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Administrative Tower


The second wave would be staying on-station, supplemented and supplied through their own caf. There was no information on how many individuals the second wave might encompass. He ought, therefore, to err on the side of allocating too much room.

Jen Sin was deep into the station architecture—the build schematics provided by Traven on one screen; the schematics elucidating the changes made by the Enemy after it had acquired Tinsori Light on the other.

He had already marked one possible section. It was referenced as Spinward Arcade, Dorms on the schematics. A quick check of station systems verified that the section held air. Maintenance systems registered off-line, but support accepted his command to increase section temp to station normal.

A tour through the cameras showed him a large open area with two avenues opening off of it—one meant to house small shops or eateries—the caf might be situated there. The other avenue was lined with dorms, and there was an upper level, as well. Utilitarian, as Tinsori Light was unremittingly utilitarian. One hoped that the incoming workers did not have a taste for luxury.

He would have to inspect, of course, manually reset the bots, make sure any rack-and-tile work was dismantled—but there was something else, something…

He rubbed his forehead, as if he might smooth away the niggling headache.

The schematics provided by Traven were…familiar.

Not just because they were similar to those schematics in station archives, but familiar as if he had not only seen, but had studied this precise document.

Well, and perhaps you had, Jen Sin told himself, and the memory is among those stored in your beads.

He sighed, and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths against the headache. Truly, he had been at the screens too long. Best to take a walk and perhaps have something to eat, and—

The headache exploded into a bright, silent spangle, and he saw—himself, newcome to the Light, sitting in what could only be a library, documents open on every screen and surface. There, the build schematics, next to it, the document elucidating all of the changes that had been made to the original build. He remembered, quite vividly, the cold horror that had washed through him, when he had at last understood what Tinsori Light was—a sentience created by the Great Enemy in order to realize their goal of subjugating an entire universe—planets, systems, people forever suspended in incorruptible crystal. That was the moment he had known his danger, and every decision he had taken going forward had been informed by the knowledge.

The damage to the station predated his tenancy, but he recalled—almost, he recalled something…else. Something in the original schematics, was it?

He turned back to his screen, the half-memory an itch inside his head. He brought up the diagram of the breach hall, tapping for more information, and there—yes. There.

He sat back.

He had discovered this, once before. Discovered it, decided to act on it—only why had he failed to take it further?

The original core had been rack-and-tile. But the builder, none other than the infamous Uncle, had intended his work to live beyond the defeat of the Great Enemy. He had realized that timonium’s half-life would eventually betray his systems, and had seeded the station with an experimental network born of his own genius.

Ceramic and memory beads applied between layers of plating. Yes, he did remember this, by the gods! The thought was that systems would be transferred from the rack-and-tile arrays into the ceramic “nervous system” that would grow until it was throughout the station. If one section should be damaged or fail, there was room for redundancy.

Unfortunately, the nervous system had been newly seeded, with no opportunity to grow, when Tinsori Light had destroyed the rack-and-tile core.

There was another note—in a room near the breach hall where he and Theo had been threatened, there were stored, several…indexes.

Jen Sin sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.

He had been there, he was certain of it, though he had no memory to support that certainty.

Not even the Uncle had known how quickly the child of his genius would grow, nor what its final capabilities might be.

And there had been an armed bot in the breach hall.

Protecting what?

Or…whom?

He reached to the screen, filed the schematics, and rose.


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Framed