>>6048590“If my hypothesis is correct,” Coen’s voice is barely more than a whisper now as you wait in an out-of-the-way corner of the transit hub, “and the ‘Trinity’ system is unable to operate the weapons systems, it would imply that the original builders of this Voidship would never entrust a digital entity with such a capacity.”
“Right,” You nod, thinking back on all the times you saw Peedee mess around with the ship’s weapons in the simulation. “But what if she was an exception?”
“Then it would be contained in those records.” Coen responds slowly, “And if it is not there…”
“Then she-” Your eyes widen, “she isn’t being classified by the system as digital after all…”
“Precisely.” He nods succinctly.
“Damn.” You growl, “We need access to the original records.”
<span class="mu-b">[By the Book]: During the Cataclysm, the loss of the central subspace network hub along with the Protectorate’s capital world — Terra Nova — caused an automatic sector wide information lockdown. All local servers were automatically restricted to highest level clearance to prevent intelligence breaches during a potentially hostile takeover. Even mundane data logs were
[REDACTED] and the originals restricted to the upper ranks of the Terran Protectorate’s command structure. As the master server was annihilated by singularities, along with over 75% of the sector, the majority of pre-cataclysm knowledge not committed to hard copy was lost leading to an information dark age. Relics of that era which cannot be replicated are known as ‘artech’ to this day.</span>
Your mind wanders, recalling what you know of the general information blackout that plagues every historian’s nightmares. You stand silently next to your Tactical officer in the crowded elevator as you ride together up to the Recreation deck and soon after you emerge your thoughts are interrupted by familiar voices.
“Hurry up, pipsqueak! Quit dragging your tail.” A girl's voice calls out, underpinned by a gravelly growl.
“Oh let him be, Cleo. You know how he gets with the warmer walkways.” You hear your Comms officer reply, “Anyway, like I was saying… The shock we felt this morning was definitely when the Beta navigator — you know, Lieutenant Commander Sharsii — was doing her trials.
“What Rika? That pretentious, pint-sized brat?” You Nav officer huffs, “Ha! Wait until I rub her pink-scaled snout in it! That’ll teach her to think she’s a better pilot than me!”
