level_act34side_05_beg

Voice Log #33

(Unknown language, unknown time)

The stargate's remodeling plan is an apparent success, and we have re-established a connection with Talos. A two-year backlog of information has been flooding in, but it is bare of any good tidings.

First it was the observatory stations on the asteroid belt, then the entire system's interstellar hub. Finally, the cruise fleets orbiting hospitable planets also fell into silence.

Even the ancient colonial fleet turned into a nomadic museum was not spared the same fate.

Along with these shocking revelations came similarly unexpected data left behind by Valeria. Her notes resembled her very being: long-winded and inexhaustible.

However, she seemed to have spent her last days repeatedly poring over literature and history alongside the technical documents. Studying how these great men died, what their last words and epitaphs were...

Like a child on the day before their coming-of-age ceremony, rifling through their parent's wardrobe in a frantic search for attire dignified enough for an adult.

Did she find her own life inadequate? Insufficiently weighty?

No, she left practically all that she had at the stargate. If she had lived in the past, wouldn't her achievements have been inserted into the annals of history?

But now it seemed nothing more than a narrow door opened between two tiny locked rooms in the dark. I fear it won't be long before the door is shut once more.

In the end, the history of humanity has exceeded the bounds of humanity itself, hah.

Reading error occurred (2).

Run fault diagnostics?

Do you need my help, Mr. Avitus?

Oh, no. I was merely observing this abandoned Little Handy.

Abandoned...? By who?

Don't worry, that's not important. What brings you here, Jordi?

I'm hoping to find something to do. We're clearly in dire straits, and I'm sure this city is full of problems in need of solving. They just won't reveal themselves to me.

Generally speaking, in that situation you should go to the Institute of Development Planning for an assessment.

However, if you were looking for me specifically, I'll try my best to help you out.

You're a highly experienced and respected scholar, after all, and many in the city call you Magister.

Magister? My last work was 'The Death of Life,' a book with no educational value whatsoever.

I-I read it, actually. Although I couldn't understand much, with so many cryptic words. Like starship, stargate... it seemed like from another world.

'Another world.' Hah, you're right about that.

But I find myself undeserving of the title Magister. Often times I find myself lost in confusion.

Jordi, do you remember when I told you that blood ties were unimportant?

I do, but I already...

I may have been a bit misleading. While we indeed care little for blood relations, 'relationships' themselves are an excellent lead to follow.

When one is lost, one ought to find a connection to reality—be it a life or an ideal—and seek a way out.

Otherwise you'll end up like me, sinking into an extended questioning of the value of your own existence.

If I may be so bold, can I ask whatyour own 'relationship' is...?

My Familiar.

How, exactly...?

She shared the same thoughts and goals, and would enrich both my spirit and my ideas. I loved her as ardently as I loved Ægir, as well as everything we've done for it.

I live a life surrounded by mountains of prehistoric material written in their strange script and incomprehensible grammar... I enjoy the process of translating it into Ægirian text.

That was how we met, and I still remember how she'd throw herself into her work... Her eyebrows seemed to dance whenever she talked about something of interest to her.

And when I told her so, in those exact words, she actually went to the Institute of Physical Art to find out if eyebrows could dance for real.

What a strange form of art... Did they manage it?

Strictly speaking, no. But some of their researchers were inspired to later develop the technology to make hair dance on its own.

We've experienced the catastrophe that silenced the entire sea, and the Seaborn continue to threaten our existence, but we remain committed to exploring science, art, and our vision for the future.

Lava bridges that pump power from the planet's mantle, aquatic artery hubs that transform currents into fountains, artificial suns illuminating the depths of the oceanic abyss, and ecological bases filling the barren seafloor with life...

We persist in transforming what the Predecessors lost into mystical megastructures. We need only a spark to spur on countless inventions.

One hundred fifty years is truly too short.

One hundred and fifty years?

Yes, the average lifespan of an Ægir.

'Short,' you say...

The more dangerous the era, the more valuable our creations become.

We firmly believed in living fulfilling lives, and would gladly have gone to our end without regrets as we passed down the fire of civilization.

We planned an educational system we believed was better than the Institute of Incubation.

Once our child was born via the incubator, we would raise them ourselves. They would possess a surging spirit and fresh ideologies, and become part of a more creative generation.

It is unusual to raise children personally, but we had hoped to pass on the values we treasured from the fulfilling lives we'd lived.

So, what happened to her?

Dead.

Remember the Predecessor mentioned in 'The Death of Life'?

He took shelter in an unknown refuge as he watched the sky pressing down on the earth every day. He already had a premonition of his own end.

There was nothing he could do but calmly welcome its advent.

But that's someone else's life, a life far too distant from ours.

Is it, though? Are we not currently going through the same things?

Give it fifty years, maybe a hundred, and even the vast ocean may no longer hold a single drop of pure water.

The Seaborn have unwittingly overrun the ocean faster than we can create, devouring what we were once proud of, turning 'survival' into our only priority.

I watched as she was engulfed by despair. One day, she calmly gave up on our idea of raising our child ourselves.

After all, everything we have inherited would only be lost in an era predestined to perish.

Five years ago, the Abyssal Hunters went to the lair of the Firstborn, and no one returned alive.

Soon after, she got sick, and died in depression. Our son was successfully born in the incubator, but I sent him to the Institute of Incubation.

This was also when I began questioning the meaning of my own existence.

My apologies, Jordi. I was supposed to be providing you guidance, wasn't I? I've already severed my relationship with the real world, but perhaps you have someone or something you still have ties with?

But I gave up chasing Breogan long ago. I can't waste even more time chasing an unreachable shadow.

Maybe... Maybe I could delve into the notes he left, and learn how he developed his tech. And not just because I might be his descendant.

...But because you also have talent and dreams in that field.

You can try the beacon tower, then. Breogan was involved in its reconstruction, so if you're familiar with his handiwork, perhaps you could help them out.

Every Ægir leaves their own quirks in their writings, theories, or technologies, so sometimes all you need to sort out a trickier part is someone more familiar with the author.

Thank you, Mr. Avitus!

Advisor Blandus? Are you alright?

Of course, of course.

The cultists failed to stop me from performing the surgery on the Hunters.

I'm asking about your physical condition.

Thanks, Secunda. I see you're still—

Given your strange aversion to medical aid, <i>someone</i> has to confirm you're alright.

Although judging from your condition, I'm guessing I'm not the first to try sending you to the hospital.

Perhaps the Waterway Program is too overwhelming. I'm something of a doctor myself, so I do know how to keep myself healthy—healthy enough to not slow down the program, anyway.

You know, you should take a look at the plant the cultists were using to kill people. It's difficult to imagine someone at the Institute of Ecological Art using it as paint.

Well, seeing how you're not in any immediate danger, I'll need you to cooperate with my investigation.

I saw Ulpianus. Recently.

I see you have too.

Only briefly, at the Sophontheatrum.

And you didn't report this?

Catching a momentary glimpse of a familiar figure is hardly worth reporting.

I'm not joking around, Advisor Blandus.

The data scientist's case has been confirmed to be a murder by the cultists, and it may be related to the assault on the lab.

Ulpianus seemed to know the victim well, and openly expressed his distrust of Ægir.

He's always been like that. More action than words, and ever unwilling to reveal his reasons.

His unique style doesn't explain all the doubts about him. I still need to check if he's linked to several Church cases.

*sigh* Secunda, do you really lack any other leads or suspects more worthy of investigation?

Or I should ask, is this obsession with Ulpianus merely your own whim?

*sigh*

Secunda, I'm the one who rejected your application back then.

What did you just say?

I said, it was me who rejected your application to volunteer to become an Abyssal Hunter.

Ulpianus concurred, but I was the one who officially rejected you.

...Why?

I saw your documents from the Institute of Development Planning. You'd written 'genetic research' in the box asking for your aspirations.

You only had to look at another file to see that becoming a Hunter was one another of my aspirations.

We considered you extremely talented, even among the participants of the Abyssal Hunter project.

During our technical discussions, you were the only one to ask Ulpianus ten questions in a row and get answers for all of them. The highest record for a freshman researcher.

The early transformation techniques were dangerous and unreliable. We were always searching for a better integration method. It was ultimately your theories that advanced the program's technology.

I considered it an honor back then, at least.

But the program itself is nothing to be proud of, Secunda.

The concept was born nearly two centuries ago, a far cry from the average citizen's impression today. It was only twenty-some years ago that Ulpianus made it into a reality.

In the hundred plus years before that, it was never afforded any systematic scrutiny or research. Only endless debates.

To exploit our countrymen and integrate the flesh of other species into ourselves to save our humanity was tantamount to toppling the very foundations of Ægir.

But Ulpianus is a decisive man. He can abandon his research, ideals, emotions, and even his humanity without a shred of hesitation. The sole principle he abides by is 'To benefit Ægir.'

And perhaps he <i>will</i> save Ægir someday, but our country should not be founded upon boundless self-sacrifice.

Ulpianus understands better than anyone that his very existence is actually his country's woe.

And so, 'The Abyssal Hunters do not need a second Ulpianus. Ægir should not have a second Ulpianus.'

'There should be no one in Ægir who wishes to become another.'

...I could practically hear him saying him.

I once joked to him how much better it would be if you were my student instead. Perhaps you could continue the research he and I used to work on: 'The evolution of Ægir cells.' Or perhaps you'd start a new field entirely.

You could have become one of the leading scientists of our time, with the opportunity to explore the primordial mysteries of all existence and lead us into the future.

Blandus, the two of you had no right.

I'm sorry, Secunda.

Did you start reminiscing about the old days just to tell me I shouldn't bear a grudge against Ulpianus?

I did it so you'd see him in a new light.

Being too eager to capture him will do neither of you any good.

Aren't there cultists ready and available for questioning? Don't forget your duties, Secunda.

Where are they?

The first floor. In a booth in the equipment administration room. Do you need me to show you the way?

I know where it is. The Sea Patrol will take over the detainment of the criminals.

I'm so sorry, but you can't go any further. We're currently—

Wait, didn't I see you at the tribunal?

I know who you are, the emissary from land. If you don't mind me asking, what exactly are your duties on this diplomatic mission?

The data scientist seemed to have completely transformed into a Seaborn by the time she was found.

It would be difficult to obtain any further information from her, other than the fact that this set of data seems related to the 'Waterway' and the 'Beacons.'

I've finished analyzing the contents: there are unusual data interactions between the beacon within the city and the ones deployed in the nests.

The signals come from many spots within the city, and I have already inspected the port hub and any possible ships.

The only remaining location is Lab C-22. One of the earliest Abyssal Hunter experimental research labs.

You should be familiar with the place, then.

However, it is far livelier here than I can remember it ever being.

Secunda has even deployed a garrison in the name of protecting Blandus.

A hindrance.

I'll help draw their attention if needed.

I can manage the Sea Patrol for now.

You should focus on the toughest target.

You would be... the Doctor of Rhodes Island, yes?

As you say.;In the flesh.

You say your institution helped diagnose and treat Oripathy in our Hunters, and now you hope to assist me with their organic regeneration surgery?

Absolutely.;That's exactly what I'm here for.

Then you can leave with peace of mind.

The Church's assault here was just a minor episode, and the Hunters have already returned to their hibernation.

I'll be constantly monitoring their physical condition, so your gaze—no matter how vigilant it may be—will be of little use in their recovery.

I see the Hunters were telling the truth.

You really have a terrible sense of humor.

...I see they have developed a deep friendship with you while wandering about on land.

Insist all you want, it doesn't change the fact that you will be of no help during the operation.

I mean no offense.

This place was just recently raided, so please return to where you came from, for your own safety.

Blandus no longer pays you any attention, his gaze falling back onto the holographic projections before him.

Through those squares you can clearly see Gladiia, Skadi, and Laurentina deep asleep in a transparent gel.

You didn't manage to get a full grasp of Ægir's writing system before coming here. After days of fumbling your way through the city, you can still only recognize about half the symbols shown in the visuals.

But you observe a more important phenomenon within them:

Whenever Blandus selects an image, it would emit a faint beep.

That is to say, every chosen image generates a corresponding beep on the monitoring unit.

Could I help arrange the visual display?

Of course, of course.

I see you really want to stay. I won’t force you to leave, either. It seems you really do care for the Hunters, and I like people like you.

Little Handy, the Doctor is unfamiliar with the equipment in Ægir, so keep an eye on things.

Understood.

Doctor, as long as you don't touch anything you shouldn't, then—

The corridor's monitoring unit just beeped. Someone's looking in here.

Another beep for the experimental cabin in front and the corner further ahead... Hmm? There seems to be some sort of pattern.

Someone in the control room is rapidly switching the order of the holograms back and forth.

...Doctor? What are you trying to tell me?

This way, then.

The operation is complete, Doctor. Thank you for your... fast and furious cooperation.

The Hunters will need another ten minutes to awaken, but I guarantee the procedure went without a hitch.

So if you could now leave—

The Hunters seem to be deep asleep.

They were unable to get any proper rest on land, despite what I'm sure was the best possible accommodation from you and Rhodes Island.

Even now, they've just only arrived home, yet now must rush back to the frontlines.

A single operation and hibernation session is far from enough to restore them to full strength.

It sounds like you tried your best.

I wouldn't say so, even if I've fulfilled my duties. There is a fundamental difference between the two, after all.

I believe you mentioned your expertise in the field of Oripathy?

Could you tell me what it's like, to be a patient?

They fight their fate for the rest of their lives.

'Fate'?

It means an inevitable direction or end.

Interesting. The ancient sages once discussed the concept of 'fate,' but it's been a long time since anyone has brought it up.

You see, Oripathy does not exist in the ocean, and most other diseases we managed to cure.

We all choose our own paths in life, and the trajectory of our civilization is ours to define.

For the longest time, we have forgotten what 'fate' even is.

Yet now, the ineradicable disease we've engraved into our Hunters' blood cannot be dealt with medically.

To borrow your concept, one may call such an problem 'fate.'

Each of the Hunters held their own dreams, their own lives. But now? They have no choice but to live alongside slaughter until they die themselves.

I've tried many methods to bring them back from this dead end, all to no avail.

Even now...

Gladiia's awake.;Laurentina's awake.;Skadi's awake.

They seem to be in a hurry.

...I should get going too.

It has been an honor to speak with you, Doctor. I hope you can take good care of them, if given the chance.