use.
However, if They require humans as living hosts, raw genetic material or simply as nutrients for their offspring, we reserve our right to take strenuous exception to their methods. More often or not, They aren't interested in what we have to offer as a species. They generally want us to stay well out of their way. An eternal, bloody struggle for lebensraum in a practically infinite Universe. This situation would almost warrant a wry chuckle, if it wasn't so gorram ridiculous.
On those mercifully rare occasions when we've run afoul of a hostile alien species, the TSF promptly plants an alarming number of Size 13 boots squarely on a particular problem and starts kicking until it stops twitching. In most cases, this simple yet effective technique has served humanity well. However, one particular alien race keeps clawing its way back from the brink of extinction, in spite of many vigorous and costly attempts to eradicate them. In many ways, this race would be considered eminently 'fit' for survival, given that they are highly aggressive, cunning, resilient and adaptable.
The Kharaa.
Whenever there's an incident involving alien micro-organisms, it's a perfectly natural reaction for most sane folks to suspect a potential Kharaa infestation. Nine times out of ten, you're bang on the money. I was still looking at this one with an open mind, mainly because there were none of the usual tell-tale signs associated with a Kharaa outbreak in this base. No heaving mats of sentient biofilm underfoot, no pulsating cocoons or chrysalids glistening with slime, no lightning-fast attacks from unspeakable horrors lurking in the shadows... Absolutely nothing even remotely untoward happening here, so far. I deliberately loitered in a darkened corridor and chatted with JUNO over the commlink for a full ten minutes, hoping to draw out anything that might be waiting in ambush.
It's still too early to say for certain, but I'm guessing this infection isn't a Kharaa thing. Unless I'm reading the total absence of any apparent signs of an infestation incorrectly, of course.
Hidden doors intrigue me. Someone has taken great pains to conceal this one from the casual eye, although its outline stuck out like a sore thumb, particularly when viewed in the infrared spectrum. There is a minute air pressure differential on the other side. The air flowing between this room and the space beyond cools down slightly as it passes through the tiny gap between the door and the surrounding rock. A deep scan of the door revealed a narrow corridor running approximately 50 metres through solid basalt. If this doesn't indicate there's something particularly interesting beyond that door, I'll hand in my official 'X-Files Junior G-Man' badge.
Half a metre of Plasteel, faced with a 100mm-thick heatproof aluminium oxide coating. Eight-point magnetic bolt locking system. Sneaky buggers... My sensors also detect the presence of an explosive compound called 'Molanex' concealed beneath the aloxide coating. Shaped charges, big badaboom. Guess that neatly puts the kibosh on cutting my way through with a hand laser.
This area used to be Torgaljin Corp's operations centre. Most of the equipment here is powered down, although it shouldn't take too long to fire it up. I dived one of the data terminals and started poking around in the base's files, searching for the door's access code. No luck there. I suspect any access beyond that door would be reserved to a select few, as it didn't even show up on a schematic of the base. However, this wasn't entirely an exercise in futility. I discovered that this base had been constructed on a considerably more impressive scale. Even more importantly, Torgaljin Corp weren't responsible for building any of it. It has been standing here for centuries, possibly millennia.
I'm guessing there's far more to this place than I'll ever find by ferreting around in an average worker's data terminal. Time to head into Big Boss Territory.
The last time that I walked through these doors, events were a wee bit too hectic for me to pay very much attention to my surroundings. Now that I was actively on the snoop, I found plenty of intriguing things to investigate. For a start, all surfaces in this section of the base appeared to be fabricated out of something other than basalt. A dark green material, reminiscent of nephrite jade. Calcium magnesium silicate, for the geologically inclined. However, it defied spectroscopic analysis, leading me to believe that it might be an artificial nanotech material or something entirely alien in origin. Its structure didn't seem to correspond to a naturally occurring mineral or any known metal, although it exhibited some interesting properties that could be observed and measured.
Every surface was covered in intricate, deeply-etched pictographs of a vaguely Mayan style. Upon closer examination, those carvings actually resembled complex electronic circuitry. Viewed as a whole, it seems as though this section's architecture is based on the shape of artificial bismuth crystals. Best possible guess; these surfaces were deposited by some form of nano-lathing technology similar to ours, although it is extremely doubtful that any human hands were involved.
One thing was immediately apparent. Power flowed through this entire structure. The material glowed from within. Small sections of its carved surface briefly illuminated with a soft green-tinged glow, only to fade and reappear somewhere else. It was like watching a huge machine's operational mimic board in action, each glowing section reporting the status of some unknown apparatus, then moving on to interrogate the workings of another system. I'm fairly certain that if I watched this display long enough, some sort of intelligible pattern might emerge. Although it was fascinating to watch, its actual purpose was not readily apparent. Quite possibly something to do with energy management and power transfer systems, but rendered on a truly gargantuan scale. Interesting.
Wow! Props to you! You managed it! Was wondering how you could have possibly applied the Precursors into your story now, but you managed, as I had hoped and expected you would. I really hope that the Carar in Subnautica actually turns out to be the Kharaa. Like come on! They have similar names, attributes, and a great way to branch the games even further, I really hope that is their plan... If not I will be mad, I think.
There was something about these surfaces that positively invites you to touch them. 'Visually tactile', I suppose you'd call it. After scanning to detect any potentially lethal current that might be flowing through the wall, I reached out and touched a small panel cautiously. It lit up beneath my fingers momentarily, then faded. I received a distinct impression of almost limitless power flowing though this strange material, yet it seemed to be incredibly diffuse, as if unfocused at present. The Great Machine is barely ticking over, presumably. Precisely which device that panel controlled, I have absolutely no idea. Even though there was no apparent response other than the illumination effect, I was able to determine that some of these panels are indeed controls of some kind. Probably not a good idea to start pressing them at random just to see what happens.
I examined The Big Desk. The former nexus of Torgaljin corporate might on this planet. It was more or less as I remembered it, an incongruous altar of laser-cut polished basalt sitting at the head of this cavernous room. It would have been an intimidating sight, particularly to any low-ranked Torgaljin workers called onto the carpet. It struck me as an unnecessarily vulgar and conceited display of illusory executive 'power'. Give me a three by one-point five metre engineer's workstation any day. I'll show you what Power really is.
The desk's data terminals were still operational. I sat down, and four standard 2D monitors rose from the gleaming ebony surface on articulated arms, each screen displaying the Torgaljin Thor's Hammer corporate logo. Just for fun, I replayed Baat Torgal's voiceprint at the login prompt, and was pleasantly surprised to see that the command was accepted. Switching over to holographic interface, I proceeded to trawl through several hundred petabytes of fresh data that had steadily accumulated after our first friendly chat with Baat Torgal.
Apparently, we missed snagging his secured backup files during our purge of the base computer systems. I had to perform a side-by-side comparison of the original data in order to match it with what was currently held on file. Sure enough, there were discrepancies. Some were obvious, others not so much. Two particular crypto files caught my attention immediately: PRECURSORS and CARAR.
"IANTO, take a good look at this data stream. I've already given it a quick once-over, and I think it has some bearing on that virus outbreak in the colony. Keep me posted."
"Affirmative, Captain. JUNO and I have already tested a number of potential antiviral compounds in vitro, although they will require significant further development before they can be safely administered to human patients. Of our two most promising antiviral agents, one is extremely toxic to human cellular metabolism, and the other immediately attacks the nanite delivery system. Suffice it to say, our rate of progress is extremely slow, Sir." IANTO replied.
"Slow or not, you're still making some headway. Good work, people."
"Thank you, Sir. IANTO, over and out."
Precursors. That explains it all. My greatest mistake was in assuming that this planet was previously inhabited by a variety of non-sentient life forms, presumably similar to the gigantic skeleton I'd discovered in the Lost River biome. I was thinking about Terra's age of dinosaurs, when I should have been thinking about a living, breathing example of the Atlantis myth. Obviously, my next job was to find out precisely what happened to this Precursor race.
But first, let's see what's behind Door Number One.
Baat Torgal's expertise in biochemistry and genetic engineering saved the Degasi survivors. That much is obvious. I believe that I've found the remains of his first laboratory in the Jelly Shroom cave, although none of the PDAs I've recovered so far contained his research notes. Finding the CARAR file in his private terminal is our first real break, although we'll need some specialized laboratory equipment to start producing a cure. I'm guessing that corridor leads to his laboratory. It was marked 'Special Projects' on his terminal schematic, although this research facility is bloody huge. Rather more space than one might need to plonk down a batch of Petri dishes and a Bunsen burner.
After activating the door's icon, I sprinted for the corridor. There was no way of telling how long that door would stay open, or whether I'd need some sort of ID tag to pass through any additional doors once inside. Those minor details were nowhere to be found, unfortunately. As soon as I cleared the doorway, I made a point of checking that there was indeed a door release mechanism on the other side. Nothing spoils an epic adventure quite like the sound of a five-tonne door slamming shut behind you. Permanently.
Inside the corridor, the air carried a peculiar scent. A faint musty, earthy smell with highly unpleasant undertones. It might be coming from an agricultural research plantation that was supposed to be in there. The basalt corridor opened out into another large atrium decorated in the now-familiar Precursor style, and I could see what looked like a fairly extensive laboratory complex along the back wall. Either side of a broad walkway running the full length of the room, row upon row of grow-beds were laid out with geometric precision. I stopped at the first one I came to, and extended the sampling unit's probe.
One look at the grow-bed's contents was enough. The growth media was supposed to be supporting a small crop of genetically modified Chinese potatoes, although I definitely wouldn't want a plateful of whatever was growing in there now. Ever found a long-lost cup of coffee, only partially consumed?
Now imagine something far more puke-worthy sitting in the bottom of that cup.
It looked like a festering grey-green scab. The entire surface of the artificial growth medium was covered in a centimetre-thick mat of some vile fungoid growth, glistening like fresh vomit. Of the potatoes that used to grow in there, only a handful of withered stalks remained. It was as if all nutrients had been sucked out of the synthetic soil by that obscene growth. I conjured this must be the same blight that attacked the colony's hydroponics bay. I'll know for certain when I take samples in there on the return leg of this mission.
Every grow-bed was in an identical condition. I sampled forty of the four hundred beds at random to obtain a representative fraction of the whole array, then headed towards the laboratory complex. The only access point appeared to be a man-sized airlock, which meant that bio-safety protocols had been in force inside the facility... Right up to the point where they had failed. Baat's team had neglected to install a second airlock and decontamination facility between the access corridor and the base, and that's what allowed this blight to spread. Rookie mistake, Kid.
Unless... Someone else has been messing around in here without the faintest idea of what they were doing. That's a possibility I don't even want to consider.
Bloody hell. Something tells me this job is going to need more than a few bottles of hospital-strength bleach and a lot of elbow grease. For a supposedly first-stage Kharaa infestation, this growth was following an entirely unfamiliar pattern. No visible signs of motility, no cyst formation and no apparent colony spread beyond the growth media in the beds. Given that this infestation has been sitting here unmolested for quite some time, this place should be a seething mass of Hell-spawned alien abominations by now. There must be some chemical agent present in the atmosphere, or another unknown factor inhibiting its spread.
Something that I've obviously missed.
I entered the airlock and started the decontamination cycle. Pressurised jets of highly-chlorinated detergent blasted me from all sides, sluicing away any surface contaminants as the first stage of the treatment. Next, the compartment was bathed in intense UV radiation for five minutes. A second series of chemical sprays followed, using a range of acidic disinfectants to neutralise the preceding alkaline agents. I nodded with satisfaction, noting that Baat Torgal had at least got this part of it right. One more station like this at the head of the facility's access corridor would have provided an almost ideal level of bio-security. The entire decontamination cycle took fifteen minutes to complete, so this wasn't something you could hurry along.
However, the decontamination process was manually activated. Minus several billion points for that careless little oversight, Torgal-kun. We can't all be bio-engineering prodigies, you know. Of course, you'd have to be wearing a hazardous environment suit to survive that decontamination run. Our meddlesome friend (or friends) presumably breezed through this chamber without attending to any of the necessary precautions, with entirely predictable results.
The place had been ransacked. That much was painfully obvious. Drawers and cabinets lay ajar, cryogenic storage units carelessly left open, their supply of liquid nitrogen having boiled away into the lab's atmosphere months, or possibly years ago. I felt a white-hot rage rising inside me, knowing that idiot hands had pawed blindly at things they couldn't possibly understand. Here, of all places! - Where a single tiny glass phial could unleash suffering and death on a cosmic scale, yet their simian fingers had pried and poked through this collection of biological horrors without a second's thought.
Disgusted, I started scanning everything that I could find in the laboratory. There was no point in attempting to salvage any of the equipment here, since it was all hopelessly contaminated with any number of unknown organisms. The risk was simply not worth taking. This equipment could be fabricated easily enough once I had its blueprint. All data terminals were in lockout mode, undoubtedly as a result of somebody's ham-fisted attempts to gain access. Rather than waste time unlocking and scanning each terminal, I dived the system's central core and scooped out everything it contained, transmitting the entire file system straight to JUNO and IANTO. They should be able to make more effective use of this data than I could at the moment.
I swept through the whole lab complex, slowly and methodically. If needs be, we can now re-create this entire facility down to the last Petri dish. Eventually, I came to another Level IV bio-safety airlock and decontamination chamber. After completing the cycle, I exited the airlock to find myself standing in another immense Precursor facility. Unlike any room I had seen so far, this one contained operating examples of actual Precursor machinery. Most of it was unfathomable in form and function, although some systems were immediately recognisable. Stasis pods. One thousand, five hundred of them, to be exact.
It came as no real surprise to discover that those stasis pods contained Sea Emperor and Dragon Leviathan embryos. These creatures were either a product of Precursor genetic engineering, or the final evolutionary form of the Precursors themselves. I felt more inclined to believe the latter case. What better way to ensure the continuity of a species such as this?
The longer I thought about it, the more sense this arrangement made. A large population of Sea Emperors and Dragon Leviathans would require enormous quantities of food, making it necessary for the Dragons to spawn ever-increasing numbers of prey species in order to support increasing numbers of Leviathan-class creatures. This would eventually become an untenable position. Sooner or later, these Leviathans would be directly competing for territory and resources, and that would not bode well for them. One Sea Emperor and four Dragon Leviathans as his consorts definitely appeared to be the optimum survival configuration for these mighty creatures. Considering the usual range of alternatives offered by Nature, this struck me as a highly sensible arrangement.
After inspecting the stasis pods, I explored a number of smaller side chambers in the facility. Some rooms contained a wide variety of enigmatic devices, presumably life-support equipment for the pods, while others contained storage banks of genetic material obtained from all other life forms that inhabit Manannán. I was extremely careful to avoid interfering with anything in here, ever mindful of the fact that the future of an entire civilization is housed in this place.
I had been in the Lava Castle more than ten hours. There was no telling exactly how far this complex extended beyond this point, and no apparent way beyond the force-shielded portal that now blocked my path. There was something that resembled a wall-mounted communication panel, although I was understandably reluctant to activate it. For all I knew, it could trigger an automated defence system, revive the Precursors or dispense a cup of coffee. You can't just waltz around an alien installation pushing buttons at random. I can't stress that one simple fact strongly enough.
However, that decision was forced upon me.
As I approached the portal, a green energy beam shot from an emitter concealed in the lintel of the doorway. It scanned me rapidly from head to foot several times, then promptly shut off. The communication plate made an unintelligible sound, and the force shield also deactivated. I guess this means that I've got clearance to enter this area after all. I proceeded through the portal warily, half-expecting something nasty to leap out at me as I entered the room.
This chamber was noticeably smaller than the others, but not by much. It was empty, save for a man-sized rectangular pillar of Precursor design. It also bore a faintly glowing rectangular plate, similar in form to the one I found near the entry portal. At a guess, I'd say this object was probably an information terminal of some kind. The device activated as I drew nearer, projecting the holographic image of a vaguely familiar creature. It wasn't a Warper or a Sea Emperor, although this entity shared certain cranial features with both species. This could well be the Precursor version of an AI construct. With any luck, I might be able to communicate with it, assuming that it understands my imperfect command of the current form of the Warper language. I activated the Warper camouflage field, gesturing politely at the avatar.
"Warm seas, Friend. I am Father of Shells. I come from another place, far above-sky."
The entity nodded slowly, apparently in acknowledgment of my greeting. A most promising start.
My communication link has gone dead. Probably blanked out by the sheer amount of rock between me and the outside world. This wasn't a huge concern at the moment, although it meant that I would be out of contact with the crew for the duration of this meeting. All the more reason to keep this conversation short and sweet.
"This one is called Keeper of Memories. You bring Father of Tides back safe from Dark Place."
One thing was immediately apparent. Keeper of Memories used a considerably more coherent form of visual communication. I was anticipating another session of 'Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra', but suddenly found myself confronted with an entity who seems able to converse almost normally. We were still using Warper gestures and colour shifts at this point, although it might be worth attempting a more direct form of communication. Metaphor and cultural allusions are fine for expressing simple concepts, but sooner or later, one of us will be asking some hard-to-answer questions. I need more precise tools for the task at hand.
"My name is Alexander Selkirk. Do you understand me?" I asked aloud.
Hell, it's worth a try.
Keeper of Memories seemed surprised by the sound of my voice. I was rather more surprised when he answered in Terran Standard. A ponderous, ancient voice. Unmistakably alien in its peculiar intonation and vocal stress, although it's perfectly intelligible to human ears. I suppose my Scots accent has much the same effect on Sassenachs, so I'm in no position to pass judgement on him.
"Spayk. This one know spayk. Old thought-form. Many tides beyond counting." Keeper said slowly.
"Good. I hear you. I come here to find help. Find things of time before." I deactivated the Warper hologram, replacing it with an image of an infected colonist. "There is sickness growing in the Lost Ones. My people. Sickness comes from here. I come here to find cure for sickness."
"Sickness not coming from here. Coming from place beyond-sky, like Alexanderselkirk. Sickness is seeds of Enemy. Sickness make more Enemy grow here. We fight Enemy this place, many tides beyond counting. Enemy change. We change. Changed we destroy Enemy. Make this place clean again."
"Your people changed to fight this Enemy? How?"
"Changed life-stuff deep inside to become Others. New forms. Forms stronger than Enemy."
"Enemy is here in this place. Enemy has also changed." I said bluntly.
"No. Enemy is gone. Sky-fire destroys all unclean life that comes to this place. You are clean."
I frowned. Sky-fire? - Could Keeper be referring to a planetary defence system of some kind? I already knew the Warpers had shot down Aurora by opening a portal in one of her plasma conduits, then dumping in ten tonnes of seawater. This 'sky-fire' thing sounds like something completely different.
I projected holograms of various Kharaa life forms. Keeper of Memories recoiled in frank disgust.
when do you plan on making the lost river biome in to your story that you are doing
I've already taken Selkirk through there, Mate.
Unfortunately, there's no plans for thrilling heroics with the Ghost Leviathan at this point in the story.
Comments
Those delightful folk who have lovingly hand-crafted Subnautica for us poor land-locked commoners.
Adaptability. That's how any living thing manages to survive. It's not about 'survival of the fittest'. All living organisms are 'fit' to survive, but the true test of any organism is its ability to alter its physical form to better suit an unfamiliar or hostile environment. Humanity has taken a more pragmatic route, altering alien environments to accommodate its physical form. As you might expect, this approach hasn't always worked in humanity's favour.
Occasionally, mankind bumps into an alien species with a similar modus operandi. That's when it all hits the fan. We have our shiny terraforming equipment, all very clean, scientific and user-friendly. They have spore colonies, pulsating gestation cysts and mutation chambers, held together by a slimy sentient biofilm that oozes menacingly all over the landscape. Philosophically speaking, we're both in the same basic business. Terraforming. The only appreciable difference is in the tools we use.
However, if They require humans as living hosts, raw genetic material or simply as nutrients for their offspring, we reserve our right to take strenuous exception to their methods. More often or not, They aren't interested in what we have to offer as a species. They generally want us to stay well out of their way. An eternal, bloody struggle for lebensraum in a practically infinite Universe. This situation would almost warrant a wry chuckle, if it wasn't so gorram ridiculous.
On those mercifully rare occasions when we've run afoul of a hostile alien species, the TSF promptly plants an alarming number of Size 13 boots squarely on a particular problem and starts kicking until it stops twitching. In most cases, this simple yet effective technique has served humanity well. However, one particular alien race keeps clawing its way back from the brink of extinction, in spite of many vigorous and costly attempts to eradicate them. In many ways, this race would be considered eminently 'fit' for survival, given that they are highly aggressive, cunning, resilient and adaptable.
The Kharaa.
Whenever there's an incident involving alien micro-organisms, it's a perfectly natural reaction for most sane folks to suspect a potential Kharaa infestation. Nine times out of ten, you're bang on the money. I was still looking at this one with an open mind, mainly because there were none of the usual tell-tale signs associated with a Kharaa outbreak in this base. No heaving mats of sentient biofilm underfoot, no pulsating cocoons or chrysalids glistening with slime, no lightning-fast attacks from unspeakable horrors lurking in the shadows... Absolutely nothing even remotely untoward happening here, so far. I deliberately loitered in a darkened corridor and chatted with JUNO over the commlink for a full ten minutes, hoping to draw out anything that might be waiting in ambush.
It's still too early to say for certain, but I'm guessing this infection isn't a Kharaa thing. Unless I'm reading the total absence of any apparent signs of an infestation incorrectly, of course.
We'll see.
Commence Exterminatus!!
Half a metre of Plasteel, faced with a 100mm-thick heatproof aluminium oxide coating. Eight-point magnetic bolt locking system. Sneaky buggers... My sensors also detect the presence of an explosive compound called 'Molanex' concealed beneath the aloxide coating. Shaped charges, big badaboom. Guess that neatly puts the kibosh on cutting my way through with a hand laser.
This area used to be Torgaljin Corp's operations centre. Most of the equipment here is powered down, although it shouldn't take too long to fire it up. I dived one of the data terminals and started poking around in the base's files, searching for the door's access code. No luck there. I suspect any access beyond that door would be reserved to a select few, as it didn't even show up on a schematic of the base. However, this wasn't entirely an exercise in futility. I discovered that this base had been constructed on a considerably more impressive scale. Even more importantly, Torgaljin Corp weren't responsible for building any of it. It has been standing here for centuries, possibly millennia.
I'm guessing there's far more to this place than I'll ever find by ferreting around in an average worker's data terminal. Time to head into Big Boss Territory.
The last time that I walked through these doors, events were a wee bit too hectic for me to pay very much attention to my surroundings. Now that I was actively on the snoop, I found plenty of intriguing things to investigate. For a start, all surfaces in this section of the base appeared to be fabricated out of something other than basalt. A dark green material, reminiscent of nephrite jade. Calcium magnesium silicate, for the geologically inclined. However, it defied spectroscopic analysis, leading me to believe that it might be an artificial nanotech material or something entirely alien in origin. Its structure didn't seem to correspond to a naturally occurring mineral or any known metal, although it exhibited some interesting properties that could be observed and measured.
Every surface was covered in intricate, deeply-etched pictographs of a vaguely Mayan style. Upon closer examination, those carvings actually resembled complex electronic circuitry. Viewed as a whole, it seems as though this section's architecture is based on the shape of artificial bismuth crystals. Best possible guess; these surfaces were deposited by some form of nano-lathing technology similar to ours, although it is extremely doubtful that any human hands were involved.
One thing was immediately apparent. Power flowed through this entire structure. The material glowed from within. Small sections of its carved surface briefly illuminated with a soft green-tinged glow, only to fade and reappear somewhere else. It was like watching a huge machine's operational mimic board in action, each glowing section reporting the status of some unknown apparatus, then moving on to interrogate the workings of another system. I'm fairly certain that if I watched this display long enough, some sort of intelligible pattern might emerge. Although it was fascinating to watch, its actual purpose was not readily apparent. Quite possibly something to do with energy management and power transfer systems, but rendered on a truly gargantuan scale. Interesting.
if you are talking to me, then yes i did
also this is a different timeline than the canon timeline, so things can be a bit different
I examined The Big Desk. The former nexus of Torgaljin corporate might on this planet. It was more or less as I remembered it, an incongruous altar of laser-cut polished basalt sitting at the head of this cavernous room. It would have been an intimidating sight, particularly to any low-ranked Torgaljin workers called onto the carpet. It struck me as an unnecessarily vulgar and conceited display of illusory executive 'power'. Give me a three by one-point five metre engineer's workstation any day. I'll show you what Power really is.
The desk's data terminals were still operational. I sat down, and four standard 2D monitors rose from the gleaming ebony surface on articulated arms, each screen displaying the Torgaljin Thor's Hammer corporate logo. Just for fun, I replayed Baat Torgal's voiceprint at the login prompt, and was pleasantly surprised to see that the command was accepted. Switching over to holographic interface, I proceeded to trawl through several hundred petabytes of fresh data that had steadily accumulated after our first friendly chat with Baat Torgal.
Apparently, we missed snagging his secured backup files during our purge of the base computer systems. I had to perform a side-by-side comparison of the original data in order to match it with what was currently held on file. Sure enough, there were discrepancies. Some were obvious, others not so much. Two particular crypto files caught my attention immediately: PRECURSORS and CARAR.
"IANTO, take a good look at this data stream. I've already given it a quick once-over, and I think it has some bearing on that virus outbreak in the colony. Keep me posted."
"Affirmative, Captain. JUNO and I have already tested a number of potential antiviral compounds in vitro, although they will require significant further development before they can be safely administered to human patients. Of our two most promising antiviral agents, one is extremely toxic to human cellular metabolism, and the other immediately attacks the nanite delivery system. Suffice it to say, our rate of progress is extremely slow, Sir." IANTO replied.
"Slow or not, you're still making some headway. Good work, people."
"Thank you, Sir. IANTO, over and out."
Precursors. That explains it all. My greatest mistake was in assuming that this planet was previously inhabited by a variety of non-sentient life forms, presumably similar to the gigantic skeleton I'd discovered in the Lost River biome. I was thinking about Terra's age of dinosaurs, when I should have been thinking about a living, breathing example of the Atlantis myth. Obviously, my next job was to find out precisely what happened to this Precursor race.
Baat Torgal's expertise in biochemistry and genetic engineering saved the Degasi survivors. That much is obvious. I believe that I've found the remains of his first laboratory in the Jelly Shroom cave, although none of the PDAs I've recovered so far contained his research notes. Finding the CARAR file in his private terminal is our first real break, although we'll need some specialized laboratory equipment to start producing a cure. I'm guessing that corridor leads to his laboratory. It was marked 'Special Projects' on his terminal schematic, although this research facility is bloody huge. Rather more space than one might need to plonk down a batch of Petri dishes and a Bunsen burner.
After activating the door's icon, I sprinted for the corridor. There was no way of telling how long that door would stay open, or whether I'd need some sort of ID tag to pass through any additional doors once inside. Those minor details were nowhere to be found, unfortunately. As soon as I cleared the doorway, I made a point of checking that there was indeed a door release mechanism on the other side. Nothing spoils an epic adventure quite like the sound of a five-tonne door slamming shut behind you. Permanently.
Inside the corridor, the air carried a peculiar scent. A faint musty, earthy smell with highly unpleasant undertones. It might be coming from an agricultural research plantation that was supposed to be in there. The basalt corridor opened out into another large atrium decorated in the now-familiar Precursor style, and I could see what looked like a fairly extensive laboratory complex along the back wall. Either side of a broad walkway running the full length of the room, row upon row of grow-beds were laid out with geometric precision. I stopped at the first one I came to, and extended the sampling unit's probe.
One look at the grow-bed's contents was enough. The growth media was supposed to be supporting a small crop of genetically modified Chinese potatoes, although I definitely wouldn't want a plateful of whatever was growing in there now. Ever found a long-lost cup of coffee, only partially consumed?
Now imagine something far more puke-worthy sitting in the bottom of that cup.
It looked like a festering grey-green scab. The entire surface of the artificial growth medium was covered in a centimetre-thick mat of some vile fungoid growth, glistening like fresh vomit. Of the potatoes that used to grow in there, only a handful of withered stalks remained. It was as if all nutrients had been sucked out of the synthetic soil by that obscene growth. I conjured this must be the same blight that attacked the colony's hydroponics bay. I'll know for certain when I take samples in there on the return leg of this mission.
Every grow-bed was in an identical condition. I sampled forty of the four hundred beds at random to obtain a representative fraction of the whole array, then headed towards the laboratory complex. The only access point appeared to be a man-sized airlock, which meant that bio-safety protocols had been in force inside the facility... Right up to the point where they had failed. Baat's team had neglected to install a second airlock and decontamination facility between the access corridor and the base, and that's what allowed this blight to spread. Rookie mistake, Kid.
Unless... Someone else has been messing around in here without the faintest idea of what they were doing. That's a possibility I don't even want to consider.
The consequences would be horrific.
Something that I've obviously missed.
I entered the airlock and started the decontamination cycle. Pressurised jets of highly-chlorinated detergent blasted me from all sides, sluicing away any surface contaminants as the first stage of the treatment. Next, the compartment was bathed in intense UV radiation for five minutes. A second series of chemical sprays followed, using a range of acidic disinfectants to neutralise the preceding alkaline agents. I nodded with satisfaction, noting that Baat Torgal had at least got this part of it right. One more station like this at the head of the facility's access corridor would have provided an almost ideal level of bio-security. The entire decontamination cycle took fifteen minutes to complete, so this wasn't something you could hurry along.
However, the decontamination process was manually activated. Minus several billion points for that careless little oversight, Torgal-kun. We can't all be bio-engineering prodigies, you know. Of course, you'd have to be wearing a hazardous environment suit to survive that decontamination run. Our meddlesome friend (or friends) presumably breezed through this chamber without attending to any of the necessary precautions, with entirely predictable results.
The place had been ransacked. That much was painfully obvious. Drawers and cabinets lay ajar, cryogenic storage units carelessly left open, their supply of liquid nitrogen having boiled away into the lab's atmosphere months, or possibly years ago. I felt a white-hot rage rising inside me, knowing that idiot hands had pawed blindly at things they couldn't possibly understand. Here, of all places! - Where a single tiny glass phial could unleash suffering and death on a cosmic scale, yet their simian fingers had pried and poked through this collection of biological horrors without a second's thought.
Disgusted, I started scanning everything that I could find in the laboratory. There was no point in attempting to salvage any of the equipment here, since it was all hopelessly contaminated with any number of unknown organisms. The risk was simply not worth taking. This equipment could be fabricated easily enough once I had its blueprint. All data terminals were in lockout mode, undoubtedly as a result of somebody's ham-fisted attempts to gain access. Rather than waste time unlocking and scanning each terminal, I dived the system's central core and scooped out everything it contained, transmitting the entire file system straight to JUNO and IANTO. They should be able to make more effective use of this data than I could at the moment.
I swept through the whole lab complex, slowly and methodically. If needs be, we can now re-create this entire facility down to the last Petri dish. Eventually, I came to another Level IV bio-safety airlock and decontamination chamber. After completing the cycle, I exited the airlock to find myself standing in another immense Precursor facility. Unlike any room I had seen so far, this one contained operating examples of actual Precursor machinery. Most of it was unfathomable in form and function, although some systems were immediately recognisable. Stasis pods. One thousand, five hundred of them, to be exact.
And each one was occupied.
The longer I thought about it, the more sense this arrangement made. A large population of Sea Emperors and Dragon Leviathans would require enormous quantities of food, making it necessary for the Dragons to spawn ever-increasing numbers of prey species in order to support increasing numbers of Leviathan-class creatures. This would eventually become an untenable position. Sooner or later, these Leviathans would be directly competing for territory and resources, and that would not bode well for them. One Sea Emperor and four Dragon Leviathans as his consorts definitely appeared to be the optimum survival configuration for these mighty creatures. Considering the usual range of alternatives offered by Nature, this struck me as a highly sensible arrangement.
After inspecting the stasis pods, I explored a number of smaller side chambers in the facility. Some rooms contained a wide variety of enigmatic devices, presumably life-support equipment for the pods, while others contained storage banks of genetic material obtained from all other life forms that inhabit Manannán. I was extremely careful to avoid interfering with anything in here, ever mindful of the fact that the future of an entire civilization is housed in this place.
I had been in the Lava Castle more than ten hours. There was no telling exactly how far this complex extended beyond this point, and no apparent way beyond the force-shielded portal that now blocked my path. There was something that resembled a wall-mounted communication panel, although I was understandably reluctant to activate it. For all I knew, it could trigger an automated defence system, revive the Precursors or dispense a cup of coffee. You can't just waltz around an alien installation pushing buttons at random. I can't stress that one simple fact strongly enough.
However, that decision was forced upon me.
As I approached the portal, a green energy beam shot from an emitter concealed in the lintel of the doorway. It scanned me rapidly from head to foot several times, then promptly shut off. The communication plate made an unintelligible sound, and the force shield also deactivated. I guess this means that I've got clearance to enter this area after all. I proceeded through the portal warily, half-expecting something nasty to leap out at me as I entered the room.
This chamber was noticeably smaller than the others, but not by much. It was empty, save for a man-sized rectangular pillar of Precursor design. It also bore a faintly glowing rectangular plate, similar in form to the one I found near the entry portal. At a guess, I'd say this object was probably an information terminal of some kind. The device activated as I drew nearer, projecting the holographic image of a vaguely familiar creature. It wasn't a Warper or a Sea Emperor, although this entity shared certain cranial features with both species. This could well be the Precursor version of an AI construct. With any luck, I might be able to communicate with it, assuming that it understands my imperfect command of the current form of the Warper language. I activated the Warper camouflage field, gesturing politely at the avatar.
"Warm seas, Friend. I am Father of Shells. I come from another place, far above-sky."
The entity nodded slowly, apparently in acknowledgment of my greeting. A most promising start.
Thanks, mate.
"This one is called Keeper of Memories. You bring Father of Tides back safe from Dark Place."
One thing was immediately apparent. Keeper of Memories used a considerably more coherent form of visual communication. I was anticipating another session of 'Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra', but suddenly found myself confronted with an entity who seems able to converse almost normally. We were still using Warper gestures and colour shifts at this point, although it might be worth attempting a more direct form of communication. Metaphor and cultural allusions are fine for expressing simple concepts, but sooner or later, one of us will be asking some hard-to-answer questions. I need more precise tools for the task at hand.
"My name is Alexander Selkirk. Do you understand me?" I asked aloud.
Hell, it's worth a try.
Keeper of Memories seemed surprised by the sound of my voice. I was rather more surprised when he answered in Terran Standard. A ponderous, ancient voice. Unmistakably alien in its peculiar intonation and vocal stress, although it's perfectly intelligible to human ears. I suppose my Scots accent has much the same effect on Sassenachs, so I'm in no position to pass judgement on him.
"Spayk. This one know spayk. Old thought-form. Many tides beyond counting." Keeper said slowly.
"Good. I hear you. I come here to find help. Find things of time before." I deactivated the Warper hologram, replacing it with an image of an infected colonist. "There is sickness growing in the Lost Ones. My people. Sickness comes from here. I come here to find cure for sickness."
"Sickness not coming from here. Coming from place beyond-sky, like Alexanderselkirk. Sickness is seeds of Enemy. Sickness make more Enemy grow here. We fight Enemy this place, many tides beyond counting. Enemy change. We change. Changed we destroy Enemy. Make this place clean again."
"Your people changed to fight this Enemy? How?"
"Changed life-stuff deep inside to become Others. New forms. Forms stronger than Enemy."
"Enemy is here in this place. Enemy has also changed." I said bluntly.
"No. Enemy is gone. Sky-fire destroys all unclean life that comes to this place. You are clean."
I frowned. Sky-fire? - Could Keeper be referring to a planetary defence system of some kind? I already knew the Warpers had shot down Aurora by opening a portal in one of her plasma conduits, then dumping in ten tonnes of seawater. This 'sky-fire' thing sounds like something completely different.
I projected holograms of various Kharaa life forms. Keeper of Memories recoiled in frank disgust.
"Enemy." Keeper said contemptuously. "Unclean."
If you had actually read the story, you might know that he already has devoted a substantial amount of space to it.
I've already taken Selkirk through there, Mate.
Unfortunately, there's no plans for thrilling heroics with the Ghost Leviathan at this point in the story.
Sorry.