Unchosen Champion

Coop had millions upon millions of system notifications competing for attention in his periphery. As they streamed through his feed, the custom interface desperately trying to reach the end, he was not-so-subtly regretting the design choices that enabled the Lighthouse system to catch such notices detected in mana.

Making sure the new system was receptive had been a cautionary plan anticipating their future interactions with the galactic community, but it was backfiring on him in particular. Only the founder could see what a mess had been waiting for them after 111 years of near perfect isolation.

When the planetary shield disappeared, every single lingering attempt at directly contacting the Lighthouse was abruptly allowed through. They came all at once, no matter when they were originally sent. He didn't even want to begin sorting through the heap of messages.

It seemed like the Lighthouse had drawn quite a bit of attention for a brief period of time, though they had already known that much, thanks to the many declarations of war in the early days. Apparently, not every faction was quite so belligerent, opting to start relations through other means of contact that were restricted by the planetary shield.

Various diplomatic messages had been dispatched, then another message was sent to indicate the previous communication had been withdrawn when they realized they wouldn't go through, but both had ultimately arrived simultaneously. The day after humanity reached space, Coop was on his way to the Ark instead of relaxing on Ghost Reef to deal with the mess. He needed to get his advisors onboard with what was happening to him. He couldn't relax otherwise.

As if Earth didn't already have enough for him to do, between the Mana Well surges and the wild zones of manabeasts all across the surface, his beachside retirement was really more like a repeated weekend getaway at best. And now, it seemed like he would also be a middleman for some of his faction's initial alien contacts. There really was no rest for the wicked.

Coop inadvertently caused a bit of a scene as he rode one of the skytrains toward the Ark. In the past, he would have just mistjumped across the surface, but with the ongoing launches, he didn't want to get in the way of anything important. He was smiling and nodding as people openly greeted him, exchanging congratulations and best wishes for the future. His presence was notable enough to cause some surprise, but they were all eagerly working toward common goals.

Standing still instead of mistjumping also gave him a few minutes to scroll through the absolute mess in his heads up display. Factions all across the galactic community had attempted to contact him, offering various levels of tribute in exchange for a face-to-face meeting. Many more actually demanded the opposite, calling for him to pay them tribute due to his tardiness in offering alms to his betters. They thought they could penalize him for forcing them to initiate contact with someone so beneath them. Then, when they received no immediate response, or more likely, when the Eradication Protocol began and he was dropped by the system, virtually all of the alien factions withdrew their efforts.

There were fees for using the official channels to send messages between factions, fees for keeping the messages active, fees for responding to the messages, and on top of all that, there were additional payments going back and forth between factions. It would definitely have been a pain if Coop had been presented with such a tangle while also dealing with the assimilation, so he was thankful he had been blissfully ignorant of the politics awaiting him. But it seemed like one of those problems for future him to worry about had finally come home to roost.

Even after all this time, the initial messages were still there, waiting for his attention. But it wasn't all bad. When he discovered that he was able to collect the gift offerings despite the potential meetings being withdrawn in the following messages he couldn't help but giggle to himself. It seemed like the old system operated under the rule of 'no take backs' when it came to gifts sent as tribute. Obviously, the initial fees had already been paid, but by withdrawing the messages, the factions avoided ongoing costs for attempting to contact a faction that was most likely dead from their perspective.

Coop kept every single message, refusing to dismiss any of them until he had met with his advisors. The list of notifications seemed like something they should definitely record as they made their own dossiers on the different groups within the galactic community. Such information might actually change their initial plans, so he accepted the responsibility of personally relaying the messages.

As he scrolled through and looted his inbox, he caught himself shaking his head. They had received all sorts of weird stuff. A significant portion were the kinds of material goods that would have helped him personally get stronger within the old system. Judging by the variety of goods, it seemed like the other factions didn't want the individual they intended to bribe to somehow be overthrown.

Consumables and equipment embellishments were chief among the presents, but there was nothing that he viewed as truly overpowered. Compared to some of the artifacts gifted to Chosen in the beginning of the assimilation they would only grant minor bonuses. It seemed like no faction would willingly boost a rival too far, preferring to throw powerful items away on lottery ticket Chosen of their own faction than grant them directly to a different faction, no matter their standing.

Earth's technology was a bit beyond most of what he was dumping into their coffers, but he was sure their material scientists could come up with cool things after he passed the items along. Coop had personally amassed enormous hoards of strange treasures on his many hunts. What was he supposed to do with things like Jagged Metal Teeth or Blight Fangs? That had been a question posed to all sorts of researchers, and eventually different materials had found uses once again.

It had been explained to him that the various random materials actually represented portions of solidified mana that maintained combinations of affinity. Even if crafting was no longer as simple a process as collecting 10 Stealth Scales and combining them into a cloak with a system designated profession, various projects were basically accomplishing the same thing after years of experimentation, often with an extra step that involved some manual labor. The mana from 10 Stealth Scales could be infused into a specific type of weave to craft the same cloak that would have been provided by the previous system, and it wouldn't come with the tech restrictions baked into the galactic community.

Earth's new civilization had been developing with a fusion between proven techniques shared by the contracted aliens and recreating the innovation of human technology with mana itself. From that perspective, Coop found himself feeling a bit excited about the collective prizes that had been waiting for the end of their assimilation, hoping that something among them would provide a breakthrough or two. If nothing else, there was a massive variety flooding their storage from. They would have examples of materials from all across the galaxy to investigate.

Other offerings seemed to be pieces meant for display. They were items that would provide activatable buffs when touched or passive auras to a certain space, but to Coop most of it seemed like abstract alien art. He thought they were the most interesting of the things that could have been sent, simply for their bizarre looks. Rather than a temporary boost, the figures and idols could provide small long term benefits even if it was just for the exotic aesthetics. Compared to raw materials, he viewed the permanent pieces as more thoughtful.

But there were also some exceedingly questionable offerings among the messages as well. The frivolity of investigating the gifts soured quite a bit when he realized many of them were actually live contracts for real beings. Some factions chose to offer workers with specialties they thought might please a potential ally, assuming some things Coop didn't quite like about the nature of his leadership.

He set those aside while he rode the train. As soon as he was in a more appropriate place, he would accept them all, cancel their contracts, and offer new ones. Unlike the contracts he had bought out in the past, the penalties would be assigned by the Lighthouse. That meant there wouldn't be any weird consequences other than the contractors themselves suddenly being placed under the care of Ghost Reef. If they were expendable enough to their previous factions to be sacrificed to an unknown newcomer, he figured living on Earth would be a massive improvement to their situations, but he would have to let them decide for themselves.

The fact that he was able to claim any of the rewards was actually something of a surprise, but there was some irrationality with the way the Lighthouse was considered an official faction within the galactic community. The core shard was on an unintegrated planet and any member would basically no longer exist within their system, yet the Lighthouse as a whole entity was still recognized. Coop had yet to fully realize the consequences of their strange standing, not quite Exiles, but also unrecognized by the society built by the old system. That was one of the many areas they intended to explore as they expanded their reach into space. So far, it just seemed like their contact number had been delisted after their initial introduction to the community. If there were more penalties, they had not been revealed just yet.

Stolen novel; please report.

Coop overcame the distraction of potential alien newcomers and started focusing on another type of tribute: credits. One prize stood out among the others, provided by an individual instead of a faction. Someone called Zalanth had donated a sum that dwarfed all others by many orders of magnitude. Coop had to stop and count the zeroes, then reconsider his entire understanding of the economics of the galactic community. More than a trillion credits from a single individual when the most any faction was willing to give was in the hundred thousands, and the ones that demanded he pay, only asked for tens of thousands, perhaps in consideration of their newness. The millions they had already won from successfully defending against war declarations had seemed like an incredible fortune, but now, not so much.

Credits had become the currency used within the Lighthouse as well, since it was easy enough to recreate the measurements and have it backed by the mana in their civilization shard. Still, even as an entire faction, they hadn't quite accumulated as much as this Zalanth person had willingly gifted to him in particular. He spent the rest of the train ride quietly contemplating the insanity of riches this person had prepared, wondering why they had gone so far compared to the rest.

He was still wondering about Zalanth as he walked through the massive blast doors that had been carved into the exterior of the Ark. Hundreds of people were flowing from the nearby community, blending with the commuters, as they all entered the solidified mana-covered spaceship to discover on behalf of the faction.

The inside of the Ark was buzzing with activity, as usual. Nothing had changed since he visited before they launched ships into space. Though the Ark was larger than a city itself, it had been portioned out into countless research and development fields and offices, primarily concentrated on the outer edges and up and down the tower in the center. Lights from the active departments made it feel like he had walked into an incredibly large planetarium, and he took a moment to admire the panoramic view. It felt completely different than it had when he first broke in with Lyriel and Palisteon.

Receptionists simply welcomed him inside when he was ready. Rather than assuming he knew what he was doing, it was more like he was allowed to go anywhere and do anything he wanted. If he needed guidance they were there, but otherwise he wasn't interrupted.

An internal tram system guided people back and forth from the edges to the center at excessive speeds made possible only thanks to mana. By experimenting with the teleportation system and the runes providing entry and exit points, they had created vessels that might actually cross the galaxy, assuming they had recognizable destinations. In the meantime, the developments were applied to Earth instead.

Massive holograms presented the current primary projects of the Lighthouse, each awe inspiring in their own way. The principal space station was undergoing rapid construction with all the materials that had been launched beyond their atmosphere. Soon it would be aligning itself with the Ark in geosynchronous orbit. If all went well, a new teleportation system would be created from the Ark Tower all the way to space. Future launches would take place from there, saving on the energy necessary to escape from Earth's gravity by teleporting material and personnel directly into orbit.

Then there was a ship carrying both humans and phantoms already orbiting the moon with experimental Lighthouse buoys, preparing for a landing. Unmanned drone scouts were approaching the moons of Jupiter, having used more experimental tech than even the trams, seeking any sign of the galactic community within their solar system as they went. And finally, the fully manned Mars ship was making steady progress on silent stealth energy provided by large solar sails adapted from Lyriel's descriptions. As grim as it was, the mission to Mars was insurance against the unknown dangers lurking beyond their understanding. Coop was sure people all across the planet were currently watching on their personal displays with rapt attention, but he headed for the command level, carrying information of his own.

News of his arrival moved even faster than the ships. It only took a few minutes to gather people to hear what he had to share in a private conference room at the top of the tower. The walls paid homage to the hexagonal patterns that once dominated the ship, utilizing a fusion of the alien material and human alloys that was more aligned with earth's advancements than the unknown in the cosmos.

After he summarized the messages, they decided on a simple manual list for them to then pull from. A giant holographic board eventually held the name of every faction that had reached out, along with what they offered or demanded, and the initial sentiment the Lighthouse held toward them.

"These 40 factions have messages that have remained active this entire time?" Jones observed, having arrived later on in the process, quickly reviewing the enormous spreadsheet on a personal tablet. "That must have been expensive."

Balor grumbled. "Some of those are pretty impossible to ignore…"

"Our preliminary investigations indicate that many of them are considered rivals of each other as well." Arthur pointed out. "Aside from the Blessed Mau Collective and The Pack, there are also factions representing the demonic and undead alliances, the mechanical union, and the largest insectoid colonies." He glanced over at Coop. "You must have piqued the interest of some real powerhouses."

"Come on, that can't be my fault, can it?" Coop asserted, but all he received were shrugs and averted eyes. "Really?"

Jones ultimately came to his rescue. "I can vouch for Collegia Universal, at least. They seemed particularly interested in exactly the type of information our continued existence will reveal to the galactic community. I'd be willing to meet with them as a liaison, if necessary. Frankly, I'd be surprised if they weren't already keeping some secrets they had uncovered in the past about the nature of assimilations. We might be able to persuade them to share."

Neon was nodding along with the suggestion. "They are also among the cheapest to respond to. That's quite thrifty of you Doctor Jones. Compared to the Blessed Mau Collective, we'll save billions in credits for just sending a message."

Balor still seemed uneasy. "Honestly, the bigger factions might take offense if you neglect them for too long."

"That's their fault for being so expensive." Coop argued. "We can just pretend we couldn't afford it." He tilted his head toward Platinum. "We'll slap 'em around if they don't like it, right?"

She nodded confidently while Balor winced in imagined pain.

"Please, no slapping during first contact with aliens." Neon suggested.

"For now, it doesn't matter." Marcus guided the conference in a different direction. "Until we have sufficiently established our foothold, secured our sector of space, and advanced our tech safely to our projections, we shouldn't be contacting anyone."

"I agree." Neon seconded. "Our plans can continue as they are, though we can start developing specific targets much earlier than anticipated. We have no idea how the system will respond once we start meddling in its backyard."

Madison had been unusually quiet, observing the meeting in her lab coat, but she offered her insight as well. "We should call up the people who were sponsored by these factions as well. The master list only had brief impressions, but knowing that we've been contacted might spark some additional ideas."

"In the meantime, can we accept all these contracts?" Coop wondered.

"Absolutely." Marcus confirmed, then pressed a button that summoned a phantom to guide Coop to an empty bay that was being readied for an influx of aliens.

When Coop arrived, there were hundreds of residents already waiting for him, including several of the original contracted aliens. They were in groups of three, each prepared to run through prepared procedures for onboarding newcomers. In a way, it reminded him of the early days of growing Ghost Reef, except a bit more professional and a lot more aware of their place in the universe. Any malefactors would be isolated and filtered out. All the rest would have all the information necessary to make an informed decision toward their futures with the Lighthouse.

Satisfied with the preparations, Coop went through the messages one by one. Bodyguards, housekeepers, entertainers, and crafters who had been stuck in limbo, assigned to the ghost of a faction still in the process of assimilation were welcomed instead of immediately being put to work. He could sense how jarring the situation was, especially since there was nothing about the Ark or the members of the Lighthouse who greeted them that matched the image of a backwater planet they had anticipated.

They were received in a location more technologically advanced than anything they had ever seen before. The people who greeted them were far more powerful and organized than they could have imagined. And rather than being exploited, they were being offered refuge if they needed it.

With them, the first batch of aliens were granted the freedom represented by the Lighthouse. It was clear they would need an extensive transitional period before they were completely comfortable with what was happening, but through the guidance of the aliens that had joined from the start, their integration would be smooth enough.