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Chapter 654   The Dispatch

“I wonder what happened that warranted sending a dispatch,” he said. There were very few things that would merit the sending of dispatches across the vast gulf between Earth and the exploration fleets, so the news was either very good, very bad, or had far-reaching implications that might affect future exploration missions to star systems even farther from humanity’s cradle.

But that would have to wait until he reached his office, which was the only place that had equipment secure enough to scan his personal biometrics. Eyes-only dispatches were one of the few things in the Terran Empire that had to be handled in an air-gapped system with physical verification. Thus, Nova continued reporting.

{Some of the journalists on site livestreamed your confrontation with the rogue awakener, Alejandro Garcia. Currently, public opinion is divided into two camps—the majority opinion is on your side. It was obvious that you were under attack, so they believe the use of force was justified, and some are even calling for the sniper that took out your assailant to be awarded a medal.}

“Hmph,” Aron snorted. “If I have to give out medals every time I’m attacked in the future, it’ll devalue the awards and make them cheap. Have Panoptes quash the award idea.”

(Ed note: The “devaluation” of military awards has a factual basis in history. Particularly during the Vietnam War, where about 351,000 purple hearts were awarded to an estimated 3.5 million soldiers who fought there between 1964 and 1975. It got to the point where the purple heart was deemed completely worthless, even by the soldiers who received them. It isn’t surprising, considering that about one in every ten soldiers was awarded one.)

{Yes, Sir.}

“Anything else of note come out of that?”

{Yes. Some of the detractors are saying that you set the conflict with Mr. Garcia up yourself as a false flag operation to issue a warning and a statement to awakeners that you can easily have them killed any time anywhere. They’re justifying it by claiming it’s impossible to hit lightning with a bullet from kilometers away,} Nova reported. n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

“Well, I suppose it must seem that way to them. And we can’t prove it either way without declassifying some of our predictive targeting algorithms, so just ignore it for now. If no crackpot conspiracy theorists had brought that up, we’d have had to bring it up ourselves since it’s a surprisingly reasonable line of thought.”

{Understood, Sir. What’s the threshold for Panoptes to step in on it?} Nova asked.

“Hmm... let’s say thirty percent. Once it hits saturation with that many of my detractors, have Panoptes start separating them into their own bubbles. And notify Nyx and Mnemosyne to keep a closer eye on the crackpots, along with the awakened supremacists.”

{Yes, Sir.}

“Anything else?”

{Not at this point, Sir. It’s fairly early, so the dust is still settling. We’ll know more in a day or two and be able to make a more accurate forecast, especially after Mnemosyne gathers the data during the next few logins to the simulation.}

“Put out a press release and push it to all devices so everyone is informed, then. Should move things along faster so we can see where we stand with the supremacists,” Aron ordered, then settled back in his seat and closed his eyes to rest for the remainder of the ten-odd minutes until he reached the Cube and would need to deal with the next pile of shit that dumped itself on his shoulders.

......

Avalon Island, the Cube.

A pristine white and gold shuttle landed on the roof and settled in the secure docking cradle. The side hatch slid open with a whoosh and Aron’s aegis detail disembarked, arranging themselves in two rows, facing outward with their pulse carbines relaxed, but at the ready. Once they were situated, Aron hopped down from the shuttle and strode toward the elevator.

“Where’s the dispatch?” he asked the empty air.

{Waiting for you in Lab O in the basement. Are you going there first?} Nova said.

“Yes. I’d like to see this new ship class in person first. The dispatch has already waited at least six months, it can wait a few more hours.” Aron passed through the open elevator doors, all of the security protocols and handshakes already handled by the ever-efficient Nova.

{Understood, Sir.}

The elevator doors swished shut and the pumps attached to the shaft pulled a vacuum in it before the elevator shot down toward the lowest basement level beneath the Cube at close to five hundred miles per hour. Lab O was located roughly three kilometers underground and was the physical counterpart to Lab City, with the digital scientists operating drones and robots that could manipulate physical materials. It was also where his own personal lab was situated.

Once he reached his lab, he walked in and looked at the ten-meter-diameter sphere that was the newly designed Meteor-class Messenger Boat. It was a matte black sphere without any obvious construction marks and looked like nothing more than a solid lump of some unknown metal. He let out a low whistle and muttered, “Impressive.”

He truly was impressed; the design was excellent and served its purpose well. As he looked at it, layer upon layer “exploded out” in his AR view, showing the thick armor plating, internal machining, and even the miniaturized warp engines and fusion reactor. Not to mention the quantum server, which was about as big as the one he had first used to run Nova and the simulation of Earth.

With a gesture, he set a nanite swarm to work disassembling the messenger boat. It would take about two and a half hours to take apart, so he decided to use the time to read the dispatches from Task Force Proxima. Thus, he walked into his secure office attached to Lab O and settled into the recliner used for offline memory updating and review.

He placed his hand into the recess on the armrest of the chair and it read his fingerprints and took a DNA sample from the base of his palm. Once the fingerprints were matched, a visor slid over his eyes and flashed a blue light, reading his retinal pattern as he recited the gibberish phrase he used as a voiceprint password.

{Identity verification complete. Welcome, Emperor Aron Michael,} the monotone voice of a VI said into his ear.

“Implement air gap protocol,” Aron ordered.

{Implementing,} the VI replied.

Aron’s implant disconnected from the network as the security blast doors came down over the doorway to the office. Once they sealed, a connection formed between the doors and walls, where runic script turned the room into a mana void, along with completing the faraday cage built into the walls.

Once the air gap was complete and tested, Aron logged into the local network and began reviewing the DNA-encoded memory recording. His brows furrowed with a frown as he reviewed the information of what had taken place on Proxima Centauri b, and especially when the recording reached Birch demanding to meet with him in person regarding the status of the trees’ children.

After the recording came to an end, he remained reclined in place, his finger tapping at the arm of the chair he lay recumbent in.