Chapter 89

ONE VOTE FROM EXTINCTION

The Inner Council’s emergency chamber sat at the heart of the Nexus, buried beneath kilometers of armor and shielding. The massive metroplex served as neutral ground for all species, positioned where the galaxy’s primary jump gate network converged in a web of a thousand trade routes. Billions of beings called the station home, entire generations living and dying without ever leaving its vast interior. The council chamber itself was a dome of programmable matter, its walls opaque and deadened to all external signals. Nothing could enter or leave without the Council’s permission.

The chamber’s translation system was a marvel of acoustic engineering. Omnidirectional sound manipulation created personal audio bubbles around each member, translating incoming speech while drowning out the original voices completely. The effect was disorienting at first: watching lips move in one pattern while hearing perfectly synchronized words in your own language. Even emotional tones and cultural emphasis were preserved through harmonic modulation. Only the Whisper seemed able to bypass it, their words arriving without any visible source.

The Inner Council’s seven seats curved around the table, though only six were occupied. The seventh sat empty, as it had for decades. The present members had long ago engineered themselves to handle standard atmospheric conditions. Only the Luminous Depths required its sphere of pressurized darkness, and High Curator Essence-of-Stars maintained a gaseous containment field. The rest needed no special accommodations.

Ambassador Marcus Thorne stood at the witness platform, separated from the table by several meters of empty floor. Not a member, just humanity’s representative summoned to answer for his species’ latest catastrophe. He tried not to show how badly his hands wanted to shake. He’d been pulled from Earth with less than an hour’s notice, barely time to review the briefing materials before being thrust before the six beings who truly controlled the fate of trillions.

The Galactic Council proper had hundreds of members, representatives from every spacefaring species. But everyone knew the Inner Council made the real decisions.

The System’s broadcast had reached everywhere. Every world. Every station. Every consciousness capable of comprehension.

“Every channel!” Krax’tel’s synthesized voice clicked with agitation, compound eyes reflecting the chamber’s light in thousands of facets. “Every frequency! Simultaneously! This should not be possible!”

The Luminous Depths pulsed in its sphere, bioluminescent patterns translating to urgent concern. “Even our quantum-encrypted channels. Even direct neural links.”

“The Galactic Bank interface was compromised.” Drex’mar’s tail lashed behind him, betraying his nerves despite his attempt at calm. “Our most secure financial network. Trillions of credits could have been taken.”

“Were not.” Vex’har’s four arms crossed in what Thorne recognized as a defensive posture. The warrior’s combat suit hummed faintly with dormant energy. “It took nothing. It only announced itself.”

“The humans have created a true AI using ascension as its pathway to transcension!” Krax’tel’s accusation carried barely controlled panic, mandibles clicking rapidly. “Just as the Askalarians did!”

The chamber erupted. Multiple voices overlapping, each perfectly clear through the translation system. Forbidden technology. Transcension signatures. Quarantine protocols. Extinction orders.

Drex’mar stood, scales darkening. “Impossible! We monitor the entire galaxy for such signatures. Nothing escapes our sensor nets!”

“Then how do you explain this?” Krax’tel’s mandibles clicked rapidly. “The System breached everything simultaneously. Only an AI could—”

“The Askalarians are dead!” Drex’mar interrupted. “Their research was destroyed! Every fragment hunted down and eliminated!”

High Curator Essence-of-Stars shifted in their containment field, particles rearranging into what Thorne had learned meant thoughtful consideration. “There are still rumors of Askalarian vessels in the God’s Eye Nebula. Derelicts that were never recovered.”

Krax’tel turned all its eyes toward Thorne. “And the humans were insane enough to salvage there.”

Before Thorne could respond, shadows in the corner of the chamber moved. The Whisper stepped forward, or had always been standing there, and everyone only now noticed. Several council members flinched.

Drex’mar actually jumped, his tail striking the floor. “I’ve told you to stop doing that!”

The Whisper’s face remained hidden beneath a hood that seemed to absorb light. When they spoke, the voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

“The intelligence is accurate. Humans recovered materials from God’s Eye.”

The panic in the chamber spiked. Thorne’s heart hammered as accusations flew.

“However,” the Whisper continued, and silence fell instantly. “All recovered technology was vetted. Advanced artifacts were found. Quantum processors that function at absolute zero, self-repairing hull plating that learns from damage, navigation systems that map stellar currents. Nothing connected to their transcension program.”

Thorne seized the moment. “We follow all protocols! No quantum consciousness experiments! No recursive self-improvement algorithms! Every AI development is limited, monitored, and reported to your offices quarterly!”

“Your assurances mean little,” Drex’mar said, voice dripping condescension, “when your species has already infected the galaxy with your ‘superheroes.’”

“We need Vel’thanari confirmation,” High Curator said, their gaseous form shifting toward expectation.

The Luminous Depths pulsed agreement. “They who stopped the Askalarians. They who watch for transcension.”

Zephyr-Nine had been so still that Thorne had almost forgotten the figure at the far end of the table. When the Vel’thanari spoke, every other being fell silent. This was a member of a species that had achieved transcension and made the personal choice not to take it. One of perhaps a dozen in the entire galaxy who remained as guides.

“The Vel’thanari maintain independent monitoring stations across the galaxy.” Zephyr’s voice carried absolute authority despite its soft tone. “We observe all quantum consciousness frequencies and recursive development signatures that could indicate artificial transcension attempts.”

The pause stretched. Thorne held his breath.

“I can confirm Earth shows no evidence of true AI development beyond permitted parameters.”

Relief flooded through Thorne so fast he had to lock his knees to stay standing. Around the table, the panic shifted to confusion.

“If not AI,” the Luminous Depths pulsed, “then what is this System?”

“What else could breach every security simultaneously?” Krax’tel’s mandibles clicked in agitation.

“We must consider all transcension paths,” High Curator’s particles shifted into teaching patterns. “The Askalarians followed the Third—”

“True AI transcension.” Krax’tel’s voice turned bitter. “They harvested consciousness from hundreds of species. Three of my hive-worlds...”

The insectoid paused, compound eyes going unfocused. “I still remember their dying thoughts. Every mind they stripped. My consciousness was there, experiencing it through billions of fragments as they were consumed for computational substrate.”

“Trillions across the galaxy,” Vex’har added quietly. “All to build a ladder.”

“Until we stopped them.” Zephyr-Nine’s words carried finality.

High Curator brightened. “Seven paths total. Biological evolution to energy. Collective merger. The forbidden Third. Then your people’s path, Zephyr-Nine, individual consciousness expansion as the Fourth.” A pause. “The last three remain theoretical.”

Thorne found his voice. “And all involve leaving our reality?”

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“Transcension is exodus, not power,” Zephyr-Nine confirmed. “Yet your superheroes accumulate power while ascending.”

“Like the Askalarians did,” the Luminous Depths pulsed darkly. “They too accumulated power within the third dimension before attempting their exodus.”

“But they tried to harvest all consciousness in the galaxy to fuel it,” Vex’har said slowly. “These humans grow through conflict. Sometimes fatal, granted, but not the systematic consumption of entire civilizations.”

“The entity calls it a ‘Dream,’” High Curator said.

The word hung in the chamber. Several council members shifted.

“Significant,” the Luminous Depths finally pulsed. “All transcension is of the mind, even the First Path. Consciousness must transform before reality can be left behind.”

“A second accumulation path,” Krax’tel said, voice carefully neutral. “One that doesn’t require harvesting every mind in existence.”

“Could this be an Eighth Path?” Vex’har asked. “One that any species could attempt? A shortcut to transcension?”

“The first viable ascension path that might lead to transcension,” High Curator mused, particles brightening. “Achievable through individual effort rather than galactic genocide.”

The unspoken hung heavy: this was why they’d feared superheroes, seeing echoes of the Askalarians. But also why they were now interested. A faster path to transcension that anyone could walk.

The certainty was building. Humanity hadn’t broken the rules. They’d discovered something entirely new.

“The broadcast showed multiple powered pathways,” Vex’har said. “Not just your superheroes. Wizards and cultivators. Beings of faith-based power.”

High Curator turned toward Thorne. “Can your serum create these alternatives?”

Thorne hesitated, weighing how much to reveal. The council waited.

“We... believe so. Yes.”

Every being leaned forward.

“Our research indicates perception shapes what powers manifest,” Thorne continued. “The First created what humanity expected. Superheroes were so dominant in our culture, even as fiction.”

“The outcome was predetermined by expectation,” High Curator said.

“There have been outliers. Powers beyond the superhero paradigm.”

“And now with this broadcast showing alternatives?” Vex’har pressed.

“Our analysts believe people will awaken different Dreams. As more paradigms become reality, the lines will blur.”

“Any concept of power could manifest?” Krax’tel’s alarm was obvious.

“Theoretically.” Thorne let that sink in before continuing. “But there are limitations. Speed of causality. Conservation of energy, though that can be bent.”

“Yet some create matter?” High Curator asked.

“Yes, but it drains the wielder. All powers do. They tire, require rest, some even require massive caloric intake.”

“Then conservation still applies.”

“That’s where it gets strange.” Thorne accessed his System functions, projecting equations into the chamber. “The energy drain doesn’t match the mathematics.”

“Explain,” Vex’har demanded.

“Creating a kilogram of matter might require energy equivalent to a nuclear detonation. But wielders pay far less than physics demands.”

“Where does the additional energy come from?” Krax’tel asked.

“We don’t know. The wielder pays a price, but something else pays the rest.”

Zephyr-Nine stirred from stillness again. “Consider that it may be a temporal fourth-dimensional entity.”

Vex’har’s four arms gestured confusion. “Temporal fourth-dimensional?”

“An entity proving the success of the human ascension path reaching transcension.”

The Luminous Depths pulsed with understanding. “You suggest someone will transcend following this path, and having transcended beyond linear time, reaches back to ensure the path is walked.”

“A causal loop,” High Curator said, particles brightening with excitement. “The transcension creates the conditions for its own existence.”

“You’re saying this System is from the future?” Krax’tel’s voice pitched higher.

“It referenced multiple realities,” High Curator added. “Nine thousand participants across reality indices.”

“Impossible,” Vex’har stated flatly. “There is only one reality.”

“That we can perceive,” Zephyr-Nine corrected gently. “It supports the temporal theory. Fourth-dimensional entities could theoretically create universes or realities of their own.”

“But none who transcended have ever communicated back,” High Curator pointed out.

“This is true. Many promised to send messages of success. None ever have. We assumed interference with one’s third-dimensional origin reality was impossible after transcension.”

Zephyr-Nine paused, considering. “This System entity challenges that assumption.”

“The Dream path breaks even the rules of transcension?” Krax’tel sounded caught between fear and awe.

“The energy discrepancy Ambassador Thorne mentioned…” Zephyr-Nine continued.

“Yes?” Thorne responded.

“Perhaps power draws from the fourth dimension. Energy flowing from where they could be to where they are.”

“The future funding the present,” the Luminous Depths pulsed.

“That would make every use of power a step toward transcension,” High Curator said.

Thorne’s mind reeled. “Our scientists haven’t considered that possibility.”

“They wouldn’t,” Zephyr-Nine said simply. “They think in three dimensions.”

Drex’mar’s tail twitched. “Why did your people transcend, leaving so few behind?”

“The Fourth Path called to them. Individual consciousness expansion beyond dimensional constraints.” Zephyr-Nine’s voice carried no emotion. “I remained as a guide. As did a few others.”

The unspoken weight settled over the chamber. If Zephyr-Nine counseled patience, who were they to argue?

“The combat demonstrations were impressive,” Vex’har said quietly.

The Luminous Depths pulsed agreement. “They grow stronger through conflict, yet it is not the wholesale slaughter that the Askalarians did.”

“Violence as catalyst rather than consumption as fuel,” High Curator observed.

“But it spreads through proximity! Through combat!” Krax’tel protested.

Thorne could feel it. The greed creeping in. They wanted what humanity had created.

“We must vote,” Drex’mar announced. “Quarantine humanity, or given this System has already escaped Earth’s regions, perhaps excision is necessary.”

Thorne’s blood turned cold. Excision meant genocide. The complete elimination of the human species.

“Excision.” The Luminous Depths’ light dimmed. “The weight of billions extinguished. The void that would remain.”

“The Askalarians were only millions when we acted,” High Curator said. “We waited too long then.”

“The infection spreads through proximity,” Krax’tel added. “It may already be too late for containment.”

“Then we vote,” Vex’har said. “Three options with clear parameters. Decide.”

Each seat glowed as members cast their votes. Thorne couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the thundering of his heart.

The tally appeared in the chamber’s center. Three for observation. Two for excision. One for quarantine.

Thorne’s legs nearly gave out. “Thank you, honored councillors, for your wisdom and patience with humanity as we navigate this unprecedented—”

“There are conditions, Ambassador,” Vex’har interrupted.

Thorne froze.

“The serum,” the Luminous Depths pulsed. “We require samples.”

“And the manufacturing process,” High Curator added. “Complete documentation.”

“All research data,” Vex’har continued. “Every test, whether failure or success.”

“For study, of course,” Krax’tel said. “To understand the threat.”

Around the table, all six beings were nodding, murmuring agreement. Thorne had no idea which had voted for observation, which for humanity’s extinction, but clearly even those who’d wanted his species dead moments ago still wanted access to the serum.

Thorne was trapped. “I will need to consult with the leadership of the United Earth—”

“You will agree now,” Drex’mar said coldly, “or we vote again.”

Thorne closed his eyes. The calculation took only seconds. There were no options he hadn’t already explored, no allies to be gained. That the Inner Council had convened this meeting and chosen to see this as an opportunity rather than a threat was already the best outcome he could have realistically imagined.

He opened his eyes. “Earth agrees to share our research.”

Zephyr-Nine said nothing, but there might have been the slightest inclination of his head.

The council had decided humanity could live. But the price would be the eventual spread of the Dream to every species in the galaxy.

Thorne’s mind raced as he walked toward the exit. Months to collect all the research data they’d demanded. Physical samples would take time to prepare, documentation to compile. Then delivery through diplomatic channels, dissemination to each species’ scientists. They’d need to reverse-engineer the serum for their unique physiologies. Years of trials and failures.

Three years minimum, he calculated. Maybe five if the UEG dragged their feet carefully. As long as they kept quiet about the experimental serums the Five had been developing independently for non-human biology.

And other matters would need careful handling. The Inner Council had just given humanity tacit support. They couldn’t afford even the smallest diplomatic incident now. The recent accusations of abducted diplomatic observers, the conflicting reports from certain corporate facilities, the convenient timing of various security breaches. The UEG would need to ensure complete cooperation from the Five. Any evidence of unauthorized xenobiological research would need to be buried so deep it would never surface. Whatever the cost.

The corporations thought they controlled humanity’s future, but they’d grown reckless. Testing boundaries that should never be crossed. If certain rescued individuals existed, if certain facilities had been conducting experiments beyond their mandate, those truths could never reach the Council. Not when they had just barely avoided extinction.

The UEG could recall their scattered superhumans, limiting proximity exposure. Control the spread through isolation. Buy time for humanity to advance, to solidify their position before the rest of the galaxy caught up.

Half a decade. Maybe. If they were lucky. If they could keep the corporations from destroying everything with their hubris.