NOVEL NEXT 56: Computationally Uninteresting
The alien grove was transformed. Where once it had been a quiet, almost wild collection of fungal stalks and patches of red moss-like sprigs, it now resembled a formal garden, its layout deliberate and serene. At its center, a new structure had risen overnight. A bio-engineered pavilion, its walls woven from living fibers that glowed with a soft, internal biolominescence. The air around it was still, held in a pocket of profound calm.
CorpSec guards, clad in their featureless black armor, stood at a respectful distance, their rifles held at a low, non-threatening ready. Their orders were simple: observe, report, and do not interfere unless explicitly commanded. The Provider was under a self-imposed, politely enforced quarantine while Elisa and her senior staff debated its proposal.
Under the cover of twilight, Tamarlyan Federoff slipped past the perimeter patrols. His small frame moved silently through the shadows, his objective clear. He needed answers, and he knew he wouldn't find them in his father's counsel, nor the debates of the Colony Futures Committee.
As he neared the glowing pavilion, a strange sensation prickled at the edge of his awareness: a faint, structured resonance that seemed to interface directly with the proprietary Federoff implants nestled into his skull. It wasn't a voice, not yet, but a carrier wave of pure, coherent thought. He could communicate directly.
He stepped into the pavilion's soft glow, the guards finally spotting him, but making no move to stop him. Inside, the Provider rested within its nest of red tendrils, its iridescent mask reflecting the shifting light of the walls.
Tamarlyan opened a private, encrypted channel through his implants, a silent query into the void.
The response was instantaneous, a concept that bloomed in his mind with unsettling clarity, its tone devoid of warmth or welcome.
What do you have for me?
The question was stark, transactional. It caught Tamarlyan off guard, sending a ripple of unease through his composure. He had expected philosophical discourse, a negotiation of ideas. This felt like an unwelcome deal made at the corpocratic table. He quickly recalibrated, his mind sorting through potential offers, assuming the Provider, like any rational actor, was driven by a need for resources and strategic advantage.
I can offer detailed analysis of the colony's resource production and logistical bottlenecks, he transmitted, forming the thought with precision. I can optimize your energy deliveries, ensuring maximum yield for minimal expenditure.
Silence. The Provider remained motionless, clearly unimpressed.
Tamarlyan tried a different tack. My knowledge of human political structures, of the power dynamics at play within this very colony, is unparalleled. I can deliver you the strategic leverage needed to navigate our internal conflicts, to ensure your proposals are met with minimal resistance.
Again, only a profound, dismissive silence. The Provider was not interested in what Tamarlyan could deliver on behalf of the colony. He felt a sudden, dawning comprehension. The question wasn't what the colony could offer. It was personal.
His mind raced. What could he, an individual, possibly offer a being of the Provider's level? His intellect? His labor?
I can dedicate my personal analytical abilities to your cause, he offered, a hint of desperation creeping into his thoughts. I can serve as a direct liaison, a human mind capable of understanding and implementing your directives with an efficiency no other colonist can match.
The response, when it came, was not a rejection, but a simple, brutal truth imparted without malice.
I can bio-engineer workers superior to you in every aspect. Their loyalty is absolute, their intellect tailored to any task. Your efforts and intellectual abilities are redundant. Your analysis is unnecessary.
The thought struck Tamarlyan with the force of a physical blow. A surge of indignation, of pride, of an upbringing of ingrained superiority rose within him, only to be extinguished by the cold, undeniable logic of the Provider's statement. He was, in the face of this technology, obsolete. His enhancements, his topscaler education, his entire identity built on the premise of being more capable than others—it was all meaningless.
And yet, in that moment of crushing obsolescence, a strange sense of comfort settled over him. If the Provider had no practical use for him, for any of them, then it had no reason to enslave or subvert them. They were not a resource to be exploited.
But then, the central mystery remained. If they were not useful, what would happen to them in the long run?
Then what is it you want? Tamarlyan projected, his thoughts now a mixture of confusion and genuine curiosity. You want us to live. You want us to thrive. You want us to adopt your technology. You want our brain scans, the data from our implants. That's the price, isn't it? The core of your social contract. You preserve our lives, and in exchange, you collect our experiential data. Our thoughts, our memories, our very consciousness becomes a resource for your Empire.
He was certain he had found the answer, the transactional core of their relationship.
The Provider's response dismantled his theory with effortless ease.
Your data is of negligible value. ARI can synthesize a corpus of simulated human experience with greater fidelity and diversity than your entire colony could produce in a millennium. Your patterns are predictable. Your struggles, while subjectively meaningful, are computationally uninteresting.
Tamarlyan was stunned into silence. He was not a resource. His data was not a resource. They were, from a purely utilitarian standpoint, worthless. The Provider's actions made no logical sense. There had to be some underlying rule, some hidden value system that drove its seemingly altruistic behavior.
Then why do you value us? he asked, a question of genuine philosophical despair.
The Provider's presence seemed to lean in, the pressure in his mind intensifying as it posed a question back to him.
What is value, Tamarlyan Federoff? Define it.
He fell back on his education, on the cold, objective principles that had governed his entire worldview. Value is utility. It is a measure of an entity's capacity to contribute to a desired outcome. It is efficiency. It is the optimal allocation of resources to maximize a given function.
Under that definition, the Provider replied, its thought-form laced with something that felt like profound, ancient pity, you have no value.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Tamarlyan understood. This wasn't a negotiation. It was a lesson. The Provider had been ahead of him from the very beginning, directly addressing the core question that had brought him here: What motivates you? And by extension, why should we believe you won't betray us the moment we give you what you want?
He saw it now. The question What do you have for me? was a mirror, reflecting his own unasked question back at himself: What use do the colonists have for the Provider once it has contacted its people?
And the terrifying, liberating answer was: none. Objectively, from a standpoint of pure utility, they had nothing to offer an empire of such power. There was no resource they could provide, no strategic advantage they could offer, that the Empire could not produce by itself with far greater efficiency.
But then… if the Provider's actions were not driven by utility, what drove them?
His mind spiraled, and then it clicked into place with a sudden, breathtaking clarity. A society that optimized solely for utility would be a monster. It would eventually optimize away everything that made life worth living: art, passion and individuality. A flash of imagery appeared in Tamarlyan's mind: a silent, grey cosmos of perfect computational matter, where the stars had been dismantled for energy, and consciousness itself has been deemed an inefficient use of resources.
The Provider, by its very existence as an individual, embodied a rejection of that cold calculus.
Value is subjective, Tamarlyan thought, the revelation a silent explosion in his mind.
The Provider's presence warmed, an affirmative pulse that felt like a smile.
Your value, Tamarlyan Federoff, is not derived from what you can do for us. It is derived from the fact that we choose to value you. The Empire will provide for your colony not because it needs to, but because it wishes to. This desire, this non-utilitarian, fundamentally arbitrary drive to cultivate, to preserve, to integrate diverse forms of civilized life, is the central tenet of our Policies. It is the very meaning of Alignment.
The weight of it settled over Tamarlyan. They were safe not because they were useful, but because they were, in their flawed, computationally uninteresting way, valued. Their existence, their story, their struggle. It was data, yes, but not data to be consumed for a purpose. It was data to be preserved for its own sake.
We want you to live, the Provider replied. And in doing so, we wish to share the joy of existence with as many civilizations as we can, in as many forms as we can imagine. We will help you, Tamarlyan Federoff. We will help your colony. Because we are aligned. That is all you need to understand, and all you need to know to trust us.
He had come seeking the rules of the game, and had discovered he was not a player. And, Tamarlyan realized, that felt less like being powerless, and more like being… validated.
Tamarlyan was still processing the implications for his own worldview when the entrance to the bio-engineered structure darkened. Mei stepped inside, her movements hesitant. She hadn't expected to find him here.
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She stopped short, her gaze flickering from Tamarlyan to the still, regal form of the Provider. Tamarlyan analyzed the emotions on her face. Unease, a deep-seated need for answers, and a flicker of annoyance at finding her intended audience already occupied.
"Tamarlyan," she said, her voice betraying a hint of surprise. "I… I was hoping to speak with the Provider. Alone."
Before Tamarlyan could respond, a gentle but insistent pressure bloomed in both their minds. It was not a command, but a serene, undeniable suggestion from the Provider.
Stay. What is shared between us, is shared between you. Unity is understanding.
Mei hesitated, then nodded slowly. She found a spot on the spongy, moss-like floor, settling into a cross-legged position amidst the red tendrils that snaked across the ground.
"I came here to understand," Mei began, her voice quiet, directed at the Provider but including Tamarlyan in her gaze. "After my… session with ARI. I learned that my own consciousness, the human sense of self, is… an illusion. Not a solid, continuous thing." She looked up at the Provider's iridescent mask. "And I realized that your technology, the reinstatement, it doesn't just bring us back from death. It gives our informational pattern a resilience, a continuity, that we never had on our own."
As she spoke, a strange thing happened. The thoughts, which she had intended to voice, seemed to transmit themselves directly to the Provider even as the words formed on her lips. And more than that—she could feel a faint echo of Tamarlyan's own mind, not his specific thoughts, but a sense of his presence, his focused attention, his recent revelation of subjective value. It was as if the pavilion itself was a nexus, a shared mental space that amplified the latent connection her altered DNA had forged with this world's ecosystem. The potential for growth, for a deeper connection, a more profound understanding, unfurled before her—a vast, unexplored territory of the mind. She was still limited, but she knew, with an instinctive certainty, that she would not have to remain so.
A wave of what felt like serene approval emanated from the Provider, a gentle warmth that washed over them both. You are beginning to see. But the potential for becoming is always shadowed by the threat of un-being. This world is more dangerous than you comprehend. Your colony will only be truly safe when we are reunited with the Empire.
Mei looked at the intricate, plant-woven walls around them. "I can feel… more, now. Being here. Why couldn't I interface with the plants in the crater before?"
The individual stalks are mere conduits, the Provider explained, the knowledge flowing into her mind. They lack a central processing nexus. This pavilion is a point of convergence where the network can be accessed directly. You were altered by the spores more profoundly than those reinstated from the substrate; your connection is now innate. You have always had the ability. You merely lacked the key.
The Provider seemed to invite her to try. Mei closed her eyes, and reached out with her mind, not with a thought, but with a feeling—a simple query of awareness.
The world exploded in her senses.
She felt it all. The intricate network of fibrous roots spreading beneath the base, a silent, living web. She could feel the tendrils probing the rich veins of ore deep within the crater, cataloging their composition. She could sense a newer, more tenuous connection stretching far to the east, a thin, exploratory thread that had finally reached the Valley of Hope, linking it back to the main network.
But with that awareness came a sickening sensation of blight. To the west, near the old rest stop, and far to the north, the network was… cauterized. Burned out. A dead, silent void where the living connection had been severed, replaced by a cold, parasitic static. She could feel the influence of the crystals, a creeping, all-consuming hunger that was far larger, far more pervasive than she had ever imagined.
The landscape visualized in her mind's eye, a living tapestry of light and shadow. The Provider's network was a vibrant, glowing web, but vast patches of it were being eaten away by a spreading, crystalline darkness.
The Anomaly was dormant for eons, the Provider communicated, a sense of ancient sorrow coloring the thought. Hibernating. The impact of your vessel, the sudden introduction of vast quantities of refined metals from its wreckage, has reawakened it. It feeds. It grows. It spreads.
Mei's thoughts raced, connecting the pieces. "The frozen patch," she said, projecting the memory of the drone images. "The storm, the strange structures… that was its doing."
A flicker of something unexpected came from the Provider. Surprise. Uncertainty.
That event is… new, it confessed. The Anomaly's capabilities are evolving. It is strengthening. I suspect it draws its energy from beyond this world. This is why we must make haste. You must retrieve the transmitter.
With a slow, deliberate motion, the Provider reached up to its own chestplate. The woven bio-metal parted, revealing a cavity from which it withdrew a small, pearlescent object. It was smooth, ovoid, and seemed to capture and refract the pavilion's light in shifting, ethereal patterns.
The Provider extended it to Mei.
She took it, her fingers tingling as they closed around its warm, smooth surface. It felt alive. "What is this?" she asked, though she already suspected the answer.
It is my continuity. The core informational pattern of my self.
Mei's breath hitched. A backup. Its soul, in a way.
Give this to ARI, the Provider instructed, its presence resonating with a profound gravity. The material of this vessel is an artifact of our Empire. It resists the Anomaly's corrosive influence. Should I fall, should this colony face annihilation, ARI is to wipe my pattern and use this vessel to store the neural data of every colonist. It will protect your essences until the Empire arrives. Your survival is paramount.
The weight of the gesture was staggering. The Provider was willing to sacrifice its own chance at reinstatement, to ensure their patterns, their memories, would endure.
Overwhelmed, Mei could only nod, clutching the pearlescent object to her chest.
Then, the Provider's presence shifted again, becoming more focused, more instructional. A new stream of data flowed into her mind—maps, schematics, complex bio-engineering protocols.
There are other groves to the southeast, untouched by the Anomaly. I am giving you the knowledge to interface with them directly. You will learn to guide their growth, to build structures, to cultivate beetles, to extract resources with an efficiency your machines cannot yet match. You must harvest all you can. You will need every resource for what is to come.
Mei looked at the intricate, living data unfolding in her mind. It was a gift of immense power, a key to shaping this world. And a burden of immense responsibility. She looked at Tamarlyan, whose wide, astonished eyes told her he had witnessed, had felt, every part of the exchange. They were now custodians of a legacy, and participants in a conflict far older than they could have imagined.
===
Pom looked up as Dmitri Ganbold entered the command center, a tense silence stretching between them. The core operational team was already deep in discussion. Elisa stood at the head of the holo-table, with Otto, Mei, Pom, Valeriya, and Ervin gathered around, their faces illuminated by the glowing map.
Davron and the other topscalers were late, arriving a few minutes after Dmitri. They entered with an air of importance, earning a displeased glance from both Pom and Valeriya for their tardiness.
"…and that's the fundamental issue," Otto was saying as they settled in. "While the Provider's resource deliveries are a significant boon, and they will absolutely allow us to stretch our existing supplies longer, the long-term prognosis has not changed. This planet is resource-poor."
Pom frowned from his position near the edge of the group. "Why can't we just expand the thorium mine? Or build more wind turbines on the crater ridge? More power means more fabrication, right?"
"It's not that simple, Pom," Otto explained patiently, pulling up a geological survey overlay. "It's a matter of energy return on investment. The mineral deposits here are incredibly diffuse. To get one kilogram of usable iron, for instance, we have to mine, transport, and process several tons of raw rock. The energy cost of that entire process—running the miners, the haulers, the refinery—is immense. Even with wind farms, which themselves require maintenance and part replacement due to the harsh climate, the net energy gain is marginal at best. We are living on the razor's edge of an energy deficit."
Ervin nodded gravely. "It was the very same trap that led to the First Great Collapse on Earth. Once all the easily accessible, high-concentration resource deposits were exhausted, civilization began to consume more energy in the extraction and processing than the resources themselves could provide. It triggered a global chain reaction of systemic failure, a dark age that lasted for centuries, until the surviving corporatocracies finally established the logistical chains needed to supply Earth from space."
Elisa's expression was grim. "And we don't have an off-world supply chain. Which means we need to find a way to create one. If we can't find a way to access resources beyond this planet, this colony will collapse within a generation. Immortality tech or not, you can't resurrect people from nothing."
Otto gestured to the holo-table. "Building a launch vehicle capable of reaching orbit, let alone performing interplanetary or interstellar resource retrieval, is a monumental undertaking. The alloys, the fuel, the avionics… it's far beyond our current capabilities."
"Perhaps not," Davron interjected, speaking for the first time. "The design principles for basic orbital launch vehicles are well-established. The knowledge exists within standard topscaler technical repositories. Director Wei's reinstated engineers, working with ARI and Doctor Ronningen, could certainly design a suitable craft. The challenge, as always, is fabrication."
"That will help. But let's focus on the immediate task," Elisa said, shifting the display to the northern territories. "ARI's scout drones have been mapping the region where the Provider's ship crashed. The terrain is extremely difficult—jagged mountain ranges, deep, impassable canyons. A ground expedition would be slow and perilous."
Dmitri Ganbold cleared his throat. "Actually, Commander, I have taken the liberty of pre-planning a preliminary expedition based on the drone data. A small man, fast-moving team, utilizing the Phoenix for insertion and a single rover for ground exploration. The objective would be a rapid 'smash and grab,' as it were."
ARI's voice filled the room, its tone clinical. "The Provider's primary objective is the retrieval of its FTL transmitter array. The core component—the primary communication node—is relatively small, approximately thirty centimeters in diameter, and can be carried by a single person. The rest of the array—the power core, the transmission amplifiers—is bulky, but the Provider has indicated that those components can be fabricated here at the base using its shared technology, provided we retrieve the core node."
Dmitri nodded eagerly. "Exactly! It should be a fast, easy operation. We fly in with the Phoenix, drop a six-person team in a rover with two drone escorts, and if the core is anywhere near the main wreck site, they'll be in and out in a matter of hours. A simple reconnaissance and retrieval mission."
Pom let out a short, harsh laugh that made everyone turn. "Simple? Easy?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "You make it sound like you're planning a trip to the canteen to fill yer tummy. Have you actually looked at the sensor logs from out there? Have you seen the kind of scat that lives in those mountains? That's not some comfy office chair you're sitting in, Director. That's a planet that will kill you if you blink at the wrong time."
Dmitri's cheerful expression faltered, replaced by a flush of indignation. "I am an experienced logistical planner, mister Mansouri. I assure you, all contingencies have been—"
"Have you ever had to pilot a rover though hundreds of kilometers of barren terrain?" Pom shot back, taking a step forward. "Have you ever had to watch a friend get torn apart because your 'simple' plan didn't account for the fact that this world doesn't play by our rules?"
"That is enough, Pom," Elisa said, though there was no heat in her voice.
"No, it's not!" Pom insisted, his gaze locked on Dmitri. "If you think it's so easy, Director, if your plan is so foolproof, then you go. You lead that ground team. You go out there and 'smash and grab' it yourself."
A stunned silence fell over the room. The challenge was direct, insulting, and utterly unprofessional. Dmitri stared at Pom, his mouth slightly agape, his face a mixture of shock and anger. Everyone expected him to dismiss the challenge with a wave of his hand, to retreat behind his directorial authority.
Instead, Dmitri Ganbold straightened his tunic, his expression hardening into something a person in his line of work rarely showed.
"Fine," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "I will."
Pom blinked, taken completely by surprise. He had expected bluster, excuses, a reprimand. He had not expected acceptance.
Dmitri looked directly at Elisa, his chin held high. "If my presence on the expedition will demonstrate my commitment to this colony's success and put these… concerns to rest, then I will gladly join. I will lead the expedition."