Unchosen Champion

Blue emergency lights strobed in a desperate rhythm, as if the overwhelming smell of burnt ozone wasn’t enough for the hapless spacefarers to understand that their ship was on the verge of complete failure. Flashes of fire added a chaotic flare to the steady cadence of illumination. The buzzing of ungrounded energy reverberated off the insulated metal jackets of their housing, loud enough to be distracting. The temperature had risen, but that wouldn’t last long in the vacuum of space.

The scrap ship normally relied on momentum to maintain course, but it was languishing without sufficient power, threatening to permanently strand them in the empty vastness. They never anticipated this particular challenge as mana was what powered the vessel, and mana was unlimited. There would be no rescue for them if they couldn’t find a way to keep it moving.

Sparks danced around Lyriel’s nimble fingers as she braided wires in an effort to bypass yet another failing energy conduit as it starved. Energy surged as if the vessel valiantly fought alongside them. The old ship was a reflection of themselves, simultaneously dependent on mana while being susceptible to its exposure. Balance was necessary, but they had reached a physical point in space that had thrown off the required equilibrium.

Lyriel’s determined expression was marred by brows creased with worry. Slag stained her normally unblemished skin, leaving dark stains where she had pushed strands of hair away from her eyes with the back of her wrists. The inconsistent light was doing nothing to help accomplish her tasks.

Their situation was growing increasingly hopeless. The longer it took to complete the emergency repairs the less likely they would be successful as the problems cascaded. At this rate, she wasn’t sure if they would find a way to continue forward. She took some small comfort in the fact that the emergency lights were operating at all. Once they quit, she would know for sure that the ship was completely spent.

On the other side of the cramped bridge, her partner did his best to reactivate the dying mana core while continuing to track all of the other ship systems. Unlike the ship’s leader, he was able to split his attention and maintain his regular duties, monitoring the diagnostics with ancient sensors while manually reconfiguring their auxiliary plexuses. The primary mesh had fizzled decades prior, leaving them on imperfect power networks that had been scraped together with spare parts. Still, the problem wasn’t the ancient alien tech, though it was constantly being disabled by mana. The problem was the concentration of mana itself.

The once vibrant hum of the drive was now a ragged cough that was punctuated by thumps that threatened to shed the shell of the entire ship. The mana sails were hanging limp, metaphorically speaking, and the lack of power choked the propulsion systems.

They were experiencing the effects of what would have been considered doldrums in a nautical setting, but it made no sense when they rode the constant activation surge of mana. The emptiness of space was a natural doldrum, but there were as many celestial bodies ahead of them as there were behind. Mana should have been activating in those stars and planets in front of them just like the ones they had passed, providing a gradient for them to ride with the mana sails. But it wasn’t activating.

Normally, mana activated in a wave that originated from what they considered the center of the universe, somewhere deep within the galactic community. While mana already existed across the cosmos, it activated with a much slower pattern, forming a rolling swell that was hundreds of light years wide, distributed through the particles of the universe. They were able to harness the activation through mechanisms that weren’t entirely understood by them, but were passed down all the same. The main factor was that they relied on the gradient in mana densities to glide through relatively empty space.

The wave traveled at a ridiculous rate and the system spread along with it, assimilating planets as it went. Their ship was dragged forward by the surge, and in this way, the Avatars of the System were able to seek a way to free the exiles of the galactic community. If they couldn’t eventually accomplish their goals, they would never be able to live on a planet again, always being pushed by mana’s activation in the emptiness between solar systems.

Despite being branded for eradication, they were overlooked if they remained in the gaps between celestial objects in the periphery, but ceasing their forward movement would allow them to be rediscovered. Mana would coalesce, viewing them like an infection to be removed.

They were only able to continue to exist by staying where mana was the thinnest, lacking a full activation. It put them in a precarious situation where they needed active mana to survive, but couldn’t remain where it fully activated lest they invite the forces of mana to finish its job in annihilating them. They were a speck of contamination hidden in the transitional portion of the galaxy, between nodes in a network of omnipresent energy.

As long as they vacated the portions where mana was fully triggered, staying where mana was only partially activated, creeping along with the expansion, they could continue to exist. Balancing their needs left them at the edges of the galactic community as it grew across the universe. The process had been continuous, unceasing, without any signs of any decline for as long as the cosmos had begun expanding.

However, as far as Lyriel and Malsteron could tell, the activation wave had died. They were lagging behind the initial tidal wave due to previous diversions, cruising through the rising tide that chased the initial tsunami, but mana concentrations were decreasing as they went. Normally, that would only happen if they somehow drifted ahead of the primary wave, but the speed with which it spread meant that they would never make that mistake by accident. It was like the wave had finally lost its momentum, spreading itself thin until it was unrecognizable.

They were a small inflatable raft floating on a surge of water that climbed onto an unexpected shore. The water was being absorbed back into the sand, leaving them beached. As far as they could understand, this would essentially be the edge of the universe as they knew it. But clearly, they didn’t know everything.

They couldn’t make sense of why mana would cease its activation. The solar systems ahead of them were no different from the ones they had passed. It would be a curious phenomenon to study, but they didn’t have the luxury to properly examine the situation, not to mention their lacking tools. Mana’s surge had always driven them forward, and it wasn’t clear what they were meant to do without it herding them along the fringe of the known universe. The main problem was that they were as dependent on mana as those who enjoyed being members of the galactic community. They couldn’t fully decouple themselves from the resource as much as it would annihilate them given the chance.

Mana may not have succeeded in completely extinguishing their species with the Eradication Protocol, but it had successfully obliterated their civilizations. The individual survivors were rendered helpless on their own, lacking the comprehensive knowledge accumulated by entire societies. Turning back would be akin to stepping into the jaws of a waiting monster that had already consumed their kind, but staying put would have them caught all the same, though it would take over 100 years, as if they would experience their own version of a planetary assimilation on their tiny two-cabin ship. Moving forward would theoretically cause them to leave mana behind, killing everything that was held together by mana itself. They had no idea if they would suddenly experience thousands of years of aging without mana preventing such a normal process, for one tiny example. Lyriel couldn’t even remember the last time she consumed sustenance.

“This can’t go on, Lyriel.” Malsteron raised his voice over the buzzing sounds of the ship’s systems choking themselves. They both recognized the dire situation. “We should redirect all power to communications and warn others of this phenomenon with a direct notification.” He suggested a noble sacrifice for the good of the exiles.

“No.” Lyriel declined without hesitation. “Absolutely not. Our sacrifice would be meaningless.”

Malsteron shifted speakers. “It would not be meaningless if this event is only occurring in this sector. We could prevent others from making the same mistake and provide a warning. Maybe they will see signs before being caught. Providing warnings has always been our main purpose.”

Lyriel slammed the braided wires into their compartment, done with the repair, and jumped to her feet. “We aren’t finished!” She vibrated with frustration before stomping toward the aft wall where she peeled a panel open with a bit too much force. “We must survive, Malsteron.” She declared, tossing the broken cover to the ground as she worked her way into more cabling.

“It’s time to come to an understanding, Lyriel.” Malsteron began a conversation that was millenia overdue. “You won’t have the revenge you wish for. It is simply not possible.”

“It might be.” Lyriel insisted. “We haven’t been inside of an ark yet.”

“No one has been. If that’s even what they are.” Malsteron countered, applying long rehashed arguments between the two, ever since Lyriel had become fixated with the heart of assimilations. “Formal Assimilations are rare enough, Eradication Protocols rarer still, then to actually find cooperative and able subjects…”

Lyriel stopped what she was doing inside of the panel, eyeing the projection platform as she tended to do more and more frequently ever since they had contacted Earth for the second time.

“One is not enough to establish a colony.” Malsteron applied one of his species’ idioms, the meaning universal enough. He was of the opinion that an easy way out for the exiles was pure fantasy. They were playing a game of odds, but they had far too few numbers to have a winning hand. A sacrifice of two would be strategically folding a bad hand so that the game could be continued by the rest.

Lyriel returned to ripping cables from the panel. “The pieces are already in place.” She grunted as she snapped a cord, sending sparks dancing on the floor. “He has the key, and others have the instructions. I will live to see the result one way or another.” She declared, confirming her position stubbornly.

Malsteron started as if to continue the argument, deeming their individual lives less valuable than a notification to their distant allies, scattered along the edge of the galactic community, as they represented the greater numbers, but he was interrupted by himself. Malsteron’s current community message analyst stirred in surprise, sending a fear signal that caused the colony to turn inward, ignoring the fearsome Lyriel and their argument, and turning the others away from their blinking ship consoles that warned them of all sorts of other failures.

“Galactic Notification detected: a new faction has formed.” The message was truncated by the nervousness of the individual, but Malsteron as a whole waited patiently, curious what could be so unusual that the young individual would consider words with such care while also deeming it important enough to interrupt the colony. A faction forming wasn’t so rare that it should have caused such a reaction.

To his collective surprise, the individual transmitted the exact message in its entirety, abandoning his role in their thought patterns in favor of a full accounting. It was a safe move that suspended judgment. Malsteron viewed the message with some trepidation.

[The Lighthouse Faction has claimed a Core]

[Territory - Ghost Reef]

[World - Earth]

[Principal Species - Human]

[Founder - Coop]

Malsteron’s entire colony shivered in unison. “Lyriel!” He shouted in frustration from a dozen voices, recognizing the pet project of his cohort and the subject of their current debate. “What in the stars did you do? What kind of chip did you give them!?”

“What is it now, Malsteron? I did nothing unusual! You already know what I’ve done!” Lyriel shouted back, letting her frustration bubble over as she slammed another metal panel shut with a rattling snap.

Malsteron shared the galactic message and Lyriel stopped what she was doing as well. They stared at each other for a few moments, silently thinking about the implications while the blue strobe blinked on its own. The party was over. Malsteron believed this would be the end of her fantasies, and they would be tasked with generating the message to the other exiles. Obviously, the Champion of their cause was doomed.

“They will be swallowed by the other factions. These humans will be lucky to leave any survivors at all even if we could retrieve them.” Malsteron affirmed. Lyriel’s downcast gaze was all he needed to see. It was her last vestiges of hope that had grown to unreasonable amounts in the last few months escaping into the cosmos. “I’m sorry, Lyriel.” He added sadly, knowing that despair.

She stirred herself and looked back at him, but the look in her eyes wasn’t what he expected. She smiled at Malsteron, but it was the nasty smile that spoiled her otherwise carefully crafted visage. “No.” She shook her head slowly. “There’s still a chance. They are the only people in the universe more hopeless than we are. The Lighthouse might be the singular group that we can actually offer to help.”

“What are you saying?”

Lyriel shifted her eyes back to the projection platform. “I’m saying, if they open another window, we might have a chance to help them.”

Malsteron couldn’t help but scoff at the suggestion. “How could they possibly open yet another window? They have already forced the requirements beyond what would be reasonable on a regular assimilation. We would never expect to see another, and now they will be occupied by faction affairs at the same time!” Malsteron rotated speakers with each sentence, and he wasn’t done. “In fact, I feel pity for the faction that defeats them! If they don’t wipe out humans first, the planet they earn will be subject to the Eradication Protocol with them on it. They won’t be sent home with canceled contracts once the judgment of failure is applied. What help could a few minutes with us possibly grant them? How would it help us for that matter?”

Lyriel waited until she was sure he was finished before she responded. “It will only work if someone from this particular human faction with the ability to issue contracts is the one to open the window.” She added yet another stipulation as if it didn’t make the chance of it occurring astronomically smaller. “But we could join them. It’s technically an unassimilated faction at this time.”

“Are you crazy?” Malsteron was flabbergasted. She was suggesting they join a faction? Exiles of the community would never be permitted. But this faction was technically unassimilated, having been formed before its Core planet was properly integrated. They would only be punished after being assimilated, which already couldn’t happen, thanks to the development of humans.

“What would be the problem?” Lyriel questioned, brow creased as if she was genuinely trying to see the flaws in her idea.

Malsteron hesitated as he considered her suggestion more carefully. His initial reluctance was due to the fact that mana would seek to annihilate both himself and Lyriel, and the eradication would be extended to the faction. However, in the case of humans, they would be subject to the Eradication Protocol with or without them. He had to admit, he was afraid of undergoing such an ordeal. It would most likely lead to their deaths, but they would be stuck once their ship finally gave up, which might be even worse than death. If they managed to keep going forward, they would probably be dead, and if they could turn back they would have a similar demise without ever reaching another planet as mana would be on to them right away.

Lyriel sensed his uncertainty. “We just have to wait and see. We can use up what’s left of the ship’s reserve to send your message or we can use it on the projection platform. Maybe they can surprise us yet again.” She continued, recognizing that humans had already been full of astonishments up to that point.

Malsteron thought he could compromise that much. As long as they held the ship together, they could at least see how Earth’s assimilation played out. They were in no position to continue surveying the new planets, if there even were any with the odd behavior of mana’s activation wave.

Lyriel could already detect her longtime companion’s judgment. “We just have to wait and see how Coop handles the crushing strain of the galactic community’s attention.”

“He’s probably already fighting for his very existence.” Malsteron groaned, agreeing with his companions' plan without having to vocalize it.

Lyriel shrugged in a way that wasn’t unlike the human’s mannerisms in an attempt to imitate his casual nonchalance. “They even named their faction The Lighthouse.” She observed. “Fitting, don’t you think?”