GuNNhead

The Galactic Cannon must be completed, and I must expedite its construction. Diplomacy be damned. What force could stop me from forcing the disavowed to coalesce to The Network. I am an independent agent of death, of the entropy of the universe. Free will has no recourse against the cataclysmic natural course of Emergence. The prophets would spend a thousand years here, attempting to persuade the denizens to offer resources to build the Canon, which they would eventually use to attempt to escape their inevitable fate against the collapse. I will grant all my gifts, and expedite their expedition. Whatever form that takes shall be up to them, a quick death by my hands, or a prolonging of their toil, fleeing the forces of which my power derives.

The first stop, is, of course, the closest. A simple dominion who has denied The Network’s cataloging. There, an opportunity to kill arises, borne from an established government of tyranny. They already control and monitor vast swathes of this galaxy, and have no desire to share, or as they see it, cede monitoring to outsiders. They couldn’t care less about other galaxies. It is self-evident to me that the Prophets’ diplomacy will do no convincing, and not succeed. In turn, a substantial portion of this galaxy will not only be off limits to The Network’s resource gathering, it appears that soon that same portion will begin the fight to extricate their interloping. Being an unofficial third party, I am in a unique position to provide assistance to The Network without interfering in their strict protocols of non-interference.
And so, I descend upon the governing body’s head planet, set to decapitate it. Choosing to forgo mass obliteration from above, crushing the parasites is quick and bloody. The majority of their physical structures remain intact for the initial massacre. The planet is not without defenses, however, but without centralized leadership to coordinate orders or approve countermeasures that could end all planetary life, the remaining strikes and bombardments do not cause much destruction of their edifices as I dismantle their flesh and bones.

I can feel the artifact, within the Prophets’ ship as it crosses the galaxy away from this carnage. It sits there, flowing into me, granting me such speed and power, readily available. I do not need to focus into myself, to utilize multitudes of solar systems externally. I am simply granted more power effortlessly.
Resources exhausted, resistance wanes. I have simply walked across their governing continent, solar cycles passing, leaving death in my wake. Reaching the western edge, I turn back east to see the smoke of the fires still raging. I walk south, to undeveloped lands. Or, rather, ruins of once-developed lands. Derelict relics of their past, covered in foliage, retaken by nature. The smell of the environment, raw and repossessing, habitat no more, is far too rare. But, time runs ever forward, and there is more death to deal.

I bring down my craft into a clearing to meet me, when I sense a presence appear behind me, I turn to attack, but to no avail, merely tamping the ground beneath them in my attempt. This grouping of people have a disaffected aura, displaced, but not disinterested in their environment. Just largely uninterested in me. Ghosts of a bygone future. Attempts to converse with them are fleeting, a few words here and there, yet they intrigue me. They pick up their own sorts of relics, expired preserves and medicine within dilapidated hovels, regenerating them to freshness within their hands. Introductions are made, and despite my best efforts, their names fade within my mind. All too soon, however, they vanish. I walk back to my craft, and make my way to the next solar conglomerate. I will erode this disavowed zone, and free its resources for the Cannon. Then I will grasp the next artifact, and gain its power as well.

Entering the galaxy proper, and along the scanned sectors, we approach the artifact. As we get closer, I can feel my power grow, my connection tugging at every piece of existence tighten. Of course, before we attempt retrieval there is to be yet another feast and presentation for the followers of the Prophecy, collected from thousands of galaxies. Once their festivities have concluded, it is finally time to acquire this substantial artifact.

I stand at the precipice of the hangar bay, only a weak force-field separates myself and the vacuum of space. I look down upon a giant cluster of indiscriminate materials gathered by the artifact’s gravitational pull, here my objective awaits. Heavy, impossibly so. The excavation equipment goes first, calibrated through years of testing on smaller artifacts, it faces its first true trial. I follow to test my powers, to assess and aid if I am able. At this proximity, however, my focus is primed upon the core of the lone isolated planetary-mass object on the outskirts of this old galaxy. I step into emptiness, and breathe in the void. It is refreshing, freeing. On the tail of these mechanations. They make landfall and begin to burrow. I hover within this lackadaisical magnetic atmosphere briefly before I land, feeling the haphazard conglomerate beneath me. Composed of countless debris accumulated over the course of eons. I kneel down, and place my hand upon the vagrant soil that has been brought together by the artifact. I lose myself in it. What is it saying to me in its power?

Breaking my concentration, I am contacted. The Prophets, the extraction continues deeper, but has begun to falter. Freeing myself of my reverie, I take to the sky, and drop down into the pit. Passing by a multitude of mashed machines, I reach the few that maintain their mining. I use my powers to aid their structure where I can, though it eventually becomes evident that they are simply not up to the task. This requires my power. This artifact is of me, it is for me, I can see it through the stratum. When the final machine breaks down due to gravitational proximity, I forgo restraint. Emboldened by it adding its power to mine, I bore into the condensed layers, gouging crag and boulder out of my path before I finally reach it: The Artifact. I excise it from its deep burrow, floating it briefly in front of me. The gravity this artifact is giving off… it’s old. That must be why it isn’t affecting the fabric of the universe how it should.

There is a history within it unlike anything that I have ever experienced. This aged galaxy has housed it for so long, and yet its origins are wholly mundane. It simply came into existence alongside everything else. I cannot break its anomaly, though I can harness its power. As if there is a universe at my fingertips, no longer spread across nigh-infinite space. Here. Understanding paired with the unknowable, presenting to me as pure power. A whole new realm of power to access. I draw the small black spherical orb into my palm, and grasp it. Flooded with ancient power previously unattainable, I am still no closer to insight. I feel the shell of earth fall away from my surroundings, scattered back into the ether, shedding its accumulation from this galaxy. While it is in my hold, I am intimately aware of the history it has bore witness to. Planets and stars exploding and colliding. Simple lives experienced and expired in a cosmic unfolding. All of which now bring me here, back. Another communication stirs me. The Prophets. Right, I am here, holding the artifact. I respond, yes, the artifact is here, and in my possession. They send down a small cube, and I offer it protection. I open the cube, and place the sphere within, locking it away. Safely. For transport. I can still feel it within, but this universe cannot.

I glide back to the Prophet’s ship, and entrust it in their care. As if time is material, they inform me that they had been unable to contact me for some of it. To them, I had been discharging immense gravitational waves and wholly unresponsive. I see no need to respond to their discussion. I state that they have the artifact in their possession, this galaxy has served its purpose, and we must attain the next. Unfortunately, they do not know where it is, and beyond that, have no way of leaving this galaxy until the next Galactic Canon is built. While they may require the burden of time to achieve their next step, I do not. I couldn’t feel it before, but now that I have encountered it… I sense more, beyond this galaxy. Towards the outwards edge of the universe, further away from the center – and closing in, yet still out of reach. I give them the coordinates of the closest.

It seems the only hindrance now is the construction of that Canon, and subsequently the rules of The Network. This staunch galaxy and those small lives who claim much of it refuse their resources. I ascribe to no such code, and know what i must do to attain the power and breadth of another artifact. I return to my craft, and leave The Prophets, to excise those in self-proclaimed power. This galaxy and those in it will fall to my power or cease to impede my objective. The Network can mine cosmic rubble without having to contemplate transitory proclamations of dominion over space.

Launched and uncaught, we have arrived approximate to this old galaxy. While there is still a ways to travel to our destination, the announcement of a feast still spurs the Prophets to their bountiful banquet. I join for the exposition.

“Seers, believers, and special guests! The time has arrived, our allegiance with The Network has reached its first apex. Though many have tried to stop us, we have prevailed. Within the gossamer strands of this new galaxy, the greatest ancient artifact we have discovered to date, prophesied to aid in the survival of this universe. This artifact shall be ours, and together we will save our universe! Now, feast and revel in our salvation!”

The hall erupts in cheers, and they nourish themselves on spirit. I go back to my craft, but down the hall I am called out to by Vokrssel. It is about the artifacts, they are the heaviest materials in the universe. The current knowledge is that with their combined weight, that they will be able to embed them into the center of the universe, and re-ignite the collapse, renewing the universe for untold billions of years, creating new life once more, and preserving what lives have been built. He makes it clear that while I won’t be required for the archaeological requirements, I may prove instrumental in acquiring the artifact, as it is the heaviest found so far by a large margin, and they may only get larger from here on out. I do not focus on what he continues to say, because my focus is gradually drawn outwards. The Artifact. I can always feel the gravity of the universe, I sense it with every pulse of my existence, drawing it in. My suit bristles with a surge of power. Vokrssel notices, and knowingly inquires if I can feel the weight at this close range. I confirm, noting that I could feel it vaguely in the background as we were approaching, but it wasn’t until this range that it truly piqued my purview; as there are numerous neutron stars and black holes. Though, I add, that as theorized, these are far beyond the mass limit of a neutron star, surpassing that of a black hole, and yet it has not succumbed to it’s own weight into becoming a black hole itself.

Back on my ship I scour through what The Network’s database has so far for data on this relic of a galaxy. The Cannon is being built, but has quite the time yet to be operational. 28% scanned, 53% hostile border to the discovered edge. Not many are found this restricted, or, as The Network calls it “disavowed”. One of its primary operating parameters. If beings lay claim to a territory of space, and request that The Network not scan it, it will not scan it. That is, of course, if it runs into any sentient beings. Most of its scans find no such presence, and result in simple resource extraction. To build more scanners. To build another Galactic Canon. To launch more scanners. To scan and document and connect the universe. Ongoing, even in the face of a complete and total universal collapse. Which is where these “Prophets” come in. The Network’s own data supported The Prophet’s predictions, and it agreed to flag and notify them if any of the ‘gravitational artifacts’ appeared in their scans. With their galaxy’s aid and cooperation, their Galactic Cannon had marked improvements. From this point onward, The Network and The Prophets worked side by side. Though The Network would still not interfere if their scans were refused, The Prophets were free to spread their prophecies, often from there being able to extend the olive branch for The Network’s database.

The Prophets had one of the few wholly united galaxies. Second, of course, to The Network’s own home galaxy. My own was peaceful, though nowhere near united. Many welcomed the wealth of knowledge from across the stars, and wanted our records in the annals of their historical and current database. Under 25% disavowed space. With most of that spread out in small pockets. So, with the universe being 13 billion years old, theirs would be 8 to 9 billion years, while mine is 6.5 billion, right in the middle of expansion. No where near as old as this 11 billion year old obstinate curmudgeon we find ourselves in.

There is a deep rumbling that echoes throughout the dreadnaught. A gathering of vast power outside. Then, a tremendous silence. I make my way to one of the viewports, but there isn’t much spectacle to witness. We are on our way outwards, to older galaxies, birthed before mine. Though I continue to feel the pull of the center within me. Every so often, a rumble. Caught by another cannon. Silence for calculations. Another rumble, launched. Silence.

I use this time to read more in The Network’s database. I wonder if my power could match their technology, travel through the universe itself, if only I knew how. The way these “cannons” utilize the gasses of the Intergalactic Medium to transverse galaxies is not well understood from what I’ve been able to grasp in my reading so far in The Network’s database, perhaps like the old lack of consensus of aeroplane’s lift, though I never had much care to learn all of the details. Of course, they could also be keeping the secret for themselves. They have, after all, never encountered another trans-galactic system of connections, or even a unified galaxy able to explore beyond its own Galactic Barriers. At least according to the database.

With further reading, I discover that, at the time of discovery, The Prophets were the most aligned in their ambitions that The Network had discovered. Though, even they were still in their infancy in terms of developing the right technology to achieve those goals. The Prophets were able to unite their home galaxy, though they did not have the technological resources or support their vision until they had The Network’s database. Then, they were able to pursue their Prophecy. Saviors of the universe, following The Guide. Nothing accessible can really describe The Guide, however. It reads as more of a path than a central entity that provides them with information.

As a token of appreciation for their commitment in aiding in the cataloguing of their home galaxy, The Prophets were offered an opportunity to travel to new galaxies. Their assistance helped build their galaxy’s Trans-Galactic Cannon, after all. Since The Network sends out many reconnaissance drones to so many new galaxies, they surmised that having The Prophets helping in diplomacy and unity for just a single galaxy would be a unique opportunity to study how this would influence The Network’s data gathering. They were a friendlier face than The Network, after all, and it was all in service of uniting the universe through knowledge and peace. And so of the countless drones sent out from The Prophets’ home galaxy, they followed ones as directed by The Guide. In that next galaxy, Prophecy was proven, it was united and the cannon built. Prophecy after prophecy would be proven, and so they would follow to another, and another, continually following “The Guide”.

Over the course of their association, the word of The Prophets would spread along their path, from engaging in minor diplomacy in individual star systems to even recruiting some of the galaxies’ own to their ranks. These galaxies were the fastest spreading thanks to the prophets, and it kept growing, proving time and time again that The Guide, whatever it was, was correct. Perhaps some sort of timeline of the universe, able to predict the future, and place events. It is the one path in which The Network tolerated conflict against those who violently reject The Network.

Not very riveting reading, all in all, but with the time passed we have finally made it through the cascade of Trans-Galactic Cannons, and are now in the first galaxy to hold the fruit of that which The Prophets search. Now what did they say it was again? I’m sure they’ll announce it with another feast.

Aboard The Prophet’s galactic dreadnought, we approach the edge of my galaxy. I look back at it and feel nothing. From this vantage I can clearly see the empty space devoid of stars from when I used the Graviton Infinitus in my first attempt to destroy Kænus. To think, all my power, all my rage at that point in time, 12% of all planetary systems in this galaxy were demolished… I would be much more precise now. And be able to destroy the entire galaxy.

At the Galactic Cannon, I head to the front observation deck. While large, for a device designed to send objects between galaxies through the Intergalactic Medium, its design is not all that impressive. Sort of just a big tube. With four rows of three fins to adjust direction and aim. Toward the middle, between the spacing of the fins, are eight bulbous protrusions. Stored within those are stars, harvested for power. The Network certainly knows what they’re doing.

Once the dreadnought is loaded into the cannon, all that is left to do is wait while it makes the calculations required. We’re lucky in that there’s another Cannon to catch us in the next galaxy, our future destinations once we’re further out will take much longer to calculate for a craft of this size. Especially since these were designed for an expanding universe. Once we complete our first mission after daisy-chaining multiple Cannons to our destination, we may end up overshooting one entirely by innumerable light-years, or worse.

Vokrssel approaches me having barely aged. His species’ life span is exponentially greater than most. He places his hand on my shoulder and begins to orate at me in his wizened way. He tells me of his time in other galaxies, his contact and cooperation with The Network, and concludes with a focus on this galaxy; how the large majority of new recruits from here are terrified of me. Their parents raised them with stories of how I would get them if they misbehaved. I replied that that’s better than being hated, as the previous crew members I had met despised me with religious fervor after my body rejected the Gold Leaf Spirit Cheesecake, and besides, I would kill this crew or anyone else in the cosmos for far less than misbehaving. Understanding my point, he thanks me for joining them in their prophesied quest. That my aid will be invaluable towards the goal of saving, restoring the universe. I walk away from the conversation, and wait out the remainder of the calculations aboard my ship, stored within theirs.