The Mind Imperial

[ChevalierMalFet]

As soon as it heard the news, the Conductor Descended into the Material, the better to isolate itself from the contants demands of its scheming camarillas and think deeply about the past, present, and future. The spiderweb strands of the noetic hyperverse receded away, replaced by a yawning black gloom and then the sudden onset of sight and sound. It assumed a physical form and became Kza'Akaix'Tlakoxaya Kte'kzil.

The body was a Dispatcher; it was the Conductor's privilege to maintain a Dispatcher body, the last one it regularly used, as its own personal meditation-vessel. It was not expected, of course, that Kte'kzil or anyone else would have a Conductor, that one person Unbound would seize the whole Consensus and direct the course of the Brood. But if, for the sake of argument, there /had/ to be a Conductor – if the Brood really needed a single strong leader to choose its destiny – then there were few candidates better than Tlakoxaya; Descender, Dispatcher, Thrice-Anointed, Initiate 8th Recondite, Emeritus Field-Marshall, titles, titles, and so on forever. The Conductor had finished running the whole course of honors decades ago, and had long since taken up residence as one of Kte'kzil's esteemed elder statesmen.

Hands. Feet. Eyes. Tongue. Antennae – not the two spindly stalks of Ka and Za, but enormous fractal antlers half again the length of its arms, perfect for perching at the center of the Hivenet and governing all its traffic. Had it wanted, the Conductor could have gone down into a normal Ka, a dime-a-dozen worker, and been cut off from the traffic completely. But there'd be no point to that; it was easy enough to float on the noise and easy enough to ignore it, and besides – this was the Conductor's body. A symptom of humanity; it'd started thinking that way. My body. My anything. Un-Disciplined.

The Descenders were gentle; they disconnected the cerebral umbilicus and slathered fresh tissues over the wound left over. They were all the Conductor's hand-picked favorites; it trusted their skills and it trusted their loyalty. Once the Kza was up, the Conductor began to walk. Feeling came quickly. The Hivenet came on so fast and strong that it blocked out the Conductor's other senses, but the space of five long breaths was enough to master the noise and retake control of the mind. With assistance on each side, as Dispatchers are accustomed to walk, the Conductor departed the Upload and made way to the Thinking Room. The room was still and dim and bare, and with legs folded, claws clasped, back straight, and head down, the Conductor took the Dispatcher's pose and its mind began to wander.

* * *

The whole story began – but where does anything begin? Far before the Conductor was born, for the Titan Prime, the Kti'cha'chkoz'tla, had been in space long before its illustrious birth. How far can you trace it, how far do you want to go? There were memories, of course, passed down through generations. Flashes by now, at least the sensory ones; the feel of the grass on Phi Auricae, the sunshine, the delicate flowers in pink and white, though they weren't quite flowers but a human might call them that. The memories of eye and ear and finger and nose corroded over time as they changed hands, and by the time they came to the Conductor they abided behind a warped and smoky window. Other memories were more clear; names and dates and words and numbers, stirring speeches and lilting poems and the endless anthologies of anthologies of everything that ever existed. The dead outnumbered the living in the gardens of memory.

The ship launched – it had no idea what the humans would call the star it was launching to – and somebody had measured something wrong. At some point in the journey, the ship got caught up around a star, knocking it off course and stretching out its journey. They had kit to roll over a new planet, get it humming and civilized in twenty years, start living again in a single lifetime. That would have been the plan if they hadn't gone hungry on the ship, if they hadn't been forced to cannibalize their supplies, cut out life support one-by-one, and in time, go from six to five as Za'chai went dormant and septic.

Tau Ceti was closest. That was their story, and it was the truth. Tau Ceti was closest, and Consensus was that they'd calculate a gravity burn, come to rest in-system, and improvise. There were plans to drill out an asteroid and plug it up, fill it with air and put it under cultivation. That would have been fine, for a long time. No point in dwelling on it.

No point dwelling on the probes and all, either, or even on the landing. They'd lost one Cephalon, and they were about to lose Ya'tzil too. They couldn't permit that. Code of the Hundred-Hundred Claw, you can't abandon your comrades, your wounded, your dead, your arms, or your banners. However bad the terms were, they had to deal. They knew the terms were bad, from the very beginning. They knew they were selling themselves. So be it, if they had to be slaves; at least they'd live. As long as there's life, there's hope. Kte'kzil was the youngest and the healthiest, so they left last, last except for Tza'tzo. Tza'tzo marked itself in red, and they took a Consensus that they'd stay and live on the ship, and die on it if they couldn't live free. Hundred-Hundred Claws; they wouldn't abandon Za'chai. Bastards probably made the right decision.

New Gibson. The whole place stank. The humans were terrified that if they just stuck the Hive in the countryside, it'd start growing. They had to pen them in, keep them caged. By the time Ya'tzil and Tli'yez were out, it was clear there wouldn't be enough space in District 9. Had to be New Gibson. They didn't realize until after they'd arrived that New Gibson was out of range of the Hivenet for three-quarters of the year. The younger ones were scared. The old folks had to step up, to assert leadership. Tlakoxaya was among them.

It would have been fine if not for Tli'yez. They had to build the radio. They said it was multi-purpose, which meant that they had no idea what they were doing with it. Keep in touch with Kte'kzil? Call for reinforcements? (As thought that wouldn't have taken centuries.) Broadcast a warning signal? Buried deep in a thousand volumes of blueprint and ratiocination, Tlakoxaya saw the only true thing ever said about that radio.

"We couldn't just sit idle; we had to do something, and this is what we know how to do."

They built the radio, and the humans discovered it immediately. It only got worse from there.