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"content": "Eulogy of the Subline Part I<br /><br />part 1 of a story I write for the HFY (humanity fuck yeah) Subreddit, told from the POV of lesser Xenos. Hope you enjoy!<br /><br />Expedition fleet \"the red prince's limb\" crossed the threshold into stable space, dropping the superfluous dimensions in favor of the usual three, plus a linear time where cause needed to precede effect. Ducal admiral Mirr, spawn of Masp, on board the flagship, went through the meditations that the clerics insisted helped with the feeling of wrongness and irreality that faster than light travel caused. He had never experienced the feelings as debilitatingly as his underlings, but still, he was willing to try anything that might help. It was to his subordinates' credit that they didn't break, this time. He had steeled their resolve through threat and reward, and while he couldn't be sure about the status of the rest of the crew or indeed anybody on the other ships, his command crew was already resuming their duties. A recently emerged ship could be crippled several rotations, with nothing but algorithms reacting to the surroundings, and any hostiles they may encounter. Since this was the unknown system, home to both the anomaly and epicenter of the worst turbulence within the non-Euclidean space, the nonspace, which facilitated interstellar travel, an attack by hostiles of unknown capabilities was indeed a possibility. <br /><br />Forcing down his physiological reaction, and the lingering doubt, Mirr reminisced about his mission, and what the Empire knew about the unknown system.<br /><br />The instabilities in nonspace were centered here, making coming there arduous, and indeed dangerous. The anomaly with the system's primary stumped the Empire's scientists, seemingly incompatible with any and all established models of stellar evolution and physics. It also rendered all the usual methods to scout and study exoplanets via telescope null and void. <br /><br />The natives within this sector were tightlipped about the system, even under threat of violence. Interestingly, mentioning it often brought about blasphemous mumblings about their primitive mythology- stories about fickle, capricious gods descending from the skies, sometimes helpful and messianic, sometimes wrathful and destructive, but always capable of shaping both biology and the very worlds according to their most evanescent whims. Eerily enough, these stories all shared a lot of common elements- even within the cultures of preindustrial Xenos who never had a chance to interact with each other. The Empire explained this with the hypothesis of one of the moderately advanced spacefaring races contacting the others and sharing their beliefs. While their attitude towards the system was mostly due to superstition, there were also believable accounts of Xenos not integrated within the Empire traveling there and returning- only to never discuss what they had found. <br /><br />Over six-hundred forty orbits ago, long before the Empire arrived in force within this sector, a lone empire vessel, with a single occupant, had traveled there in hopes of uncovering riches or secrets. Upon his return, the pilot was summoned before the emperor. He confirmed that he had indeed been to the system, and seen what lie within. He outright refused to talk about it beyond that, save for telling the emperor to his face that he must never enter the system, that there were secrets best left unexplored. Enraged, the emperor ordered him to either speak or end his own life. The pilot didn't hesitate and drove a ceremonial dagger into his thorax before anyone could stop him. <br />This left an impression on the religious minds of the Empire's citizens. For a very long time, the pilot's words prevented the Empire from looking too close, despite the protestations of the scientists. Till now. The red prince was deep within the grand political game, his ailing predecessor senile and dying. Soon he and the other princes would decide who was to inherit the Empire, and thus the galaxy. If there was something here, something that would give him an edge, he would have it. He would use it to climb the steps of the ancient palace of Home and sit upon the basalt throne. The fleet and Mirr himself were their lord's willing tools to make this a reality. <br /><br />The sensor team took their places with still feeble yet increasingly steady limbs, saluting Mirr and the prince's effigy on the bridge before commencing with their duties. Soon, a vague preliminary picture of the situation emerged, which Mirr eagerly studied. <br /><br />The passive sensors of his vessel weren't able to pick up any signals, and could only give him a rough impression of the system he now found himself in. It had an outer cloud, four gas giants, one of which was abnormally large and another with prominent huygens rings, four rocky planets, and two belts, one between the rocky planets and the gas giants, and one outside the gas giants. The system's primary, a single rather old g type star, host to the anomaly, still wouldn't resolve properly on passive sensors. The thirty-two ships of the expedition force found themselves in a sparsely populated part of the outer belt, all apparently undamaged, albeit the radio silence - which was a necessary precaution to prevent any potential hostiles from detecting their precise position - prevented him from receiving status reports from the other vessels, or compiling their passive sensor data into a more detailed picture. Meanwhile, another officer reported on the state of his ship, compiling reports by medical assessment teams and damage control task forces. <br /><br />\"My lord admiral, of the twelve thousand eight hundred hands onboard, fifty-six suffered psychotic breaks that will necessitate medical intervention or internment. A further seven hundred twenty-three have not been cleared for active duty, but are expected to recover on their own within one to three sleep cycles. While there is widespread trauma and depression within the rest of the crew, their physiological reactions have subsided, and their psychological condition has been assessed as acceptable. Minor damage to our power and coolant system, but there are redundancies in place, and our performance shouldn't be impacted.\"<br /><br />Mirr acknowledged this report. There were two major schools of thought on the correct course of action when arriving in a new system with the possibility of a military engagement, with both having prominent proponents and detractors. The first advocated thoroughly dealing with the rigors of the nonspace and thus waiting, the other initiating an active scan as fast as possible, giving away your position but also being the first to gain intel on your opponent. In reality, there might not be a definite right answer, and both had their points. Mirr, however, didn't achieve his station by being indecisive or overly cautious.<br /><br />\"Very well. Our mission lead us here, for all intents and purposes unharmed. If there is a hostile presence, allowing them to be the first to initiate an active scan is a drawback which outweighs all potential benefit we would gain from waiting for further repair. By the grace of the gods and the founder, we shall hope that the other ships are in similar condition. Send a message via tightbeam to the other vessels; we will initiate an active scan 32 swings from my mark. Mark. Make it so.\"<br /><br />Mirr registered with pleasure that the drills he had run with his crew had enabled them to anticipate his order sufficiently to prepare this message to be sent while he still spoke, transmitting his initial mark which served as a starting point for the timing of his order rather than using a timestamp after the fact within the very narrow window he allotted them. He had every reason to depend on the other crews to be able to comply. Thirty-two swings, a quarter of a call, or about the time for four deliberate breaths. At the end of his fourth exhalation, the lighting on the bridge changed. He knew that both his and the other ships had begun sweeping the whole system with powerful electromagnetic waves, to analyze the reflections of anything that might be of interest, or indeed danger, to them. The scan would travel at the speed of light, but that meant it still needed around one hundred fifty calls to reach the orbit of the outermost of the rocky planets, and twice as long to be reflected. <br />He entered coordinates for his next move, but waited an arbitrary amount of time with his next order: \"Decoy launch in a narrow cone along the vector I just designated, then break formation in accordance with pattern thirty-five!\" <br />Any imperial admiral drilled his subordinates in a number of maneuvers of their own design, the details of which were kept secret even from other admirals and naval high command. They specified allowed courses of action to his subordinates, gave them instructions along which to act in certain predetermined circumstances, as well as tell the ships which of them was to move in which direction- and how. An ignited fusion drive could produce eights of times the acceleration of any habitable world, so that the feeble crewmen rather than the machine became the factor limiting its maximal acceleration. It was fast and thus good at moving from your last known position- it was also very visible, and imparted a ship with inertia, which could only be overcome with an immense expenditure of energy and by weathering crushing g-forces. It could be equally advantageous to stay on your current vector, or slowly, stealthily accelerate- doing so by venting coolant, unignited fuel or even jettisoning structural modules or armor had all been used to great effect by imperial admirals in the past. <br /><br />Mirr continued breathing and counting his breaths- He had initiated a lethal game of stealth, light, and misdirection with his potential foes. If an enemy scan reached him before the light echo, he would gain positional information about the source of the scan, but not necessarily about any targets of value. The return of his scan would tell him about any reflective object, regardless of whether or not it gave off electromagnetic or any other radiation, as well as its current vector. Still, at the same time, he had given away his position, then moved, hopefully in an unpredictable manner. He had also launched decoys, using radiation output, deceptive contraptions simulating much larger vessels, and even artificial gravitational effects to give a potential enemy more possible targets. This was to hopefully award his fleet some measure of protection by drawing enemy fire.<br /><br />There were an almost inconceivable amount of potential weapons systems. Some were fielded by the Empire, or by hostile Xenos. Others were purely conceptual, existing in the minds, or indeed the nightmares of geniuses and madmen. But the most essential three variants were light speed or near light speed directed energy weapons like lasers and certain types of particle projector, kinetic projectiles, and guided missiles. Each of these had specific uses. Rockets could be fired over very long distances and even blindly, acquiring possible targets along the way, but are susceptible to point defense weapons and to a degree to countermeasure systems. Light speed directed energy weapons could do anything from slowly, incrementally heating a ship- which could change its vector or interfere with its systems- to completely cutting through it, but all of them needed to hit the target. Over a battlefield big enough to need to consider the lightspeed delay and relativistic effects, that means the necessity to be close enough for these things to be negligible or to correctly predict where a target is going to be. Lastly, kinetic projectiles could become very fast, albeit positively sluggish compared to the speed of light, and were incapable of changing their trajectory. They could be comparatively stealthy, especially if shielded from scans in some manner. They could also be used in swarms to saturate an area where a ship was likely to move, or as an area denial weapon, limiting the possible vectors a vessel could take. <br /><br />Mirr waited, breathing, observing. His next action would be determined by what, if anything, his hypothetical enemies would do, and when. He prepared for a long wait without information to act upon, pondering whether it would be prudent to relieve a part of his crew from their duties in order for them to recuperate from the rigors of FTL, and rotate them back in when he had contact with the enemy. His thoughts were interrupted by the blaring claxons of a proximity alert going off. ",
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"content": "Eulogy of the Subline Part I\n\npart 1 of a story I write for the HFY (humanity fuck yeah) Subreddit, told from the POV of lesser Xenos. Hope you enjoy!\n\nExpedition fleet \"the red prince's limb\" crossed the threshold into stable space, dropping the superfluous dimensions in favor of the usual three, plus a linear time where cause needed to precede effect. Ducal admiral Mirr, spawn of Masp, on board the flagship, went through the meditations that the clerics insisted helped with the feeling of wrongness and irreality that faster than light travel caused. He had never experienced the feelings as debilitatingly as his underlings, but still, he was willing to try anything that might help. It was to his subordinates' credit that they didn't break, this time. He had steeled their resolve through threat and reward, and while he couldn't be sure about the status of the rest of the crew or indeed anybody on the other ships, his command crew was already resuming their duties. A recently emerged ship could be crippled several rotations, with nothing but algorithms reacting to the surroundings, and any hostiles they may encounter. Since this was the unknown system, home to both the anomaly and epicenter of the worst turbulence within the non-Euclidean space, the nonspace, which facilitated interstellar travel, an attack by hostiles of unknown capabilities was indeed a possibility. \n\nForcing down his physiological reaction, and the lingering doubt, Mirr reminisced about his mission, and what the Empire knew about the unknown system.\n\nThe instabilities in nonspace were centered here, making coming there arduous, and indeed dangerous. The anomaly with the system's primary stumped the Empire's scientists, seemingly incompatible with any and all established models of stellar evolution and physics. It also rendered all the usual methods to scout and study exoplanets via telescope null and void. \n\nThe natives within this sector were tightlipped about the system, even under threat of violence. Interestingly, mentioning it often brought about blasphemous mumblings about their primitive mythology- stories about fickle, capricious gods descending from the skies, sometimes helpful and messianic, sometimes wrathful and destructive, but always capable of shaping both biology and the very worlds according to their most evanescent whims. Eerily enough, these stories all shared a lot of common elements- even within the cultures of preindustrial Xenos who never had a chance to interact with each other. The Empire explained this with the hypothesis of one of the moderately advanced spacefaring races contacting the others and sharing their beliefs. While their attitude towards the system was mostly due to superstition, there were also believable accounts of Xenos not integrated within the Empire traveling there and returning- only to never discuss what they had found. \n\nOver six-hundred forty orbits ago, long before the Empire arrived in force within this sector, a lone empire vessel, with a single occupant, had traveled there in hopes of uncovering riches or secrets. Upon his return, the pilot was summoned before the emperor. He confirmed that he had indeed been to the system, and seen what lie within. He outright refused to talk about it beyond that, save for telling the emperor to his face that he must never enter the system, that there were secrets best left unexplored. Enraged, the emperor ordered him to either speak or end his own life. The pilot didn't hesitate and drove a ceremonial dagger into his thorax before anyone could stop him. \nThis left an impression on the religious minds of the Empire's citizens. For a very long time, the pilot's words prevented the Empire from looking too close, despite the protestations of the scientists. Till now. The red prince was deep within the grand political game, his ailing predecessor senile and dying. Soon he and the other princes would decide who was to inherit the Empire, and thus the galaxy. If there was something here, something that would give him an edge, he would have it. He would use it to climb the steps of the ancient palace of Home and sit upon the basalt throne. The fleet and Mirr himself were their lord's willing tools to make this a reality. \n\nThe sensor team took their places with still feeble yet increasingly steady limbs, saluting Mirr and the prince's effigy on the bridge before commencing with their duties. Soon, a vague preliminary picture of the situation emerged, which Mirr eagerly studied. \n\nThe passive sensors of his vessel weren't able to pick up any signals, and could only give him a rough impression of the system he now found himself in. It had an outer cloud, four gas giants, one of which was abnormally large and another with prominent huygens rings, four rocky planets, and two belts, one between the rocky planets and the gas giants, and one outside the gas giants. The system's primary, a single rather old g type star, host to the anomaly, still wouldn't resolve properly on passive sensors. The thirty-two ships of the expedition force found themselves in a sparsely populated part of the outer belt, all apparently undamaged, albeit the radio silence - which was a necessary precaution to prevent any potential hostiles from detecting their precise position - prevented him from receiving status reports from the other vessels, or compiling their passive sensor data into a more detailed picture. Meanwhile, another officer reported on the state of his ship, compiling reports by medical assessment teams and damage control task forces. \n\n\"My lord admiral, of the twelve thousand eight hundred hands onboard, fifty-six suffered psychotic breaks that will necessitate medical intervention or internment. A further seven hundred twenty-three have not been cleared for active duty, but are expected to recover on their own within one to three sleep cycles. While there is widespread trauma and depression within the rest of the crew, their physiological reactions have subsided, and their psychological condition has been assessed as acceptable. Minor damage to our power and coolant system, but there are redundancies in place, and our performance shouldn't be impacted.\"\n\nMirr acknowledged this report. There were two major schools of thought on the correct course of action when arriving in a new system with the possibility of a military engagement, with both having prominent proponents and detractors. The first advocated thoroughly dealing with the rigors of the nonspace and thus waiting, the other initiating an active scan as fast as possible, giving away your position but also being the first to gain intel on your opponent. In reality, there might not be a definite right answer, and both had their points. Mirr, however, didn't achieve his station by being indecisive or overly cautious.\n\n\"Very well. Our mission lead us here, for all intents and purposes unharmed. If there is a hostile presence, allowing them to be the first to initiate an active scan is a drawback which outweighs all potential benefit we would gain from waiting for further repair. By the grace of the gods and the founder, we shall hope that the other ships are in similar condition. Send a message via tightbeam to the other vessels; we will initiate an active scan 32 swings from my mark. Mark. Make it so.\"\n\nMirr registered with pleasure that the drills he had run with his crew had enabled them to anticipate his order sufficiently to prepare this message to be sent while he still spoke, transmitting his initial mark which served as a starting point for the timing of his order rather than using a timestamp after the fact within the very narrow window he allotted them. He had every reason to depend on the other crews to be able to comply. Thirty-two swings, a quarter of a call, or about the time for four deliberate breaths. At the end of his fourth exhalation, the lighting on the bridge changed. He knew that both his and the other ships had begun sweeping the whole system with powerful electromagnetic waves, to analyze the reflections of anything that might be of interest, or indeed danger, to them. The scan would travel at the speed of light, but that meant it still needed around one hundred fifty calls to reach the orbit of the outermost of the rocky planets, and twice as long to be reflected. \nHe entered coordinates for his next move, but waited an arbitrary amount of time with his next order: \"Decoy launch in a narrow cone along the vector I just designated, then break formation in accordance with pattern thirty-five!\" \nAny imperial admiral drilled his subordinates in a number of maneuvers of their own design, the details of which were kept secret even from other admirals and naval high command. They specified allowed courses of action to his subordinates, gave them instructions along which to act in certain predetermined circumstances, as well as tell the ships which of them was to move in which direction- and how. An ignited fusion drive could produce eights of times the acceleration of any habitable world, so that the feeble crewmen rather than the machine became the factor limiting its maximal acceleration. It was fast and thus good at moving from your last known position- it was also very visible, and imparted a ship with inertia, which could only be overcome with an immense expenditure of energy and by weathering crushing g-forces. It could be equally advantageous to stay on your current vector, or slowly, stealthily accelerate- doing so by venting coolant, unignited fuel or even jettisoning structural modules or armor had all been used to great effect by imperial admirals in the past. \n\nMirr continued breathing and counting his breaths- He had initiated a lethal game of stealth, light, and misdirection with his potential foes. If an enemy scan reached him before the light echo, he would gain positional information about the source of the scan, but not necessarily about any targets of value. The return of his scan would tell him about any reflective object, regardless of whether or not it gave off electromagnetic or any other radiation, as well as its current vector. Still, at the same time, he had given away his position, then moved, hopefully in an unpredictable manner. He had also launched decoys, using radiation output, deceptive contraptions simulating much larger vessels, and even artificial gravitational effects to give a potential enemy more possible targets. This was to hopefully award his fleet some measure of protection by drawing enemy fire.\n\nThere were an almost inconceivable amount of potential weapons systems. Some were fielded by the Empire, or by hostile Xenos. Others were purely conceptual, existing in the minds, or indeed the nightmares of geniuses and madmen. But the most essential three variants were light speed or near light speed directed energy weapons like lasers and certain types of particle projector, kinetic projectiles, and guided missiles. Each of these had specific uses. Rockets could be fired over very long distances and even blindly, acquiring possible targets along the way, but are susceptible to point defense weapons and to a degree to countermeasure systems. Light speed directed energy weapons could do anything from slowly, incrementally heating a ship- which could change its vector or interfere with its systems- to completely cutting through it, but all of them needed to hit the target. Over a battlefield big enough to need to consider the lightspeed delay and relativistic effects, that means the necessity to be close enough for these things to be negligible or to correctly predict where a target is going to be. Lastly, kinetic projectiles could become very fast, albeit positively sluggish compared to the speed of light, and were incapable of changing their trajectory. They could be comparatively stealthy, especially if shielded from scans in some manner. They could also be used in swarms to saturate an area where a ship was likely to move, or as an area denial weapon, limiting the possible vectors a vessel could take. \n\nMirr waited, breathing, observing. His next action would be determined by what, if anything, his hypothetical enemies would do, and when. He prepared for a long wait without information to act upon, pondering whether it would be prudent to relieve a part of his crew from their duties in order for them to recuperate from the rigors of FTL, and rotate them back in when he had contact with the enemy. His thoughts were interrupted by the blaring claxons of a proximity alert going off. ",
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"content": "Given the impact of Saudi Arabia and Wahabism on the world, I need to promote Dr. Robert Zubrins book \"Energy Victory.\" In it, he outlines a way to break the stranglehold oil has on the world, why we should, and the history and current acts of the Saudi Kingdom. A highly interesting and important read. Since it also deals with alternatives to fossil fuels, I posted it here too.<br /><br /><a href=\"https://www.amazon.com/Energy-Victory-Winning-Breaking-Contemporary-ebook/dp/B003NCWREE/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1538245720&sr=8-1\" target=\"_blank\">https://www.amazon.com/Energy-Victory-Winning-Breaking-Contemporary-ebook/dp/B003NCWREE/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1538245720&sr=8-1</a>",
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"content": "<a href=\"https://www.minds.com/Kershmaru/blog/mass-migration-and-the-west-and-why-you-might-be-wrong-about-886301500093542400\" target=\"_blank\">https://www.minds.com/Kershmaru/blog/mass-migration-and-the-west-and-why-you-might-be-wrong-about-886301500093542400</a>",
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"content": "I hope no one has posted it so far since I am not that active on minds, but since I believe that the world is fundamentally a better place without an AI arms race, here is the open letter against autonomous weapons. Please read and consider signing it, especially if you work in AI. <br /><br /><a href=\"https://futureoflife.org/open-letter-autonomous-weapons/\" target=\"_blank\">https://futureoflife.org/open-letter-autonomous-weapons/</a>",
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"content": "I hope no one has posted it so far since I am not that active on minds, but since I believe that the world is fundamentally a better place without an AI arms race, here is the open letter against autonomous weapons. Please read and consider signing it, especially if you work in AI. \n\nhttps://futureoflife.org/open-letter-autonomous-weapons/",
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"content": "Just a game<br /><br />They called it an accident, an unfortunate bug in the system. The explanation was that the VR immersion set and the exo used some of the same neuronal signals in the current patch. The previous update had laid the groundwork for changing the input signals of the VR for better, more intuitive signal uptake. Nobody had thought of the possibility…<br />12 years before the occurrence, a wealthy Shanghai investor tricked a rogue US army operative to hand over classified neuro-controlled exo technology. Paradoxically, that was where the medical neuro-controlled exo had its genesis. Like many things, the exo had been considered a military secret, and potential civilian applications had been shunned. Only theft had changed this, and brought neural interfaces onto the market. <br />The McHarris family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. McHarris, their adult son Kilian and young Theresa. They were upper middle class, not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination but also not suffering from material woes. They lived in a small condo in downtown Dublin, and would have lived a happy life- were it not for Kilian’s illness. The boy had been born a quadriplegic. He had to be moved passively to prevent muscle degradation, placed and replaced in bed to prevent sores from lying motionlessly in bed. He had to be bathed, clothed, fed. Until a breakthrough in medicine had delivered him and his family from this curse.<br />The exo had been a lifesaver for Kilian. It had enabled him, formerly a prisoner in his own body, the chance to clothe himself, to rise without help, to walk. A military design in origin, the suit was capable of reacting to signals from an implanted central nervous system to computer interface, driving the powerful actuators and giving Kilian the possibility to lead a normal life despite his disability; a hitherto unheard of revolution for somebody with his condition. A mixture of straps, belts, and implanted magnetic feedback mechanisms – subdermal or even embedded into the bones communicating with their counterparts in the exo’s superstructure - secured the suit to his body and made natural movement possible- even for cases like Kilian’s, where the body on its own was incapable of moving! Short of restoring his degenerated neurons this was the best thing that could have happened to him. The haptic feedback mechanisms even gave him a sense of touch. <br />The VR immersion set was cutting edge gaming technology, using a protocol that was deemed useless for real-world AR or VR applications: The induction of a sleep-like state, and signal uptake from the motor cortex. This was made possible by a revolutionary algorithm and gave the played games a dream-like quality, but without the memory-clearing effect all too often seen after natural sleep and dreams. However, this assured no two games were ever experienced exactly the same.<br />The Game, an immersive combat sim against tricky and adaptable alien foes was open source, with a lot of modifications possible that made the environment and nature of the opponents even more unpredictable. Kilian had subscribed via steam workshop to a variety of modpacks and randomized his game every time, enjoying a fundamentally different experience whenever he put on the immersion helmet and lied down in bed. <br />The day had begun like any other, with Kilian sending a mental command to his waiting exo, which awoke from its standby mode and began to strap itself to Kilian’s limp arms. As soon as the gloves came on, Killian gained control of his limbs and started to actively correct the position of his body within the suit, strapped on the arm and leg braces, closed down buckles and screwed fast the joints. He rose, wrapped himself into the modified clothes changed to fit the exo, and went to college. Before that he activated his PC to let the major update for his VR immersion set install that was all the hype. He was excited to try the improved intuitive controls when he came back. While he studied for his major in neurobiology, a fatal bit of code loaded onto his computer. <br />Coming back home he cranked up the AC, and lied down on the bed, using his exo to put on the immersion set. Soon He was immersed in the bits and bytes inducing and letting him drift into a dream-like stupor making up a perfectly immersive fantasy world, encompassing all his senses and pitting him and a squad of other players against an alien foe. And the feedback mechanisms had indeed improved tremendously. When he lunged forward, It felt as if he had actually hit a wall!<br />And this was where the mods introduced a new foe, one invisible to the eye and just barely perceivable by distant voices and his sense of touch. Kilian addressed this new foe with a melee attack and felt it fall to the floor, raising a ruckus. This rose new enemies that tried to restrain his avatar, but he would not be beaten! The game continued, but Kilian experienced minor bugs, invisible walls were none should be; also there seemed a synchronization issue with the mods used, as other players reported that they didn’t encounter the invisible wrestling enemies. <br />Frustrated; Kilian logged out of the Game and started the wake-up sequence.<br />The first thing he felt was that his body was still sore.<br />The first thing he smelt and tasted was that there was a metallic smell in the air. <br />The first thing he saw was that he stood in the crushed remains of a wall and was no longer lying on his bed.<br />The first thing he heard was a weak whimpering.<br />The first thing he realized was what the invisible enemies had been, and what he had done.<br />The resulting legal battle involved steam, the VR immersion set producer and the company producing the exo. Logs from the game confirmed what had happened and resolved Kilian from legal responsibility if not from the torture of his conscience.<br />It was ruled an accident.<br />In the end, with one fatality, a comatose victim and a severely mangled child, steam reintroduced the former control scheme. <br />",
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"content": "Just a game\n\nThey called it an accident, an unfortunate bug in the system. The explanation was that the VR immersion set and the exo used some of the same neuronal signals in the current patch. The previous update had laid the groundwork for changing the input signals of the VR for better, more intuitive signal uptake. Nobody had thought of the possibility…\n12 years before the occurrence, a wealthy Shanghai investor tricked a rogue US army operative to hand over classified neuro-controlled exo technology. Paradoxically, that was where the medical neuro-controlled exo had its genesis. Like many things, the exo had been considered a military secret, and potential civilian applications had been shunned. Only theft had changed this, and brought neural interfaces onto the market. \nThe McHarris family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. McHarris, their adult son Kilian and young Theresa. They were upper middle class, not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination but also not suffering from material woes. They lived in a small condo in downtown Dublin, and would have lived a happy life- were it not for Kilian’s illness. The boy had been born a quadriplegic. He had to be moved passively to prevent muscle degradation, placed and replaced in bed to prevent sores from lying motionlessly in bed. He had to be bathed, clothed, fed. Until a breakthrough in medicine had delivered him and his family from this curse.\nThe exo had been a lifesaver for Kilian. It had enabled him, formerly a prisoner in his own body, the chance to clothe himself, to rise without help, to walk. A military design in origin, the suit was capable of reacting to signals from an implanted central nervous system to computer interface, driving the powerful actuators and giving Kilian the possibility to lead a normal life despite his disability; a hitherto unheard of revolution for somebody with his condition. A mixture of straps, belts, and implanted magnetic feedback mechanisms – subdermal or even embedded into the bones communicating with their counterparts in the exo’s superstructure - secured the suit to his body and made natural movement possible- even for cases like Kilian’s, where the body on its own was incapable of moving! Short of restoring his degenerated neurons this was the best thing that could have happened to him. The haptic feedback mechanisms even gave him a sense of touch. \nThe VR immersion set was cutting edge gaming technology, using a protocol that was deemed useless for real-world AR or VR applications: The induction of a sleep-like state, and signal uptake from the motor cortex. This was made possible by a revolutionary algorithm and gave the played games a dream-like quality, but without the memory-clearing effect all too often seen after natural sleep and dreams. However, this assured no two games were ever experienced exactly the same.\nThe Game, an immersive combat sim against tricky and adaptable alien foes was open source, with a lot of modifications possible that made the environment and nature of the opponents even more unpredictable. Kilian had subscribed via steam workshop to a variety of modpacks and randomized his game every time, enjoying a fundamentally different experience whenever he put on the immersion helmet and lied down in bed. \nThe day had begun like any other, with Kilian sending a mental command to his waiting exo, which awoke from its standby mode and began to strap itself to Kilian’s limp arms. As soon as the gloves came on, Killian gained control of his limbs and started to actively correct the position of his body within the suit, strapped on the arm and leg braces, closed down buckles and screwed fast the joints. He rose, wrapped himself into the modified clothes changed to fit the exo, and went to college. Before that he activated his PC to let the major update for his VR immersion set install that was all the hype. He was excited to try the improved intuitive controls when he came back. While he studied for his major in neurobiology, a fatal bit of code loaded onto his computer. \nComing back home he cranked up the AC, and lied down on the bed, using his exo to put on the immersion set. Soon He was immersed in the bits and bytes inducing and letting him drift into a dream-like stupor making up a perfectly immersive fantasy world, encompassing all his senses and pitting him and a squad of other players against an alien foe. And the feedback mechanisms had indeed improved tremendously. When he lunged forward, It felt as if he had actually hit a wall!\nAnd this was where the mods introduced a new foe, one invisible to the eye and just barely perceivable by distant voices and his sense of touch. Kilian addressed this new foe with a melee attack and felt it fall to the floor, raising a ruckus. This rose new enemies that tried to restrain his avatar, but he would not be beaten! The game continued, but Kilian experienced minor bugs, invisible walls were none should be; also there seemed a synchronization issue with the mods used, as other players reported that they didn’t encounter the invisible wrestling enemies. \nFrustrated; Kilian logged out of the Game and started the wake-up sequence.\nThe first thing he felt was that his body was still sore.\nThe first thing he smelt and tasted was that there was a metallic smell in the air. \nThe first thing he saw was that he stood in the crushed remains of a wall and was no longer lying on his bed.\nThe first thing he heard was a weak whimpering.\nThe first thing he realized was what the invisible enemies had been, and what he had done.\nThe resulting legal battle involved steam, the VR immersion set producer and the company producing the exo. Logs from the game confirmed what had happened and resolved Kilian from legal responsibility if not from the torture of his conscience.\nIt was ruled an accident.\nIn the end, with one fatality, a comatose victim and a severely mangled child, steam reintroduced the former control scheme. \n",
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"content": "Here is a little something I wrote to publish over at <a href=\"http://clarkesworldmagazine.com/\" target=\"_blank\">http://clarkesworldmagazine.com/</a> an ezine which has my full support. They rejected it, so now you guys get to read it here. Enjoy, and as always, feedback is very much appreciated.<br /><br />The run of the Bølge<br />Cosmic Top Secret (CTS). NATO-internal only. To view this document, person(s) need to be cleared by Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR) General Curtis M. Scaparrotti personally.<br />“Night fog” summary report 10.6.2018<br />The following has been transcribed from the logbook of the Bølge, as well as from audio recordings on a phone, as recovered by the German Navy, along with a classified debrief of the two survivors and a report of the phenomenon recorded between the 3rd and 7th of June 2018 at the coordinates of <redacted> <br />Logbook entry 3.6.2018 5:21<br />This is Leif. We are currently approaching an unforecast dense fog, but I decided to let the other two sleep. Radar and Autopilot should have no problem, especially given that the sea is as smooth as a mirror. Great party last night, but we might have overdone it with the scotch. <br />Logbook entry 3.6.2018 unknown time<br />All went to shit. But guess I should start at the beginning. I am Lars Gunnarson, owner and captain of the Bølge, my beloved catamaran yacht. She is a leisure and pleasure craft, and I was making the tour from Dublin to Svalbard, with my friends Leif Jonson and Patrick ó Broin. <br />Today, on the third day of our voyage, during Leif’s watch, we ran into a dense fog which hadn’t been forecast, and lost our GPS signal, right before our autopilot died. I was sleeping at the moment, and Leif tried for an hour to fix the problem on his own. When he woke me, we were deep inside the fogbank with no clear heading and without any feasible means of navigation: No GPS, no radar, no pings from shore bound radar stations either, and no communication, neither by radio nor by satellite telephone. <br />Here is where it really gets crazy: Our compasses, both the magnetic and the gyrocompass spin out of control and out of sync with one another. Our motor stalled too; I had to take manual control to get it to do anything. And even then I was only able to get it to run on the lowest setting. We are now drifting barely quicker than if we just went with the flow. <br />Last but not least, our cell phones and even my digital watch ceased functioning, hence the unknown time. Leif believes the mist caused this, but of course, that is impossible - or at least I think it is. Mind you, I have no explanation either. Solar flares maybe? No friggin clue. We have plenty of supplies and water, so we decided to wait out the mist and, if our navigation equipment continues to fail, use my limited knowledge of celestial navigation and our sextant to get a course for the nearest port. Of course, I would still need a chronometer for our exact position, but it will be enough to find land. Let's hope it lets up soon.<br /><br />Logbook entry 4.6.2018<br />We have become aware of movement in the mist. Overhead something big seems to move in slow undulations with a serpentine suggestion, coiling and winding. It measures between one and two meters in width and has on unknown length, and changing and indeterminate numbers of outgrowths, and it vanishes on both ends out of sight in the fog - longer than eight meters. As I write this, whatever it is develops new growths. Patrick and Leif were quick to panic and conjure up tales of sea monsters and other, more outlandish horrors. <br />Whereas I was after a while able to convince them that this too must be an unknown and rare weather phenomenon, and am convinced it indeed is, I have to confess I also feel a subtle, primal horror. While I am confident that I am right and this - thing is indeed nonliving and nonsentient, I cannot resist the spine-chilling effect that the movement has even on me. Something isn’t right, and I have neither words nor inclination to describe it. <br /><br />Logbook entry 5.6.2018<br />We ran aground. The water underneath the Bølge is knee deep, and barely visible through the mist are a basalt coast and a beach of sand or silt. It was my turn to try to get in contact with the outside world, but I haven’t slept since this shit began, and must have dozed off. I messed up, and now we are stranded. The mist hasn’t let up, and we haven’t had any luck with our radio. We aren’t even getting static any more. Also, the movement above has grown ever more pronounced. We can barely see the coast, but we are debating seeking help inland. The thing is, we do not know where we are. Even consulting our maps, there is no land anywhere we should be. I have no explanation for our current situation. But I am determined to get through this series of unfortunate circumstances. What little light comes through the fog is waning. We will make a decision at sunrise.<br /><br />Logbook entry 6.6.2018<br />We decided to go inland. We scrounged together some supplies, water, a change of clothes and cannibalized the sundeck of the Bølge for a lean-to or improvised tent. Patrick insisted I open up the weapons locker I installed years earlier due to the increased risk of piracy along the coast of some African countries. I think this is ridiculous, but I took one of the pistols with me all the same and gave them both a gun. I will also take the log with me and note any unusual occurrence or observation. <br /><br />Logbook entry 6.6.2018<br />We found fish on land, well outside the intertidal zone. Deep sea fish, and other organisms associated with the abyssal depths. The air is ripe with the smell of the sea, everywhere is dried and caked up mud. It is as if the very soil we are walking on rose from the depths. Could that be in any way connected with our predicament, and the odd weather? And is it possible in the first place without being observed well in advance via satellite? I have no answer, and this land posed even more questions. Watching the others, they seem to be clinging to their weapons like they are charms offering protection. I am sure I must make as nervous and unnerved an impression as the two of them. Maybe it is our continued exposure to an unknown situation, maybe it is the alien appearance and miasmic stench of the deceased sealife all around us, but we are all distressed.<br /><br />Logbook entry 6.6.2018 <br />we managed to circle the island’s shoreline. No sign of human habitation, but more of the aforementioned marine organisms, amongst others a sperm whale which has been the most disturbing. It seems like it was partially eaten by something, or rather many somethings, and isn’t decomposed yet. What exactly can feed on the biggest predator that ever lived? The bitemarks made no sense to me. They match neither predators nor scavengers I or the others are familiar with, including our biologist, and look almost human, but over twice the size I would expect. There are also some shipwrecks. Quite a lot of them for such a small area, not to mention above sea level. We found a modern, derelict oil tanker the “Mastodon,” as well as the remnants of what Leif insists are Viking longboats. We wasted time searching the oil tanker, but found no sign of the crew but indeed plenty of evidence in the form of marine life that it had been submerged for some time. I consider this proof positive that this island indeed rose from the depths. Given the time it took us to circle the isle, I estimate it to have a circumference of around 30 kilometers, based around our walking speed of somewhere in the vicinity of 3 kilometers an hour over complicated but roughly level terrain, for what I believe were around 10 hours. Which would give the approximately circular island a diameter of 9,56 kilometers if my back of the napkin calculations are correct. No need to sleep in the open now that we are back at the Bølge. I guess we broke my boat for nothing. I would try to put her in reverse while the other two pushed in the hope to free her, were it not for one crucial observation: the serpentine phenomenon seems to be centered around the middle of the island. All the arms we observed - and they are observable from around most of the island - seem to originate from around the same point somewhere in the foggy hills. When we climbed a cliff, we came close enough to the phenomenon to actually touch it. It felt like a cold, viscous yet ephemeral liquid. I caught some of it in the palm of my hand, but it quickly evaporated, leaving me with a relative lack of feeling in my hand for some minutes despite it being not quite that cold. It seemed to move like a waterfall or a gust of air, despite there being no perceivable wind. We will pass the night in our quarters and make the way to the inside of the island tomorrow.<br /><br />Phone Transcript 7.6.2018 7:13<br />This, uh, is Leif. We approached the inside of the island when my phone booted - I had it on me for no particular reason, and have no bars - but that is not important now. We found a roughly circular opening in the mist, and inside - I tried to take a video but got only static - Is this structure. At first, when we approached it through the fog, we thought it was merely a mountain, but close up it is evident it is formed of titanic and irregular dark grey stone blocks, albeit stacked with such precision that there is barely a gap between blocks. It is impossible to guess the total size of it without some point of reference. There are openings with what seems like meter wide copper pipes, in places coppery and otherwise covered, marbled, in green oxidation. It is from these that the substance which makes up the serpentine phenomenon flows. In open air it is even more perplexing; it flows from the pipes horizontally like from a smokestack, but then takes on a life of its own, coiling and winding and developing proboscis-like outgrowths before disappearing in the fog. We have now confirmed that it is not a natural phenomenon. Which doesn’t bring us any closer to explaining what it is, or the unusual properties of the mist. We are at an impasse. As I am recording this, Lars and Patrick have an argument. Lars wants to return to the Bølge, to get the satellite phone. The problem is that it is integrated into the ship, and Patrick doesn’t think we will be able to jerry-rig the phone and a power supply without proper tools and without any engineering knowledge. He seems to want to look for a way into the structure, and I tend to agree with him, while this is strange and foreign, and frankly terrifying, it also holds a perverse fascination. Inside there may be an explanation for the serpent smog, and who knows what else! This place has offered no answers, but posed a lot of frankly fascinating questions. Who built it and how? We can see no tool marks on the stone blocks, and they seem natural, yet they fit each other perfectly. Alright, the argument between Lars and Patrick seems to end. Lars wants to go back and get his sextant and wants us to wait here. He is now vanished in the mist. <br /><muffled voices> <br />We decided we will search for an entrance into the structure. I will record our findings on audio, given that my camera does not seem to work. <br />Logbook entry 7.6.2018<br />Those fools want to enter this mountain, this stronghold. Where is their fear when it would be advantageous and called for? They speculate on who build it. They don’t get it. This place only recently rose from the depths. Either it was built in far-off prehistory when this isle was above water, or it was built on the bottom of the sea. Whoever made it - it wasn’t us. But when I told them that they just laughed, as if I was the one speaking of sea monsters and eldritch horrors. All that is left is to use this break in the unnatural mist to get our coordinates and keep our guns ready, hoping we will not need them. Maybe the architects aren’t at home. <br />Phone transcript 7.6.2018 7:27<br />We found an arching doorway, followed by regular stairways hewn from black rock. The stairway is regular and seems well traveled, but curiously it is not properly spaced for human legs. The steps are over half a meter high and rather thin, making it a hustle to climb it. The sides of the staircase are made from the same stones as the outer walls, but inside there are runes, and hieroglyphs, etched into the walls. None of us can decipher it, or has any clue what language it may be. The runes look like ancient Norse runes combined with cuneiform of sorts, and the hieroglyphics are pictograms of remarkable craftsmanship and unsurpassed ugliness. It depicts grotesque misformed men going about their business, growing crops and strange plants. It boggles my mind why somebody capable of such fine work would produce such crude depictions of men. It also strangely depicts three suns. <br />Logbook entry 7.6.2018<br />Those idiots! I told them to wait for me, but they have left, and if their footprints are any indication, then they are searching for a way inside! I have to be careful and stealthy. If the architects are home, then shouting to let these muttonheads know I am back could alert them. Lord give me strength. <br />Phone transcript 7.6.2018 7:44<br />After a lot of stairs, we passed something that may have been an airlock, made from some kind of coppery metal, with a space in between two separate bulkheads. Here the wall cravings stopped, and they were interesting indeed! They seem to tell of some manner of mythological lost land, one with three suns, one of which progressively growing, bringing drought and famine, ultimately swallowing the earth in flames. Of course, we are speculating here and only interpreting the pictograms, not reading the accompanying runes. Now we are inside a complicated maze-like area, illuminated by a glowing fog. The air is warm and pregnant, heavy with moisture. The walls, by contrast, are cold and full of condensation. They are made from metallic and rectangular sheets, but several of the rooms - we just entered another one. <br />There are these long rooms filled with those ugly stone statues, roughly made like the men in the pictograms, standing on patches of raw, wet soil, cut out from amongst the otherwise omnipresent metal. They are covered in lichen and moss, and their rooms are less brightly lit than the rest of the complex. Again, given the finesse of the craftsmanship, I wonder why they made these kinds of statues. They are blocky and almost scalely, seemingly cobbled together from rough pieces of a flaky grey stone. Maybe they have some kind of religious significance, given that they are similar to the men in the hieroglyphs, some kind of mythological protohuman? <br />We also passed what seem like storerooms filled with metal containers of all sizes, a hole spewing out hot steam - likely the source of the moisture and heat around here, Patrick thinks it is a geothermal well and given the non-threatening but distinct smell of sulfur, I tend to agree with him. The rooms we were in were long and slightly bent, possibly arranged around a central hub. We are going to take a look through this doorway next - <br />My god! These plants they are like those in the pictograms, I have no idea…<br /><a short excited exchange, unintelligible> <br />This is Patrick. I am a biologist, and I can say with authority that these plants are not related to any other plant I know of, but I should describe the place we find ourselves in. <br />We are standing in a grand circular hall, cathedral-like with heavily inscribed stone pillars. The ceiling high up is hidden completely in the luminous mist. A steady rain of condensate falls to the earth; there is a symphony of unknown smells in the warm air. The soil itself smells slightly sulfuric. The plants though, if I should even call themselves that! There are trees reminiscent of microscopic fungi, corral-like bushes rich with succulent looking fruit, and fields of - the most abundant is one I recognize from the murals, a red reed like grass of one kind or another, with cattail or corn-like outgrowths, ears of sorts… <br /><another excited exchange, unintelligible><br />Leif wants to check other rooms; he doesn’t get how monumental this is!<br />I just grabbed one of the plants. It felt like plastic. More than that, the outgrowth is crystalline! It has a fractal shape of fragile burgundy red crystals, rectangular in shape. I can only wonder - silicate based biology. That is all I can think of. A whole different tree of biology, of life, fundamentally different than our own … <br /><a long pause> <br />I-I just realized what that means. Lars was right. We didn’t build this. Where are you, Leif?<br /><shouts of ‘Leif! Leif!’ and ‘We have to get out of here!’><br />- Lars, thank god! I am so sorry, but you will not believe what we have found!<br />- Never mind that. Where is Leif? Did you split up? <br />- Yes, he went back to explore; I went back the way we came. Maybe he took another path and ended up in one of the statue halls? <br />- … What statue halls?<br />- But… the way you came - you must just have left one of them?<br />- …Patrick, listen, Leif or no Leif, we need to go.<br /><A scream, and shots><br />- Leif!<br /><deep rumbling> <br />- Run run run! <br />- I don’t see anything! The light is gone!<br />- The torch in your phone you fool!<br />- Those amber lights back there! Are those?...<br />- Yes. No, don’t point your gun! We need to go. <br />- But Leif - <br />- They are letting us go, but he shot them. Don’t you feel this? The island is sinking. If we don’t make haste, we will sink with it. <br />Logbook entry 7.6.2018<br />This is Lars Gunnarson, One of two survivors of the Bølge.<br />We made it off the island. We had to swim though, and the phone is of course dead. I don’t know how much of what Patrick and Leif have recorded will survive. I am not capable of describing what happened back there. When we passed the airlock, it swang shut. If there was any hope for Leif to make it off the island, there it was, gone. Outside the fog was gone, but the Island shook and rocked as if hit by gods wrath. Maybe that is exactly what happened. A ship hailed us, claiming to be German navy.<br /><end of transcript><br /><br /><debrief (excerpt)><br />P: look, we told you what happened. We didn’t kill Leif. That confession you want us to sign is bogus.<br />L: He isn’t a policeman. He just wants a convenient story to discredit anything else we might have to say. Isn’t that right? I am telling you, they know what happened, or at least that something bizarre happened. You claim to be Police. I have something for you: Lawyer. As in, let us see ours. Think we will leak to the press? We won’t. We would be branded as unhinged without the recording and whatever evidence you confiscated with the Bølge, like the crystalline ear of the plant we brought. So, Lawyer. Or let us sign a secrecy agreement and be done with us. A good friend has died, and we need to tell his widow who also happens to be a friend. <br />But you, on the other side of this mirror, listen well: Patrick actually saw them, so I will defer to him as far as physical description goes, and should your techwiz manage to save the phone data, you can hear the description from Leif’s mouth proper. Me, I only saw their eyes shine in the dark. It is up to you to open up diplomatic channels or nuke them or whatever. But consider that the last man to shoot them is now gone. We don’t know anything else, and likely a whole lot less than you do. We can’t tell you whether their tech is technological or goddammed magic, or whether Clarke was right and that is, to the hapless primitive, a distinction without a difference. We don’t know whether they are hostile. <br />What we know is we are being colonized. <br /><report><br />At 4:17 local time, on the 3rd of June 2018 our geostationary satellite over site 7 detected an anomaly in the north Atlantic, consistent of an island that had risen from the depths and was undetectable by radar. Civilian agencies detected seismic activity in the same area. Vessels that entered the surrounding ‘mist’ - which again defied analysis by all our assets at the scene - lost all higher electronic functions and had to retreat. <br />The phenomenon cost at least one man, Leif Jonson, his life, and was otherwise consistent with other instances of codename ‘night fog’ at this location and <redacted> other sites documented since 1960. This was the first instance at which survivors returned, as well as a biological sample <analysis pending>. Even more critical, we have now first-hand knowledge from within the fog. <br />Supreme Allied Commander Europe General Curtis M. Scaparrotti looked up from the document in front of him, and walked to the window of his office, deep in thought, a picture of the crystalline fruit from a far-off stellar system in his hand. It was the first real intel from within the night fog islands. He considered the irony that two hapless, poor civilians were the ones who finally, at the expense of their friend, succeeded in uncovering some of the mystery, when NATO had failed at the same task for over fifty years. He brought up a classified power point presentation he was about to hold. “Night fog agents” had never sounded right to him. He deleted the words and wrote “trolls.”<br /><br />",
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"content": "Here is a little something I wrote to publish over at http://clarkesworldmagazine.com/ an ezine which has my full support. They rejected it, so now you guys get to read it here. Enjoy, and as always, feedback is very much appreciated.\n\nThe run of the Bølge\nCosmic Top Secret (CTS). NATO-internal only. To view this document, person(s) need to be cleared by Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR) General Curtis M. Scaparrotti personally.\n“Night fog” summary report 10.6.2018\nThe following has been transcribed from the logbook of the Bølge, as well as from audio recordings on a phone, as recovered by the German Navy, along with a classified debrief of the two survivors and a report of the phenomenon recorded between the 3rd and 7th of June 2018 at the coordinates of <redacted> \nLogbook entry 3.6.2018 5:21\nThis is Leif. We are currently approaching an unforecast dense fog, but I decided to let the other two sleep. Radar and Autopilot should have no problem, especially given that the sea is as smooth as a mirror. Great party last night, but we might have overdone it with the scotch. \nLogbook entry 3.6.2018 unknown time\nAll went to shit. But guess I should start at the beginning. I am Lars Gunnarson, owner and captain of the Bølge, my beloved catamaran yacht. She is a leisure and pleasure craft, and I was making the tour from Dublin to Svalbard, with my friends Leif Jonson and Patrick ó Broin. \nToday, on the third day of our voyage, during Leif’s watch, we ran into a dense fog which hadn’t been forecast, and lost our GPS signal, right before our autopilot died. I was sleeping at the moment, and Leif tried for an hour to fix the problem on his own. When he woke me, we were deep inside the fogbank with no clear heading and without any feasible means of navigation: No GPS, no radar, no pings from shore bound radar stations either, and no communication, neither by radio nor by satellite telephone. \nHere is where it really gets crazy: Our compasses, both the magnetic and the gyrocompass spin out of control and out of sync with one another. Our motor stalled too; I had to take manual control to get it to do anything. And even then I was only able to get it to run on the lowest setting. We are now drifting barely quicker than if we just went with the flow. \nLast but not least, our cell phones and even my digital watch ceased functioning, hence the unknown time. Leif believes the mist caused this, but of course, that is impossible - or at least I think it is. Mind you, I have no explanation either. Solar flares maybe? No friggin clue. We have plenty of supplies and water, so we decided to wait out the mist and, if our navigation equipment continues to fail, use my limited knowledge of celestial navigation and our sextant to get a course for the nearest port. Of course, I would still need a chronometer for our exact position, but it will be enough to find land. Let's hope it lets up soon.\n\nLogbook entry 4.6.2018\nWe have become aware of movement in the mist. Overhead something big seems to move in slow undulations with a serpentine suggestion, coiling and winding. It measures between one and two meters in width and has on unknown length, and changing and indeterminate numbers of outgrowths, and it vanishes on both ends out of sight in the fog - longer than eight meters. As I write this, whatever it is develops new growths. Patrick and Leif were quick to panic and conjure up tales of sea monsters and other, more outlandish horrors. \nWhereas I was after a while able to convince them that this too must be an unknown and rare weather phenomenon, and am convinced it indeed is, I have to confess I also feel a subtle, primal horror. While I am confident that I am right and this - thing is indeed nonliving and nonsentient, I cannot resist the spine-chilling effect that the movement has even on me. Something isn’t right, and I have neither words nor inclination to describe it. \n\nLogbook entry 5.6.2018\nWe ran aground. The water underneath the Bølge is knee deep, and barely visible through the mist are a basalt coast and a beach of sand or silt. It was my turn to try to get in contact with the outside world, but I haven’t slept since this shit began, and must have dozed off. I messed up, and now we are stranded. The mist hasn’t let up, and we haven’t had any luck with our radio. We aren’t even getting static any more. Also, the movement above has grown ever more pronounced. We can barely see the coast, but we are debating seeking help inland. The thing is, we do not know where we are. Even consulting our maps, there is no land anywhere we should be. I have no explanation for our current situation. But I am determined to get through this series of unfortunate circumstances. What little light comes through the fog is waning. We will make a decision at sunrise.\n\nLogbook entry 6.6.2018\nWe decided to go inland. We scrounged together some supplies, water, a change of clothes and cannibalized the sundeck of the Bølge for a lean-to or improvised tent. Patrick insisted I open up the weapons locker I installed years earlier due to the increased risk of piracy along the coast of some African countries. I think this is ridiculous, but I took one of the pistols with me all the same and gave them both a gun. I will also take the log with me and note any unusual occurrence or observation. \n\nLogbook entry 6.6.2018\nWe found fish on land, well outside the intertidal zone. Deep sea fish, and other organisms associated with the abyssal depths. The air is ripe with the smell of the sea, everywhere is dried and caked up mud. It is as if the very soil we are walking on rose from the depths. Could that be in any way connected with our predicament, and the odd weather? And is it possible in the first place without being observed well in advance via satellite? I have no answer, and this land posed even more questions. Watching the others, they seem to be clinging to their weapons like they are charms offering protection. I am sure I must make as nervous and unnerved an impression as the two of them. Maybe it is our continued exposure to an unknown situation, maybe it is the alien appearance and miasmic stench of the deceased sealife all around us, but we are all distressed.\n\nLogbook entry 6.6.2018 \nwe managed to circle the island’s shoreline. No sign of human habitation, but more of the aforementioned marine organisms, amongst others a sperm whale which has been the most disturbing. It seems like it was partially eaten by something, or rather many somethings, and isn’t decomposed yet. What exactly can feed on the biggest predator that ever lived? The bitemarks made no sense to me. They match neither predators nor scavengers I or the others are familiar with, including our biologist, and look almost human, but over twice the size I would expect. There are also some shipwrecks. Quite a lot of them for such a small area, not to mention above sea level. We found a modern, derelict oil tanker the “Mastodon,” as well as the remnants of what Leif insists are Viking longboats. We wasted time searching the oil tanker, but found no sign of the crew but indeed plenty of evidence in the form of marine life that it had been submerged for some time. I consider this proof positive that this island indeed rose from the depths. Given the time it took us to circle the isle, I estimate it to have a circumference of around 30 kilometers, based around our walking speed of somewhere in the vicinity of 3 kilometers an hour over complicated but roughly level terrain, for what I believe were around 10 hours. Which would give the approximately circular island a diameter of 9,56 kilometers if my back of the napkin calculations are correct. No need to sleep in the open now that we are back at the Bølge. I guess we broke my boat for nothing. I would try to put her in reverse while the other two pushed in the hope to free her, were it not for one crucial observation: the serpentine phenomenon seems to be centered around the middle of the island. All the arms we observed - and they are observable from around most of the island - seem to originate from around the same point somewhere in the foggy hills. When we climbed a cliff, we came close enough to the phenomenon to actually touch it. It felt like a cold, viscous yet ephemeral liquid. I caught some of it in the palm of my hand, but it quickly evaporated, leaving me with a relative lack of feeling in my hand for some minutes despite it being not quite that cold. It seemed to move like a waterfall or a gust of air, despite there being no perceivable wind. We will pass the night in our quarters and make the way to the inside of the island tomorrow.\n\nPhone Transcript 7.6.2018 7:13\nThis, uh, is Leif. We approached the inside of the island when my phone booted - I had it on me for no particular reason, and have no bars - but that is not important now. We found a roughly circular opening in the mist, and inside - I tried to take a video but got only static - Is this structure. At first, when we approached it through the fog, we thought it was merely a mountain, but close up it is evident it is formed of titanic and irregular dark grey stone blocks, albeit stacked with such precision that there is barely a gap between blocks. It is impossible to guess the total size of it without some point of reference. There are openings with what seems like meter wide copper pipes, in places coppery and otherwise covered, marbled, in green oxidation. It is from these that the substance which makes up the serpentine phenomenon flows. In open air it is even more perplexing; it flows from the pipes horizontally like from a smokestack, but then takes on a life of its own, coiling and winding and developing proboscis-like outgrowths before disappearing in the fog. We have now confirmed that it is not a natural phenomenon. Which doesn’t bring us any closer to explaining what it is, or the unusual properties of the mist. We are at an impasse. As I am recording this, Lars and Patrick have an argument. Lars wants to return to the Bølge, to get the satellite phone. The problem is that it is integrated into the ship, and Patrick doesn’t think we will be able to jerry-rig the phone and a power supply without proper tools and without any engineering knowledge. He seems to want to look for a way into the structure, and I tend to agree with him, while this is strange and foreign, and frankly terrifying, it also holds a perverse fascination. Inside there may be an explanation for the serpent smog, and who knows what else! This place has offered no answers, but posed a lot of frankly fascinating questions. Who built it and how? We can see no tool marks on the stone blocks, and they seem natural, yet they fit each other perfectly. Alright, the argument between Lars and Patrick seems to end. Lars wants to go back and get his sextant and wants us to wait here. He is now vanished in the mist. \n<muffled voices> \nWe decided we will search for an entrance into the structure. I will record our findings on audio, given that my camera does not seem to work. \nLogbook entry 7.6.2018\nThose fools want to enter this mountain, this stronghold. Where is their fear when it would be advantageous and called for? They speculate on who build it. They don’t get it. This place only recently rose from the depths. Either it was built in far-off prehistory when this isle was above water, or it was built on the bottom of the sea. Whoever made it - it wasn’t us. But when I told them that they just laughed, as if I was the one speaking of sea monsters and eldritch horrors. All that is left is to use this break in the unnatural mist to get our coordinates and keep our guns ready, hoping we will not need them. Maybe the architects aren’t at home. \nPhone transcript 7.6.2018 7:27\nWe found an arching doorway, followed by regular stairways hewn from black rock. The stairway is regular and seems well traveled, but curiously it is not properly spaced for human legs. The steps are over half a meter high and rather thin, making it a hustle to climb it. The sides of the staircase are made from the same stones as the outer walls, but inside there are runes, and hieroglyphs, etched into the walls. None of us can decipher it, or has any clue what language it may be. The runes look like ancient Norse runes combined with cuneiform of sorts, and the hieroglyphics are pictograms of remarkable craftsmanship and unsurpassed ugliness. It depicts grotesque misformed men going about their business, growing crops and strange plants. It boggles my mind why somebody capable of such fine work would produce such crude depictions of men. It also strangely depicts three suns. \nLogbook entry 7.6.2018\nThose idiots! I told them to wait for me, but they have left, and if their footprints are any indication, then they are searching for a way inside! I have to be careful and stealthy. If the architects are home, then shouting to let these muttonheads know I am back could alert them. Lord give me strength. \nPhone transcript 7.6.2018 7:44\nAfter a lot of stairs, we passed something that may have been an airlock, made from some kind of coppery metal, with a space in between two separate bulkheads. Here the wall cravings stopped, and they were interesting indeed! They seem to tell of some manner of mythological lost land, one with three suns, one of which progressively growing, bringing drought and famine, ultimately swallowing the earth in flames. Of course, we are speculating here and only interpreting the pictograms, not reading the accompanying runes. Now we are inside a complicated maze-like area, illuminated by a glowing fog. The air is warm and pregnant, heavy with moisture. The walls, by contrast, are cold and full of condensation. They are made from metallic and rectangular sheets, but several of the rooms - we just entered another one. \nThere are these long rooms filled with those ugly stone statues, roughly made like the men in the pictograms, standing on patches of raw, wet soil, cut out from amongst the otherwise omnipresent metal. They are covered in lichen and moss, and their rooms are less brightly lit than the rest of the complex. Again, given the finesse of the craftsmanship, I wonder why they made these kinds of statues. They are blocky and almost scalely, seemingly cobbled together from rough pieces of a flaky grey stone. Maybe they have some kind of religious significance, given that they are similar to the men in the hieroglyphs, some kind of mythological protohuman? \nWe also passed what seem like storerooms filled with metal containers of all sizes, a hole spewing out hot steam - likely the source of the moisture and heat around here, Patrick thinks it is a geothermal well and given the non-threatening but distinct smell of sulfur, I tend to agree with him. The rooms we were in were long and slightly bent, possibly arranged around a central hub. We are going to take a look through this doorway next - \nMy god! These plants they are like those in the pictograms, I have no idea…\n<a short excited exchange, unintelligible> \nThis is Patrick. I am a biologist, and I can say with authority that these plants are not related to any other plant I know of, but I should describe the place we find ourselves in. \nWe are standing in a grand circular hall, cathedral-like with heavily inscribed stone pillars. The ceiling high up is hidden completely in the luminous mist. A steady rain of condensate falls to the earth; there is a symphony of unknown smells in the warm air. The soil itself smells slightly sulfuric. The plants though, if I should even call themselves that! There are trees reminiscent of microscopic fungi, corral-like bushes rich with succulent looking fruit, and fields of - the most abundant is one I recognize from the murals, a red reed like grass of one kind or another, with cattail or corn-like outgrowths, ears of sorts… \n<another excited exchange, unintelligible>\nLeif wants to check other rooms; he doesn’t get how monumental this is!\nI just grabbed one of the plants. It felt like plastic. More than that, the outgrowth is crystalline! It has a fractal shape of fragile burgundy red crystals, rectangular in shape. I can only wonder - silicate based biology. That is all I can think of. A whole different tree of biology, of life, fundamentally different than our own … \n<a long pause> \nI-I just realized what that means. Lars was right. We didn’t build this. Where are you, Leif?\n<shouts of ‘Leif! Leif!’ and ‘We have to get out of here!’>\n- Lars, thank god! I am so sorry, but you will not believe what we have found!\n- Never mind that. Where is Leif? Did you split up? \n- Yes, he went back to explore; I went back the way we came. Maybe he took another path and ended up in one of the statue halls? \n- … What statue halls?\n- But… the way you came - you must just have left one of them?\n- …Patrick, listen, Leif or no Leif, we need to go.\n<A scream, and shots>\n- Leif!\n<deep rumbling> \n- Run run run! \n- I don’t see anything! The light is gone!\n- The torch in your phone you fool!\n- Those amber lights back there! Are those?...\n- Yes. No, don’t point your gun! We need to go. \n- But Leif - \n- They are letting us go, but he shot them. Don’t you feel this? The island is sinking. If we don’t make haste, we will sink with it. \nLogbook entry 7.6.2018\nThis is Lars Gunnarson, One of two survivors of the Bølge.\nWe made it off the island. We had to swim though, and the phone is of course dead. I don’t know how much of what Patrick and Leif have recorded will survive. I am not capable of describing what happened back there. When we passed the airlock, it swang shut. If there was any hope for Leif to make it off the island, there it was, gone. Outside the fog was gone, but the Island shook and rocked as if hit by gods wrath. Maybe that is exactly what happened. A ship hailed us, claiming to be German navy.\n<end of transcript>\n\n<debrief (excerpt)>\nP: look, we told you what happened. We didn’t kill Leif. That confession you want us to sign is bogus.\nL: He isn’t a policeman. He just wants a convenient story to discredit anything else we might have to say. Isn’t that right? I am telling you, they know what happened, or at least that something bizarre happened. You claim to be Police. I have something for you: Lawyer. As in, let us see ours. Think we will leak to the press? We won’t. We would be branded as unhinged without the recording and whatever evidence you confiscated with the Bølge, like the crystalline ear of the plant we brought. So, Lawyer. Or let us sign a secrecy agreement and be done with us. A good friend has died, and we need to tell his widow who also happens to be a friend. \nBut you, on the other side of this mirror, listen well: Patrick actually saw them, so I will defer to him as far as physical description goes, and should your techwiz manage to save the phone data, you can hear the description from Leif’s mouth proper. Me, I only saw their eyes shine in the dark. It is up to you to open up diplomatic channels or nuke them or whatever. But consider that the last man to shoot them is now gone. We don’t know anything else, and likely a whole lot less than you do. We can’t tell you whether their tech is technological or goddammed magic, or whether Clarke was right and that is, to the hapless primitive, a distinction without a difference. We don’t know whether they are hostile. \nWhat we know is we are being colonized. \n<report>\nAt 4:17 local time, on the 3rd of June 2018 our geostationary satellite over site 7 detected an anomaly in the north Atlantic, consistent of an island that had risen from the depths and was undetectable by radar. Civilian agencies detected seismic activity in the same area. Vessels that entered the surrounding ‘mist’ - which again defied analysis by all our assets at the scene - lost all higher electronic functions and had to retreat. \nThe phenomenon cost at least one man, Leif Jonson, his life, and was otherwise consistent with other instances of codename ‘night fog’ at this location and <redacted> other sites documented since 1960. This was the first instance at which survivors returned, as well as a biological sample <analysis pending>. Even more critical, we have now first-hand knowledge from within the fog. \nSupreme Allied Commander Europe General Curtis M. Scaparrotti looked up from the document in front of him, and walked to the window of his office, deep in thought, a picture of the crystalline fruit from a far-off stellar system in his hand. It was the first real intel from within the night fog islands. He considered the irony that two hapless, poor civilians were the ones who finally, at the expense of their friend, succeeded in uncovering some of the mystery, when NATO had failed at the same task for over fifty years. He brought up a classified power point presentation he was about to hold. “Night fog agents” had never sounded right to him. He deleted the words and wrote “trolls.”\n\n",
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