The Fractal Continuum

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Set in an alternative timeline.

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https://www.wallpaperup.com/133406/E...ic_sci-fi.html

Attachment 89

Cydnar opened his eyes to another cold, windy day. As he roused himself, he felt the biting breeze rolling in through the tower’s solitary window and cursed the strange climate of his new home. He slid from the sheets and paced towards the opening, lithe form disjointed and stiff from another night’s secondment into nightmares. The now familiar landscape beyond welcomed him, a tapestry of far below trees swaying in the wind. When he first arrived, he had been both terrified and mesmerised, torn from his ancestral home and disconnected from all he knew. Now, the mountains to the east and the great ring surrounding this new world comforted him. He traced the movements of the ships cutting across the umbral sky for a moment before he entered a command onto the console to his right and the shutters slid closed.

Elves, it seemed, were destined to spread out across the stars and stake a claim to more than just a single world. It was testament, or so Cydnar thought, to the deep-seated arrogance and sense of superiority that ran rich in the blood of his people. It mattered not wherever they were Hummel, Aleran, or Raiaeran, all fought for greatness. Though the people of Denisha appeared kind and good natured when he fell through the portal into uncertainty, they soon turned on his companion and showed their colours. He had been seeing to repairs to the newly constructed city of Icitha in the wilds of Salvar with a merchant from Knife’s Edge when the incident occurred. He paid Johnson some thought and bit his lip. As much as he longed to know more of how this future came to pass, his primary concern was to rescue his friend and escape, back to his life, back to his brother’s side.

“The time is nine o’clock,” a crackled voice pierced the quite contemplation of his room. “Prepare for visitation.”

Each morning Cydnar was interrupted by two artificers and a ‘compatriot’, which he gathered meant interrogator and body guard. Though they were civil enough, he could not bring himself to trust them entirely. Nobody who came as armed as they had true intentions. He composed himself and returned to his bed to dress. They had provided him with simple but high-quality cloth shirts and tight-fitting pants with too many pockets. He had asked why and learned of the industrious roles each citizen of Denisha held. Everyone was expected to learn a trade, to contribute to the upkeep and ‘expansion’ of their kind. With a thought, he conjured a crystalline plate and looked at himself in the dim reflection cast onto the purple surface by the piercing lights which littered the metallic ceiling.

“Visitation. Visitation. Visitation,” forewarned his ‘artificial’ host. He turned to face the door and put on a half-hearted smile.

“Access granted,” he said softly, and waited for the computer to acknowledge his consent. The doors hissed open dramatically, and three elves entered clad as ever in ornate, back-lit steel armour.

“Good moon, Cydnar,” greeted the female at the head of the party. She stopped a few paces away and performed a gesture Cydnar returned. “It is good to see you again.”

“Larisa,” he bowed as well, to keep a semblance of his own identity intact. With a welcoming hand he guided the party to the room’s only other feature, a circular table with four chairs on which a jug of endless water and glasses awaited. He poured them all a glass and waited patiently for his ‘guests’ to arrange themselves comfortably.

“As ever, we have some questions for you,” she too the glass and sipped it. Despite no obvious coolant, the water was intolerably pure and ice cold. “Do you object?”

“As ever,” Cydnar smiled, “I will answer as best I can.” They began another round of pleasantries and back-handed retorts that formed the basis of their exchanges. Though out of his element in place and time, with words, Cydnar held a distinct advantage. Diplomacy in the future was achieved with guns and money, not tact and grace.

“Good,” she glanced at the larger elf to her right and he set his pistol onto the table. “Lugre and Dorn are only here as standard precaution. Though they offer exemplary, how shall I put it? Hmmm,” she stroked her chin, “incentive, they are also amongst the best engineers and pilots respectively.”

“I am sure they have a vested interest in my arrival.”

“Quite.” She rested her hands on her lap and looked around the room.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.” He thought to himself. “Though lonely. I will see my companion today.” He left no room for refusal and cast Larisa a cold, but unthreatening stare.

“Oh, not this again…” she sighed.

“You claim we’re not prisoners, yet I heard how you talked to him when we fell out into the streets of your city.” It had stung even he, reminiscent of the racial hatred the Aleran and Raiaeran people had directed at his people for centuries.

“And I told you,” her tone increased, demonstrating frustration, “that we are at war. If a human appears in the very heart of our territory it is only natural for us to treat them as a prisoner of war.” She sighed, bringing her broiling emotions back under control. “I assure you he is in a room just like these ones three floors below.”

Although she gave no sign of deception, Cydnar couldn’t bring himself t trust her.

“These ones?”

“The tower, yes, it’s full of identical rooms between floors two and ten for visiting dignitaries, strange arrivals like yourself, and officers currently stationed away from their home worlds.”

“An intergalactic hotel?” He chuckled at the thought.

“So please,” she pleaded emphatically, “back to the matter at hand.”

“You must ask a question before I can answer.”

“Good.” She pointed to the lithe elf to her left. “Show him the schematics Dorn.”

In silence, the engineer set a small device onto the table and activated it.

As the device activated Cydnar felt a surge of something he had all but forgotten. Magic. Not quite like that of Althanas, but all the same distinctly full of energy and promise. Here, even his own geomancy felt alien, as though it were disconnected from the wellspring of his Thayne. He scrutinised the holographic display as it formed in a sphere and flickered over the table top.

“What am I looking at?” It was a ship of some sort, but beyond the size and scope of anything he could imagine.

“This is a design for a new star ship.” Dorn ran a finger along the aft side. “Here, we’re struggling to overcome flaws in the structural integrity of the outer hull.” He pushed his fingers into the image and rotated the ship so that Cydnar could see the area concerned.

“And…?”

Larisa smirked. “You’re an artisan.” She paused. “A geomancer.”

It dawned on Cydnar that he was not a welcome guest for his historical worth. They wanted something from him, that only he, amongst all the elves of tomorrow could provide. He slouched.

“You want me to help build this…ship.”

“Capital vessel,” she corrected. “Yes. Precisely, you’re so witty!”

“I’m so useful,” Cydnar corrected. He turned away from the schematic and looked Larisa straight in the eye. “I still don’t have any questions to answer.”

“And frustrating,” she added. “Alright. Cydnar, would you help us build the Adoria?”

“No.” His tone was flat and suggested he was not to be swayed.

“Pity.”

“Shall I, ma’am?” Lugre shuffled forward in his seat and moved his hand slowly to his side-arm.

“No no,” Larisa tensed. “That won’t be necessary.” She raised an eyebrow at her guest. His face remained a sea of calm, so she nodded, and Lugre unholstered his pistol and rested it on the table’s edge with a firm grip.

“No, unless my companion works alongside me,” he said finally, giving Larisa pause for thought and Lugre growing frustration. Cydnar pictured the pilot as a hothead, ignoring commands for the thrill of another daring action in the skies. He would not be the man’s next medal.

“Witty, frustrating, and yet deviously clever… I don’t think you quite underst-“

Larisa paused as a cold needle of quartz pushed against the back of her neck between the third and fourth vertebrate. Cydnar had formed them the second his guests crossed the threshold into his chambers and kept them levitating silently above their heads. They dropped stealthily and put his point across to the officer plainly.

“I understand quite well, Larisa. What you don’t seem to gather is that I could have left this bar less prison days ago but chose to stay in good spirits and learn all I could of what your ancestor’s actions will bring. Do not think for a second that I am asking.” He rotated the needle just enough to prick the skin and draw blood before pushing it away and dragging it to his outstretching hand.

Larisa raised an eyebrow as the shard landed safely in Cydnar’s hand. He set it down onto the table and folded his arms across his chest. They stared at one another for an awkward moment, daring one another to break the stalemate. Her two companions hesitated, torn between being impressed and reaching for their weapons in earnest.

“Well.” She sighed. “You have teeth, I’ll give you that.”

Cydnar recognised a brief glimpse of worry in the agents features, which told him they had suspected he was more dangerous than he appeared. He pondered wherever or not other recruits to their cause were visited by so many well-armed ‘tradesmen’ as he. He smiled just enough to reveal his elongated canines, snake-like gifts from the Thayne Yrene and ran a tongue over them salaciously.

“You accept my terms, then?”

“I’m not sure accept is quite the word, Cydnar. But yes, your ‘companion’, whatever he means to you, can assist you. He will be guarded until we can establish his motives, which is nothing personal. We have rules, laws, and a war to defend ourselves against.”

“Good. I’m sure you can tell me more about this conflict as time goes on.” He made to stand. “Is that all?”

“For questions, yes. But we were hoping to show you the workshops, to show you what you’ll be working with before the next material shipment arrives, and you’re put to work.” Her expression showed confusion, as though she was still not quite sure how Cydnar had wrestled the advantage from her in her own game.

“Lead on, then,” he gestured to the door and stood. Whilst the visitors arranged themselves by the exit he donned a second layer of deep purple cloth and tied his hair back in a ponytail. When he made to strap his sword-canes to his waist he paused.

“Is everything alright?” Larisa smiled, remembering her place.

“I’ll need them back. Blades they may be,” he turned to face the trio, “but they are instruments as well. Like a screwdriver or hatchet, I won’t get much done without them.” With such a sparse connection to the Tap in the distant future, he would have to rely on the residual energy, the life-essence of Yrene still flowing through the edges of his weapons to prove his worth and continue to gain, or rather, enforce his trust upon these ‘elves’.

“We’ll collect them from the armoury on our way to the star ship landing.” Finally, back in control Larisa waved Cydnar out of the room and they walked in a haughty procession along a dimly lit, steel lined corridor to the centre of the needle-like tower. “Truth be told,” she began as they approached a door set into an imposing bulkhead, “I’ve not seen a sword since I was a child.” She counted on her fingers mockingly, “some seven centuries ago.”

“Consider me a traditionalist,” he replied glibly.

“We were rather hoping you would be.” She entered a code and the door opened to reveal a circular chamber that reminded Cydnar of the vertical transport shafts in Ettermire of old.

“This lift takes us down to the armoury, then we’ll head out to show you the aft of the vessel.” They piled in and Cydnar found himself surrounded but stood tall and proud and unflinching.

Used to the nauseating ascent and descent through the earth, the traditional method of transportation for the subterranean Hummel, the lift still managed to churn his stomach. He pictured their chamber descending the unnervingly high structure and bit his lip. He spread his feet to steady himself, as though eh thought he was going to free-fall.

“Everything okay?” Larisa watched him with a smile.

“It’s…a little unusual,” he conceded.

“It took years to finally get used to the inertia.” The lift came to a gentle standstill and the doors opened into a grand, well-lit foyer. They filed out onto the first floor and Larisa took the lead. “This way.”

Cydnar inspected his surroundings as they traipsed across the polished marble floor. The upper reaches were industrial and claustrophobic, but the lower levels were decorative and welcoming, a front for whatever charade the government’s agents played with their ‘guests’ above. The inner wall was a half-circle, in which six similar lift shafts were set and each lead naturally to a circular reception just before six wide archways lead out into the white and bustling blare of the inner-city.

“It’s an impressive building.” He thought about his home, and the indomitable temples carved from ancient bedrock which jutted out of the tundra of Salvar’s wilds and felt nostalgic.

“A crown jewel, apparently.” Lugre grunted.

“You don’t think so?”

“Lugre is a fan of function, not form. He’d rather live in a steam and plasma filled workshop covered in rust than appreciate the finer things in life.” Dorn rolled his eyes non-chalant. “He forgets sometimes that not everyone was born from a puddle of grease.”

“Ah,” Cydnar chuckled. “The Hummel have a saying…we’re products of our birth.” He rephrased for their benefit, “our fate is decided early on.”

“Our people held a similar belief.” Larisa nodded to one of the clerks and waved her credentials in her direction. The clerk nodded back and appeared to enter data into the screen before her. Whatever it meant, Cydnar could only guess. “Everyone, regardless of station plays a role in our society. You’re a builder, a soldier, a merchant…an entertainer,” she lingered, and Cydnar had to guess how sordid entertainment was on this world, “everyone contributes based on their aptitudes.”

They ventured out through an archway and came to a halt atop a jet black raised platform that dropped away into an imposing flight of stairs. The building was raised from street level, further adding to it’s dominance of the city skyline. The wide thoroughfare that ran past was teeming with citizens of all shapes and size, walking in chattering groups or speeding past loaded with goods.

“Welcome, Cydnar, to the city-state of Denisha.”

On the opposite side of the street a row of equally imposing block structures enticed shoppers with neon signs and music. The skyline over head was littered with chimneys and palatial glass spires linked together with needle-thin walkways. Though technology clung to every surface, it reminded him of Althanas. The architecture resembled parts of Ettermire and the bardic traditions of Raiaera. Larisa had been sincere when she said the four races had come together as one.

When he had taken it all in, the sudden rush of sound began to overwhelm him. All he could hear in his chambers were the scouring winds and distant explosions of ships entering and exiting the planet’s atmosphere. Now, a thousand voices and the rush of small transports darting back and forth in roughly organised lines overhead greeted him like a blow to the temple.

“It’s…,” he grunted. “It’s something to behold.”

“Come, it’s a short walk to the landing bay and then we can get to somewhere a little more suited to your…” she left it at that and traipsed down the steps. Dorn and Lugre followed, the need to guard their ‘guest’ seemingly passed.

As much as Cydnar wanted to disappear into the crowd, alone, and unprepared for whatever the future would throw at him he had little choice but to follow. Though his senses flared, ever ready for danger, his heart sung to see the Adoria and his old friend.

“Why is everything so loud?” he shouted over the crowd as they snaked through the river of people.

“It is?” Lugre chuckled, a deep belly laugh that shook his jowls and jangled the tools on his belt. “I don’t notice it anymore.”

“Thirty years of hammers ringing in your ear tends to dull the senses!” Dorn replied, dodging his companion’s swinging fist nimbly.

“You’re at the heart of the city centre, Cydnar. When we get to the workshops you’ll see Denisha in another, quieter light.”

He rather hoped so. Anxiety drove his reflexes into overdrive, and he darted back and forth as though during battle to avoid colliding into somebody. The citizens cast him a furtive glance, but the sight of strangers was common here. The more he looked at the passers-by, the more he realised his attire and complexion were not so unusual as he might be had this been his own world. He spotted elves who had the Hummel skin tone and curved ears, but brawnier and with darker hair, and realised that living as one people had begun to break down the barriers of racial hatred he had known for so long.

“Cydnar!” Larisa cried.

He looked around, and saw the trio standing before a raised stairway that lead up to a circular platform atop which hummed an electrified dome. He realised he had stopped to stare.

“Keep up!”

He made short work of the staircase and watched with interest as the walkway took them inside the dome and into a small igloo shaped recess in the structure. There were no panels or concierges, just a hollow, echoing space. He looked around bewildered.
“If the lift made you have a funny turn I’d brace yourself…” Dorn patted Cydnar on the shoulder and held him steady.

“Errr…why?”

The moment he asked the chamber burst into bright lime light and they all disappeared, evaporating into the plasma conduits and fired upwards into the sky in a split second. They reformed on the deck of a small sailed schooner half a mile over the city, the wind rushing over them and the silence of the open skies swallowing their thoughts. Cydnar, as expected, dropped to his knees and wretched.

“Captain Haut!” Larisa charged up the deck to the flight cabin and embraced a bearded elf who looked like he’d seen better days. “Thank you for taking the charter.”

Cydnar refocussed on his body, and let the conversations going on around him and the cries of the crew fade into inaudible babble. Every bone in his back ached, each limb spasmed, and his heart raced twice as fast as though he had just been stricken with a lifetime’s heartache. He clenched his fists and pushed down onto the deck, trying to rekindle feeling in his fingers.

“Give it a moment then try to stand,” Dorn said softly. He bent a knee and patted Cydnar on the shoulder. “We figured a long time ago telling people what’s about to happen tends to lead to them running as far away from the dome as possible.”

“I can’t,” he wiped the vomit from his chin, “I can’t possibly think why.”

Left alone to compose himself, Cydnar drew on the remnants of his energy and stood, very slowly, to take in the view. The vessel was stationary and linked to a floating platform around which four similar vessels clung. He had imagined an airport in the city, linking the streams of smaller vessels together in a web way of transportation. Now he realised ships of this size flying between the myriad spires would be a recipe for disaster.

“Cydnar, come and meet the captain!”

He turned to the group by the cabin and saw Dorn waving at him. He walked slowly to their side and bowed politely to the grizzled veteran. A great axe was strapped to his back, which was an oddly welcoming sight amidst the wealth of side-arms and flanked by two imposing cannon arrays.

“You’re the geomancer?” Haut asked flatly.

Cydnar nodded.

“Good. Larisa promised me a flagship and I’ve been waiting quite long enough.” Cydnar couldn’t work out wherever or not his tone was threatening, or he was just naturally inclined to seriousness. “I’m Captain Hautelin. Haut for short.” He held out a boulder sized fist and they shook curtly.

“Cydnar, it’s a pleasure.” He held his hand behind his back to click his joints back into place. He cupped both together and tried to look composed. His head still span from the effects of the portal.

“We’ll be at the steelworks shortly, take in the view of the city if you like, but hold onto the railings.” Haut dismissed the party and went back to preparing for departure with gusto.

“He’s been a commissioned captain for the Administrate for nearly a century, as reliable a man as any.” Larisa pointed to the prow of the ship and began to walk towards it. Cydnar followed, eager to take in the view of Denisha from above. “Do you have airships in your time?”

“Alerar has begun mass production of steam driven ships, but they’re more akin to boats floating on ballons than…” he looked around. “This.”

“Impulse drives fuelled by high-density renewable fuel cells.” She chuckled. “Thin of them as endless energy crystals. Regardless of how advanced technology becomes though, we still need sails to outmaneuver the winds, so the planetary ships don’t look too dissimilar to naval vessels.”

The ship had two horizontal fins extending a hundred feet out on either side, and a single mast holding a solar array aloft. It lurched forwards and veered away from the landing platform. Each sail tilted and guided the ship out onto the strong wind currents. A dull roar Cydnar had not noticed grew louder as the twin engines on the rear of the ship fired.

“I am failing to see what my talents can offer such industry.”

“Ah, well,” Larisa leant against the railings and looked out over the sea of clouds. “The Andoria is a space vessel, it’s a whole new branch of technology that has been met with…challenges.”

Cydnar stood besides her and held on to the cold railings. He leant overboard and gasped. Denisha sprawled out beneath them.

“Yrene’s teeth,” he mumbled.

“I did say it was a city-state…” She smiled.

As far as he could see Denisha unfurled over the landscape, a tapestry of districts and disaster that dwarfed even Althanas’s greatest civilisations. A black, calloused blight on the landscape, the city was half clouded by the movement of ships over it’s skies, like a swarm of flies hovering over a carcass. Overhead larger vessels clung to the high winds and here and there, vast ships launched skyward and exploded through the atmosphere into the stars beyond. His mouth hung slightly open with surprise and wonder.

“How many people live here?”

“In Denisha alone there are roughly six million. It rises and falls depending on deployment of troops and the rotation of the merchant calendar, sometimes it’s closer to eight.” Whilst this was the largest city on the planet, Larisa had travelled throughout the galaxy and walked the streets of cities that covered entire worlds. Still, she could see how this would be a hammer blow to her guest.

“I can’t begin to imagine…” He stepped away. “I can’t begin to imagine something so grand existing in my time.”

“You can’t imagine it because it never happens. Rightly so, something like this would consume more resources than the Forgeworld could create.”

“Forgeworld?”

“Ah, sorry. It’s what we call Althanas. It’s the world that forged the galactic empire. All things stem from it, and few get through life without at least learning something of our collective past.”

“That means there’s an archive…” Cydnar’s wizened senses made him curious.

Larisa folded her arms across her chest.

“The Rosary Datacore.” She frowned. “The Administrate take the past a little too zealously if you ask me. It’s a stuck-up temple like building on Denisha’s largest moon.”

Cydnar composed his thoughts to make sure he understood what this meant.

“You’re telling me there’s an archive of my world’s future…your past within reach?”

“Oh, don’t even go there.” She shook her head and began to walk back to the cabin. “It’s hard enough for our most loyal citizens, born and bred here to get so much as a second in the databanks.” She waved at Dorn, “Tell him about the education programme.”

“Ugh, do I have to?” She rolled her eyes and set a spanner down on the workbench she was pottering around. She saw Larisa’s stern glare and sighed. “Every citizen receives compulsory education from the age of twelve, up to twenty.” She slouched. “It’s a generic look at history, of your world, and of how the elven people came to live as one and our part to play in the formation of the galactic territories.”

“Pious, nationalist shit is what she means.” Lugre snorted.

“It’s filtered from the archives and delivered in academies spread across our home world, and sometimes into the orbital colonies and fleets for spacers.”

“Spacers?”

“People born in space, born off-world, those who never get to come home. It’s supposed to bred patriotism, but it just makes them more eager to stay the hell away.”

“So,” Cydnar began to see another side to the projected perfection of his temporary home, “So you’re saying not everyone follows Denisha’s ideals?”

The ship began to descend, tilting forwards slightly in a slow arc towards a wide, flat part of the city littered with aircraft hangers and steam spewing stacks.

“It’s a big, dangerous galaxy Cydnar. We all try to do our best to survive and sometimes that means sticking to your own.” Lugre picked up Dorn’s tool and continued work on a small, glowing device which Haut and tasked them to repair to earn their passage.

“But the common bond keeps the peace,” Larisa added.

“Which is?”

“We’re all elves, in the end. It doesn’t matter if your ancestors were high, dark, or…Hummel, regardless of our private thoughts that bond is stronger than any political agenda or creed.”

“It’s an alien notion but an admirable one.” For Cydnar, who had known only hatred amongst the elven races of Althanas, the idea of people working in brittle, but long-lasting peace was a pipe-dream. Still, it gave him food for thought about how he might begin to integrate the Hummel into Salvar’s culture now they had finished constructing their new home in its snow-blasted wilds.

“Perhaps one day things will change for you,” she smirked. “Perhaps not.”

“I’d say time will tell but,” he gestured wide, “it’s clear the end goal supports that.”

“Does knowing the destination change the journey, though?”

“Ha, if it makes it easier I’ve yet to experience it.” He continued to watch the mechanics at work, using it to distract himself from the growing unease in his stomach as the ship continued to descend a increasing magnitudes.