The Deployment

[Cirrial]

((Relative time period: Death of a God, minutes after 501's departure from Station Zero for investigation purposes.))

Ak-tse leant forward, perched upon a plastic chair looking similiar to a vaulting horse in a gymnasium. The synthetic, once fuzzy covering was worn smooth with the restless nervous fidgeting and shuffling Ak-tse was engaged in.

"Ten minutes to deployment."

Ak-tse tapped at a holographic panel, the panel lighting up and moving around the slanted projection surface it was broadcast from. It wasn't an interface he was used to. The absence of tactile feedback was irritating.

A message popped up on a seperate panel, anchored to the same control surface. Ak-tse glanced at it with inquisitive azure eyes, which quickly faded to an irritated orange. "Response, Ka-tzu. No, you can't escort the rockets. They'll crash into you. Or, based on that last little stunt you pulled, you'll crash into them. And I know we're not trying that hard to be undetected, but if they shoot the rockets out of the sky, they can't pull out a pilot and interrogate them, can they?"

The message panel beeped, flashed blue, and neatly folded itself out of existance. The launch panel drifted underneath Ak-tse's outheld left claw, its opacity fluctuating to catch attention.

A message panel flickered into being, along with another. Ak-tse sighed. "Response, Ka-tzu. If you want out so much, take a portal back to the Marasphere and jet around the sectors as much as you want. And if you don't stop mentioning this matter, that won't be a voluntary choice."

He jabbed at the newer message panel. "Response, Tk-isa. I am aware of the impact launching satellites into orbit will have on the native civilisation. Based on 501's reports and streamed audiovisual data, they likely won't notice, and if they do, they likely won't even care. Even their conspiracy theorists prefer to talk about happenings that haven't got the slightest shred of evidence attached to them."

He then jabbed at the launch control panel, flailing the tip of a digit in the general direction of a symbol resembling the previous message panels. "Message, Satellite Zero, Satellite One, Satellite Two and Satellite Three. Looking forward to orbit?"

In less than five seconds, four message panels popped up. Ak-tse glanced over them, his eyes glimmering green. The messages all pretty much said the same. -Yes mister saa-kru we get to go into space yaaay-

Maratix was a diverse corporation and a diverse nation. Over its life, it had acquired members of all varities. Maratix was known for holding one of the largest colonies of virtual sophonts, and the physical and virtual worlds intersected almost constantly.

One of the emergent traditions of Maratix's cyberspace-based population was for young AIs to control, process and submit the data received from automated reconnaisance probes. It was unanimously believed by this community that exposure to environments no other AI had experienced was highly beneficial for the developing AI's growth. And with the probes otherwise completely automated, all the AI had to do was soak in the readings and process them into neat little packages of information, before sending them off to be read at a Maratix site. It wasn't a difficult task for the average Maratix AI.

This tradition was further encouraged when the machines containing the infant AIs were adapted to return the AI intact to a Maratix site in the event of the slightest malfunction, through the same mechanism used to transmit the data discovered. It had almost become a rite of passage.

The four AIs for the Station Zero satellites were all from a much larger family, and a particularly famous clan at that. Few may have known about the Blackstar endeavour in the physical Marasphere, but throughout the virtual Marasphere all but the most apathetic AIs kept a channel open to hear of the developments.

And Ak-tse was entirely aware of all of this. Even more entirely aware of what might happen if anything... undesired should happen.

"Three minutes to deployment."

Ak-tse's eyes flashed alarmed amber briefly and then to irritated orange again. "NIDS, what happened to regular time intervals?"

"Seemed a little redundant. You looked busy."

Ak-tse groaned and planted a claw over each eye, a gesture with similar meaning to a human slapping a hand to their forehead. "While we're firing things wildly at the stars, what's robokeynain doing? Has he reported back yet?"

"No."

"He can take care of himself. This launch has to go perfectly or I'll- we'll never live it down. Four satellites, two rockets. Whose idea was this to launch two rockets at once from the same launch platform?"

"501's."

"...Makes sense."

Another message panel flashed up. Ak-tse skimmed over it. "Response, Tk-isa. I don't care if they bring a whole army to Station Zero, the world is disappearing and I want to know why and, more importantly, I want to prevent us being next! I'm sorry, but this blatant approach is necessary to the survival of our mission, and possibly our own survival as well!"

"One minute to deployment."

"What?! Where'd the time go?"

"Nah, just kidding. Two minutes."

Ak-tse hastily checked as much as he could. He tapped rapidly, almost twitching, at many panels that sprang out of the air, each dedicated to a specific aspect of the launch procedure. Finally, he gently waved a digit at an icon near the corner of the projection surface. The panels disappeared, replaced by a single orange transcluent timer, counting down the minutes and seconds for the launch.

"Here goes..." Ak-tse watched in anticipation, his eyes an expectant jade, as the timer faded into a live display.

---

In the Black Forest, the Station Zero launch pad is extremely inconspicous. No-one would be able to honestly say they saw it under construction, and dirt patches are the only evidence of the means of its sudden appearance. How it managed to suddenly appear, no-one can tell, but the launchpad is covered in closed iris-like shutters, triangular frames and small wavering geodesic domes.

The top of the launch pad hisses and emits a cyan vapour, somewhere between mist and flame, as two angular rockets rise from beneath the ground. Tens upon tens of blue lights flicker on the launchpad, alternating in an outward spiral pattern.

The rockets whirr and whine and roar, and plumes of thick black smoke billow out of them. They barely mark the launch pad, covered in a darkened-steel coating that alone made up for half its cost. They begin to spin independantly, as the protrustions of the rockets fold away.

They fly into the skies, the smoke visible for miles, the rockets themselves a dazzling spectacle of blue light.

Inside each rocket are two satellites. Inside each satellite, week-old intelligiences express wordless joy to their fellow passengers.

The rockets abruptly stop just beyond the range of visibility, almost perfectly midway in the vague threshold between sky and space. They begin to split apart. The satellites themselves are pushed out through minor blasts, tumbling through the emptiness, but not quite falling. The spherical satellites, covered in fine needle-like protrusions, tumble through the space. The infant AIs eagerly scan the skies below, giddy with the swift journey and all but overwhelmed by unfamiliar sensations and sensory readings.

The rocket components fall through the skies and into the voids where the world no longer is.

Inside Station Zero, the sounds of saa-kru celebration echo throughout the complex, silenced after the received data reveals the reality of their situation. The world is dying. And if they don't act, they would be swallowed into the void along with it.