Cato-Ikent was selfishly glad that he didn’t have to experience the Fern War firsthand. He still got the reports and memory-clouds from the versions of himself that were directly involved, but that wasn’t the same as having to actually face the destruction of a planet he’d watched for years. Or have a hopeless confrontation with his cousins, seeing them so bent and distorted, twisted into murderous monsters by the System’s architecture.

    Of course, he had his own difficulties to grapple with. Mii-Es was not exactly irritating, but she kept trying to play politics against him, when there was absolutely no need for it. He was on her side, more or less, but he also had to be at least a little reserved about his capabilities and they both knew it.

    Raine and Leese Ikent had at least found new purpose with what they had dubbed Project Birdnest, which was being performed out by an ice giant and its swarm of attendant moons. Less for the sake of materials as to make sure it was far away from any possible System expansion, though the Core showed that it was at least to take over an entire star system. He just had to hope the essence cost was so prohibitively expensive that they .

    The complex for Birdnest was, from the outside, six habitats – three of the usual counter-rotating pairs – connected by scaffolding to big bulbs of biolabs and computronium, looking like the world’s largest benzene ring. Inside, the O’Neill cylinders were full of engineered greenery, some of it taken from the homeworld where he’d found Mii-Es’ people, some of it created whole cloth from the basic biochemical profile to fill in gaps.

    It wasn’t enough just to have air and water reprocessing, or print out proteins on industrial nutrient dispensers. People couldn’t be raised in a sterile lab environment and turn out anything near sane. It might be impossible to give the avians their original homeworld – it was very thoroughly populated by a large Inner Worlds Clan – but technology could at least give them a facsimile of a natural environment.

    He traipsed along the winding trail through Tropical Garden One, taking note of areas where the plants and insects seemed to be thriving, and those places where they weren’t. There were innumerable sensors and surveillance drones to keep track of these things, of course, and powerful analytics software to dive into any deficiencies, but it was always a good idea to put a genuine eye on it from time to time. Besides, the habitats were gloriously picturesque, with the massive columns rising from the curved walls to the light-tube at the center that mimicked the sun, and a panoply of brightly-colored vegetation forming the sky overhead.

    Cato stopped at one of the columns, part support, part supply, and entered the elevator there, gripping the holdfasts as it began to rise. Spin-gravity dropped away as the elevator brought him to the axial transport network, and he buckled himself before he was whisked off down the tube. Despite the designs being long-tested and high-quality, there was still clanging and vibration as the capsule was handed off between the habitat and the interstitial scaffolding. The viewscreens displayed support struts crossing in front of the blue-green crescent of the ice giant, the only proof of motion once the capsule had gotten up to speed.

    At the destination, the surroundings changed from the pale gray and navy blue industrial-chic of the transports to the starker white and lighter blues and greens of a medical facility as he went through decontamination. Not that it strictly needed to have atmosphere, or be accessible by human-style frames, but the feel of the architecture often influenced the attitude of those who used it. So it was a hushed place, with halls full of glass windows that faced out onto the many rooms of the biolab.

    Some of them held centrifuges or spin-gravity labs, silently rotating away in ceramic and glass containment with large winking telltales, while others had massive arrays of bio-vats or chemical synthesis chambers to feed the test arrays at the heart of the facility. It might have seemed like an impossibly large amount of infrastructure, but resurrecting a nearly-extinct species – as well as their entire biosphere – with only a handful of gene samples was not a simple task.

    Leese waved at him as she exited a lab, wearing a Sydean frame in a labcoat, though the frame itself was as sterile as his; not fully organic, but rather organic-like synthetic materials. It didn’t beat real biology for feedback, but they had to use the option to avoid the possibility of contamination. Cato waved back, even if they technically had been in communication ever since he beamed himself out to the Birdnest.

    “How’s it going?” He asked, glancing around at all the busy labs.

    “So-so. Lots of failures,” Leese said with a shrug. Which was only to be expected, as they were operating from only partial information, and their references were from biology that had been thoroughly altered by the System. But it wasn’t exactly a time-sensitive issue, and they had the leisure to figure out all the wrinkles behind the avian race.

    “Well, you might have to backburner it for a bit,” Cato sighed. “Mii-Es has set up a meeting, due to the Fern War and what’s happening with the politics in the Inner Worlds and the Core. Might be best to check that we’re ready for Ikent if we have to move.”

    “Not a problem,” Leese said, eyes growing distant as she poked through the local infosphere. “I’ll send myself to orbit soon.”

    “Raine’s waiting for you,” Cato told her, and Leese chuckled. Raine-Ikent had been just as entranced by fighter ships as every other version of her and, now that they were looking at actually needing space forces, she was happily churning out all classes of fighter craft and sending them through the orbits to protect the machinery.

    “I’ll make sure to bring some of her music,” Leese said. It wasn’t like they were limited on bandwidth, but there were certain habits of reality that they kept into the digital world. Requesting a packet from a database light-hours away was impersonal and, in a way, devalued the experience. It was useful, absolutely, but relying on it too much contributed toward dissociation from reality. So he had encouraged the habit of bringing virtual items and information with them when transmitting back and forth, just to help maintain a healthy attitude toward the corporeal world.

    Cato exchanged a few more words, and then went to park the frame in storage while he transmitted himself back, reconciling with the version of himself that had been waiting in orbit with Raine. It was only about six hours of disparate experience, though somewhat time-displaced given that the ice giant was nearly four light-hours away itself. Fortunately, nothing eventful had happened aside from the last few lingering skirmishes of the Fern War — which was a stressful hell for those versions of himself, but nothing Cato-Ikent could do anything about. Sear?h the ηovёlFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

    He slipped into the remote frame he kept on the surface, in Yaniss’ estate, waking it up and heading down into the basement where the god-communications crystal was located. Raine and Leese had access to the feed, but neither of them joined him on the surface. He thought it better to leave their involvement obscure, even if Mii-Es and Yaniss knew they existed. Less because he didn’t trust them, specifically, as simple operational security.

    “Cato.” Mii-Es spoke the moment the device activated, as was her wont. He was pretty certain that she framejacked herself to catch the exact microsecond the connection was established. “That little war of yours has made things rather difficult on our end.”

    “Believe me, I’m not any happier,” Cato told her with a click of his beak. “Unfortunately I am not formless and ineffable, so it’s always possible someone will find something. The ferns are all gone, so there will be no repeat of that, but this is a war. We can’t expect everything to go our way.” He didn’t mention that it seemed likely had informed on him, not least because with Dyen dead, such blame would seem all too convenient.

    “I certainly hope you have something that can make the next few years ,” Mii-Es said, tapping her taloned fingers against her chair. “The Elns have used this to both prove that you are a threat and consolidate their power with the demonstration that they’re willing to burn their own planets if necessary. Which puts the rest of us independent gods under heavy pressure.”

    “Without any ability to speak with the Elns or the rest of the Core Gods directly, I’m not sure there’s anything I can do about that,” Cato told her. “My power is more orthogonal to what the System does — but I assume you have a suggestion?”

    “A number of the independent gods are just too close to the territory of the Nine Great Clans, and they’re going to be forcibly evicted no matter what.” Mii-Es leaned forward, her voice sharpening as she gripped the arm of her chair. “I want you to get to them first, make sure they’re safe, rather than letting the Core Worlds burn them out when they refuse to hand over everything they’ve built.”

    “That might be possible,” Cato said slowly, thinking about the options and tossing the idea back to Raine and Leese for opinions. “But won’t that justify their position? Not to mention exposing that I’m spread more widely than they thought. And I imagine you would be at risk too, since you’re associated with all those gods.”

    “I’m hardly relevant to them,” Mii-Es said, waving dismissively. “Out here on the frontier? Besides which, with the destruction of the Tornok Clan and a local loss to the Eln Clan, there’s a power vacuum that will keep both the mortal and Great Clans squabbling for years to come. They mostly care about the Inner Worlds, where independent gods have stymied the expansion and politicking of the Great Clans.” Then she sighed. “And in the worst extremity, you can certainly ensure that the people here, as well as myself, are taken care of.”

    “That seems exceedingly altruistic,” Cato said, half-suspicious. It was obvious that Mii-Es, despite her demeanor, did indeed care about the welfare of her fellows. But this was a large risk to ask and to assume, though there were fewer reasons to avoid action than before. He simply needed to ensure he didn’t prompt some all-out conflagration, or blocking off the Core itself, or worse. If there was some button somewhere in the System that could turn it into a gray goo replicator, he very much didn’t want to give someone incentive to find it.

    “There’s a practical aspect too,” Mii-Es admitted. “If you excise a portion from each of those areas, not just a single planet or small cluster, then it’ll scare all the various other clans. Nothing is going to stop them from coming together at this point, but most of them are cowards at heart. Threaten them with losses if they move against independent gods, and they might delay long enough for me to convince more to our side. Beyond which, I have heard that purging a world grants an extreme amount of essence — yet when you take it, that certainly is not the case. You’re also removing a future revenue stream.”

    “I see what you’re trying to say.” Cato clicked his beak thoughtfully, not commenting on Mii-Es’ use of the term . That had been very deliberate, though he was glad to have moved at least on paper from a tentative agreement to a firm concord. “But if we’re talking about engaging with so many gods, one of them is to make it public that you’re working with me directly. That’s why the contingency plans I gave you were meant to be invoked when a world was targeted for exterminatus.”

    “Only if people believe it,” Mii-Es said, and waved a languid talon. “There are already rumors everywhere that some people are working with you — and I will make sure there are more. The Eln and Lundt Clans are at each other’s throats, the Hoskar and Shoh Clans are jostling in from the sidelines, and with a power vacuum formed by the loss of the Tornok worlds, people are taking advantage of the opportunity to settle old scores. Either by proxy or directly.”

    “Making the fog of war worse, eh?” Cato mused. It was easy to forget that the System-Gods were not monolithic in any sense, that their communications were as imprecise and biased as any group of people, and that Cato was a relative newcomer to the scene. There were all kinds of grudges, some hundreds or thousands of years old, which vastly outweighed anything Cato seemed to be. With nearly half a million worlds in the System, the number that had directly seen Cato’s presence so far was still just a fraction of a percent.

    He might well be overestimating how much of a threat he genuinely appeared to be. Obviously knew just how much of the System he had subverted, how many worlds he could take if he decided to truly exert himself, but for most of the gods he was just an excuse. A slice of political theater, with only minor risk. Or so it seemed from what Mii-Es had reported.

    Raine transmitted, having chewed over potential strategies and outcomes.

    Leese suggested.

    Cato pointed out.

    Raine’s transmission was accompanied by a set of sarcastic emoticons.

    “I’m considering it,” Cato told Mii-Es, flexing his talons as he tried to figure out the best way to ask. “Talking about these rank and file gods — ridiculous phrase, that. But would they be fooled by allowing myself to be deliberately driven off from the fringes of these pockets when you think it would have the most impact? Believe that while I am a threat, I’m one that can be managed?”

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    “You’re saying you can’t be managed?” Mii-Es asked, eyes sparkling. “But yes, no doubt that the Core Elders won’t be fooled, and while the local gods fall in line and allow themselves to be assimilated into the Nine Great Clans, there will be significant resistance against it. In fact, if you do that it may actually snarl what is otherwise a foregone conclusion. Infighting could give us more time to contest the takeover of the independent gods.”

    “Tentatively I’m for it,” Cato decided. “But we’re going to have to be very careful about approaching the other gods. At least get a few directly on our side, who can convince others.”

    “About that,” Mii-Es said, and waved a claw. A moment later, Initik loomed into view at Mii-Es side, his insectile face inscrutable.

    “Ah,” Cato said, looking between the two. “I suppose I’m not surprised, but at least that dispenses with having to dissemble when speaking with you two.”

    “No,” Initik said bluntly. “It was obvious you were working with someone, anyway. Once Mii-Es started distributing the contingency plans, I knew. They had the particular flavor of your work.”

    “I would ask who else knows, but I imagine it won’t matter soon enough,” Cato said. “Not if I’m going to start the opening moves.” He made sure to add a note to send a message to the Sydean Lineage, to make sure they weren’t caught up in any of the operations, though of course whatever version of him was nearest would think of that too.

    “We’ll start with the more amenable gods,” Mii-Es said. “The idea is to put together a small cabal that is spread out widely enough that, no matter which Clans act and what gods are removed from play, you would still have contacts among the divine. Deities trustworthy enough to convince other independents to take your offer and leave.”

    “Although my impulse is to move immediately and all at once, I suppose drawing it out might work better,” Cato mused. “Give the impression that I’m moving forces around.”

    “You’re not?” Initik asked. “I am aware you haven’t shown us everything you can do, but even you must have some limits.”

    “Quite a lot of them,” Cato admitted. “But they’re orthogonal to yours. Time and the ability to concentrate force are big ones, but deploying forces anywhere besides the Inner Worlds is not one of them.” He didn’t go into more detail as, despite how amusing it would have been to see their reaction to what years of exponential growth could accomplish, they still didn’t need to know. In fact, they didn’t strictly need to know he wasn’t moving forces, but given the general outline of the plan, it would be obvious enough in time.

    “Unfortunately, the Inner Worlds are where we are most concerned,” Mii-Es said, drumming her talons against her chair.

    “I need time to make sure I can guarantee anything there,” Cato admitted. “We’ll have to go target by target, and decide what can be done.”

    “Some will have to wait for the gods in question, but we can plan now,” Mii-Es said, and conjured a map of the System, which more or less accorded with Cato’s own.

    Outside the Inner Worlds, there were some half a million planets, and perhaps two thousand distinct species. Which either suggested a ruinously high rate of genocide, or that a good number of planets had never had a civilization on them. As low as Cato’s opinion of the System was, both his own judgement and that of the various analysis algorithms leaned toward the latter.

    Sapient, civilized life just wasn’t all that common. If there had been half a million species, that would have raised some serious questions about why Earth had not, prior to the advent of the System, detected anything that could have been construed as another civilization. With two thousand, the statistics were still dubious, but there was no telling how many were like the Urivans and just not likely to become spacefaring. Plus the number of worlds with gravity too heavy for chemical rockets to be viable, and other minor filters which would result in a society invisible to long-range observation.

    Two thousand was still a vanishingly small ratio given how many stars and planets the System could reach. In terms of real world space, the System sprawled over the Milky Way’s local volume; the Large and Small Magellenic Clouds, Fornax and Bernard’s Galaxy, Dwarf Triangulum, Sextans, Draco and Leo A were all represented. That was an expanse of over a million light-years in every direction, and Cato suspected that Andromeda was not far away from being included.

    There was only correlation between the System links and real space. Disentangling the portal links and relating them to base reality was a job that made Cato glad for his computronium, but the pattern seemed to be clustered. A few hundred worlds would be connected to each other in a way that matched their relative real-world positions, but then relative to their neighboring clusters they might be tremendously displaced.

    Sydea and Earth were, for example, part of the same general group, as was Uriva. But Ikent was in a completely different region, and the Tornok worlds had been divided between two clusters; half in the Small Magellenic Cloud and the other half in Carina. Which went to explain how Earth had avoided the System’s notice before; it didn’t expand evenly. It skipped from region to region, and Earth was simply in one of the many areas where the System had only recently put down roots.

    That put the furthest edges of his expansion, and the System’s, somewhere close to two million light years at the most distant points. Which meant, in real space, two million years of communication lag between planets, even assuming there was a way to beam a message across that distance. That lag was one reason he did worry about collapsing the System too quickly; he could share intelligence just fine across the portals, but once they were collapsed he had a long wait. He was waiting to hear from any of the planets he’d closed, light-decades away as they were.

    If it weren’t for the purges he’d already have gotten that information, but the original target world, one close in real space, had been eradicated and removed from the System. That had thrown all the original plans for a lightspeed comms network into the trash, and forced him to simply wait for the limitations imposed by base reality. At the distances involved, light was absolutely , and the timer in his infosphere counting down to when the first photons should cross into his telescopes and comms had started at something close to twenty years.

    The independent gods that Mii-Es had suggested he sever would create a number of enclaves spread throughout that vast space, firmly cementing Cato as far and away the most remote human ever. One of the people from Earth who had taken to the System might possibly have transited through some of the far-flung worlds, but they certainly hadn’t put down roots there. Cato had.

    He had to wonder what other people might do in his stead, if they had managed to establish post-biological technological enclaves on hundreds of thousands of worlds over millions of light-years. Technically he could have started an empire, if he had been inclined, but he certainly wasn’t. Once again he suspected at least a little that the hyperintelligences of Sol had let him go through on purpose, knowing that he have any such grand designs.

    “We’ll start with Neyar,” Mii-Es concluded. “He’s the most at risk, especially given how openly he flouts the Clans. Even – and especially – if he’s the most powerful of us. ”

    “That is barely within what I can do,” Cato said, consulting his own maps. “If he can help with the process of severing his worlds, that will make things so much easier.”

    ***

    “You dare?” Neyar glared at the lackeys simpering before him, affecting politeness as if he would be fooled by the surface veneer of their behavior. Roused by his ire, the winds of his domain whipped the orange grass, sending ripples through the plains he used for foreigners and visitors. Storm clouds gathered in the sky; not so much an invocation of his Interface as just his deep connection to the essence of his surroundings.

    “Deity Neyar, we intend no offense.” Deity Ikei Hoskar’s smile grew strained, her ears flattening against her narrow skull. “But surely you see that under the circumstances there is no more latitude for gods to operate outside the protection and the accountability of the Clans. It has become obvious that some are already working with Cato against the divine plan.”

    “The of the Clans. The of the Clans,” Neyar said, disgusted. “Your motives and reasoning are naked, no matter what scraps of logic or paltry words you use to try and hide them. It’s about power, and always has been. No Clan has my interests at heart, and never has. Return to your masters and tell them that my worlds are . And any attempts to change that will result in something they will regret.”

    “But Deity Neyar,” Ikei said, while her companion fidgeted silently. A flash of lightning and a crack of thunder cut off whatever Ikei had intended to say as Neyar waved his hand, dismissing the pavilion he’d summoned to greet them.

    “Leave,” he ordered them. “Now.” He was perfectly prepared to throw them out by force, but he knew it wouldn’t be necessary. Ikei was, like many of the Core Worlds deities, someone who had been born to the power and spent her whole life trading favors rather than trading blows. Perhaps if the laughable offer the Hoskar Clan had sent to him was meant to be accepted, her skills would have had purpose, but it was obviously a warning. A demand.

    Ikei gathered herself up with some dignity and steered her companion to the exit, only a few steps away from where they stood. Neyar dispersed the entrance to his Estate once they were gone, sinking to four limbs and simply running. Working out his annoyance by sprinting along high cliffs and steep mountains, traversing the massive, planet-sized space he’d created for himself.

    The problem was that he did not, himself, have any levers on the True Core the way the divine-oriented gods did. In the past that would not have mattered; the fractious nature of the Nine Great Clans meant that they were too worried about each other to turn their attention to people like Neyar, even if he was the largest and most powerful Greater Deity in the Inner Worlds.

    He had four worlds to his name, all of them wealthy, well-built, and well-traveled. Not many worlds relative to the Clans, whose holdings were in the tens of thousands each, but all four of his worlds were close to the Core. Prizes to be coveted by those whose eyes held nothing but avarice, who could only see the wealth and influence and not the people who lived there. people, whom he had ensured could rise against all comers and flourish.

    There had been many attempts to buy him off, to bargain the worlds away, or to outright bully him over the millennia, but nothing had swayed Neyar. Mostly because had no compunctions about banning Clans from going through his worlds, let alone delving the dungeons or using the buildings and cities. That alone was enough to keep most in line, provided he didn’t show any favoritism otherwise, and his personal prowess was enough to dissuade any attempts at simply taking what was his.

    But now things had come to a pass where the Nine Great Clans were entirely happy to worlds they could not hold, and when it came to it, he probably was not willing to sacrifice his people to stay independent. They would lose their worlds either way, but at least they would have a chance to spread out and establish other strongholds in the next centuries.

    His Interface chimed at him, alerting him to more visitors. He growled to himself, but a cursory glance showed that visitors were not more Clan sycophants. Rather, they were some of the gods actually worth respecting, those who had clawed their way up from mortals and knew what it was to take and hold something of value. Initik and Mii-Es, who had become suspiciously close of late. Not his taste, but to each their own.

    With a thought he returned to the vestibule, opening it to the outside once again in order to receive his guests. The two of them entered with proper politeness, meeting Neyar in the gazebo he conjured for the purpose, and Initik took out an odd device from his inventory. It took Neyar a moment to place it, but he used one before, many years ago. Not recently, as manifesting them and using them to communicate directly with temples was quite expensive and generally unnecessary.

    “I take it we just missed the Great Clans petitioners,” Mii-Es said by way of conversational opening, making no reference to Initik’s device. “I could smell the stench of their essence lingering at your door.”

    “They’re demanding I join them, or else I’m obviously working with Cato,” Neyar replied, which was more explanation than he would normally give. But Mii-Es had taken it upon herself to organize the various independent gods against the threat of the Core Deities — to uncertain success, unfortunately.

    “We all saw that coming,” Mii-Es said sympathetically. “Which is why we’re here. There aren’t many alternatives to what the Core Gods are, euphemistically, , but we do have one. Exactly one.”

    “Ominous,” Neyar said, turning his gaze to Initik. That particular deity had been one of the few that showed the same care for his people that Neyar felt, and was a near-equal when it came to a fight. A fellow traveler, so if he thought something was important, it was worthwhile to listen.

    “Before we begin, I need your word on absolute silence about this,” Initik warned. “These are secrets that are incredibly dangerous to a large number of people, both mortals and gods.”

    “Of course,” Neyar replied, just a touch impatiently. He knew how to be circumspect.

    Initik conjured a memory crystal and tossed it to him, and Mii-Es did the same. Neyar tilted his head at the pair, then scanned the memory crystals with his essence. What he found was, in some ways, unbelievable. Enormous works of incredible artifice; a long, grueling effort to have a life, a life, outside the System, and even the potential of raising entire species from the dead.

    On the other hand, Cato’s artifice extended to a frankly unbelievable spread of forces, claims that nearly every world in the System had armies ready to spring from the blackness at a word from their master. It was a frankly ridiculous assertion — but it was also exactly the sort of ability that was required if someone had the goal to bring down the System itself.

    The very world trembled around him as two gods he thought were once allies revealed themselves to be working with the enemy — then Neyar ruthlessly suppressed that reaction. They both had their reasons; reasons and ones he could not gainsay. And although Cato was the of his current predicament, he was merely the excuse, not the enemy.

    “I see,” he said slowly and at length, chewing on his words. “Why you say these are dangerous secrets. It takes a tremendous amount of trust to even entertain what this foreigner has to offer.”

    “Trust, or desperation,” Mii-Es suggested.

    “Or pragmatic concerns,” Initik rumbled. “I have seen what he can do, and I would far rather reach a settlement that is favorable to me, than be forced to one that is far less acceptable. I genuinely believe he does not care to , which makes it only a matter of reconciling the differences between a world with and without the System.”

    “And that is what you’re suggesting I do?” Neyar asked, bristling at the very idea.

    “We are suggesting that you move the Core does,” Mii-Es replied, lifting a talon. “Take your worlds out of the System, to be fully independent. Misse was probing us with Meshan’s world, and ultimately that will lead to closing in on what you own — but what if that is not necessary? There is another option. No more pushing back against the Great Clans. No more proxy skirmishes with invaders. It will not be the same, true, but it also very decisively removes their hold over you.”

    Neyar frowned at the pair, flexing his claws in thought. The prospect of treating with Cato did not excite him, but he was low on choices. He knew what Misse could do as a Core Deity, especially with alliances between the Nine Great Clans loosening unspoken rules of propriety. A conversation would not be amiss.

    “Very will, we can at least exchange words,” he decided, and looked meaningfully at Initik’s device. In response, Initik tapped it, and a figure appeared above it. The form looked like of the Ahruskians, but was not an exact match for any of them.

    “Deity Neyar,” the figure said, polite but not deferential.

    “Cato, I presume,” Neyar said, studying him. The individual did not look impressive, but clearly that was deception. Or a concession to a diplomatic approach, rather than a warlike one.

    “Indeed,” Cato said, offering Neyar a shallow bow. “I have some hopes we can reach an agreement, and settle things without any harm to you or yours.”

    “Large words,” Neyar replied, flexing his claws and narrowing his eyes at Cato. “But even at the beginning I find we have a difficulty. I rule four worlds, not one, and without the deity connection or portals, I can hardly administer them all. It is not one of my talents to be in four places at once.”

    “Maybe not now,” Cato said slowly, then smiled and clasped his hands behind his back. “But it be.”