EVE Fiction

I gave it my best shot. Hopefully there is something in this for everyone to enjoy. -Oreb

http://epiphora-orebwing.blogspot.com/2011/11/epiphora.html

Here is the copy/paste. All indentation and italic's is lost, so if you favor better paragraph structure, style, and a little eye candy (if the back-ground doesn't interfere too much after a few changes) try the link out to the google blog site. cheers. -Oreb

(Last edit, promise. I took the time to do Italics on the last chapter, as you would be completely lost without them, besides the whole paragraph story being almost entirely dependent on them. The link is quick, and i really don't want to take the time after all this writing to edit the first 3. Thank you guys, and Jack Carrigan, who got me to start this thing. A shout out to Mr. Wieler, who helped me finish it.) -Oreb


Epiphora

I linger by the outer reaches, monitoring the alignment of my probes. I have everything I need, I tell myself, knowing I have forgotten nothing for the return. Or if I choose to remain.
It has been countless remaps now, since we came here, as some judge the passing of time in New Eden. Wonderful in itself to rest the mind by alternate reroute synapse cycles. Resting the mind by 'migrating' portions of motor functions here, senses there, much like the lungs or heart. A crude example, but one that makes any other similitude irrelevant or just as inadequate. To say nothing of the expense of such a procedure, glorious yet extravagant to calculate the cost derived per neuron mass, intensity, cluster density, network pathway lengths, channels, and associations. Limited first to those exceptional and vital individuals needed to enable and sustain our prosperity over these new and endless horizons, but exploited by the super elite and wealthy.
Bad thing is you forget. Forget everything, and so the CONCORD came into existence as we knew it then, originally. Conscience Ordinate Neural-code Observation and Restoration Division. Through painstaking decades of what could be considered the golden age of our new civilization, all resources and efforts were united to this single cause. Clones were born, to insure that the vast commonwealth of experience and enterprise would continue, guarded, and safe in the face of the unpredictable and unknown. Established before anyone ever thought of corporations, industry or military supremacy. But before any of these that now plague us returned, there was insanity. The nose bleeders, we called them then. As many found themselves faced with an overwhelming hysteria, concluding in a hopeless despair to be lost in this isolated new expanse, separated from all they have known. Ironic that the last incurable disease that haunted the final prosperity of Old Earth was the first one here.
It was a dark time for us beginning here with renewed hope, after what we left behind. Along side the long-time established procedures for the prolongation of tissue and its regeneration, which brought upon us an unparalleled state of prosperity on earth, as these advancements, prior to unforeseen, required less maintenance and nutrition, came these biological advancements, inevitably, as the feral traits enhancements. Procedures that fused the superior traits of certain mammals with those of human organs. The world had changed forever, but arguably--or...what was argued that at what level did such 'advancements' begin the decline of our human species? Was it when we fused with invertibrate's? When we lost what some feel as a consensual symmetry? Then how far back can we go? Where exactly did we cross the line and end to be Homo Sapien and begin as Sapien Diversus?
The vile corruption that ensued brought incalculable consequences, rampant in its marvelous invention for that it realized immortality, which rapidly became the secret and envy of those in power. A world of darkness, from which nothing could ever remain distinguishably human, brotherly or compassionate. But there were no floods big enough to cleanse the systems of these feral maniacal hybrids. Beasts and horrible abominations of sacred Earth's invention; new creations with old names. Titans without peer or equal, checked only by rival appetites, intrigues and the suspected ambitions of one another, creating havoc that reached even among the remote systems. Where The Great Barrier mirrors all that it contains as it continues to creep out, pulling like the ebbing lapping waves of earth's sea as it expands serenely, oblivious to the chaos that ensued within its womb. The legends of Old Earth were the portent of our near extinction. This...evolution so many worshiped, the near dissolution of our Human qualities. But such words are not uttered by the denizens of New Eden. We know better now.
That is what led us to the stars, and now the Eve Gate looms like old death, her iron gates shut behind us, even as the sign faces those that enter; it is not so much that we have abandoned hope. We just don't remember it.

end of part 1

As I set the eighth and last drone in place to complete the parabola, much more comes to mind. I stare, as I wonder at the strange idea of the imagination being more expansive and black than the cold emptiness of negative-space, and the floating shape amuses me, so contrary to standard methods. With a simple prayer, I swing them like a top on the directrix minutely, to compensate for how long this has taken me. And hoping like a dreaming blindman to wake up to daylight, I activate the scan.
How quickly we forget, I muse and pun, though I find I cannot smile. I watch the analyzer column crawl from one side to the other. Sleeper probes. You would think them to be faster, I mused, looking, out of new shielded thermal lenses, at the far off green nebulae, where the Gallente people were being slaughtered. Could they have minimalized such massacre had they not been so dependent on Concord? I consider the numbers against them and imagine casualties and losses could have only doubled. I'm awed by the unbridled ferocity these pirates exhibited, outraged by the self-sustaining drones that are devouring resources in their unpoliced remote space harbors with what seems like a limitless asset security reinforcement. Now with more mindless military capital vessels than the guarded mining infrastructure. What will happen when they grow so far out to reach Empire space? How long until their rogue systems warrant us as a 'contingent' to their directive? The pirates relentlessly pound the message to Empire citizens, blind to the encroaching menace that I, too, presume is not far from reality. But by what means! to precede such, as they say, 'Inevitable Ruin' with hapless slaughter. But it means little to me now.
Circles. And Circles.
I remembered when I dissented from the council, when remaps were no longer optional even for us. The council chairs, and even those who took the minutes thought it was a trick of the Judicial Order of Eve to manipulate a way into finally ridding themselves of our heavy 'conservative limitations' on their expansionist ideals. Though I feared for our future as the others, I feared more for our past.
With the help of my security clearance and the stupidity of the medical station's staff, I managed to upload my neural map and delay the surgical procedure - indefinitely. Before this could raise eyebrows I activated it remotely and caused it to relay over to some idiot's over-priced clone and made my escape. Hopefully the previous owner managed to sort out the paperwork before committing himself to something reckless.
Circles. I've done this many times. To assure my safety I would upload again prior to any endeavor I may have had for testing my research in the field. Again, some hapless victim must lose their puppet! But I have since found another way, and avoid suspicious missing clones that are inevitably destroyed, as my friend somehow finds myself unable to avoid market transactions that raise familiar eyebrows. Luckily unauthorized clone activation happens, though rarely, giving me the opportunity to escape Concord's watchful eye. In such cases, they merely, and very efficiently, 'dispose' the most recent replica. It was very taxing early on, prior to my Awakening, developing a code to communicate with...myself, and discovered encrypted messages via foul spams in local were most effective.
Sleepless at times, I ponder whether my clone harbors these thoughts deep inside as well - for they have surely been there, buried long ago, imagined, hinting, urging. Inescapable. That is why I have named them thus. Who can possibly know? Careful as I've tried to be, somehow They have acquired my stealth probe technology I tried so hard to guard. One of my stupid self's must have made a mistake along the line when he - when I - first began. Lacking the ability to make more, I now must 'borrow' them from the wrecks of my destroyed sleeper brothers, before their automated programming hurls them into the void. Pleased, was I, to discover that my primitive improvements to named modules had been perfected by their superior understanding and engineering. How I yearned to know the secrets of their advancements in technology! Yet it troubles me to see they too are looking for the way back. They seem to have found a way to control them all remotely form a single source. The raw power and potential of the central system data core was incredible. Genius. These sleepers fill wormhole space throughout the empire, scanning, lurking, and waiting. But I must find the way before they do. If I cannot destroy its demonic sorcery, than I must find a way to close the paths to darkness and leave them beyond the reach of New Eden forever.


End of part 3