Grave Orbits

Conundrum and Esoterica
  • ٠٫٠ (٠)
  • خيال علمي

A non-linear, Sci-Fi flash fiction audio drama set 7.8 billion years in the far future known as The Continuum. Come explore.

  1. Bonus Ep. 2. - Legacy

    ١٧ مايو ·  إضافة

    Bonus Ep. 2. - Legacy

    [Transcript] Power. I need more power. The accretion disk could work. I would need to repair the solar cells. I don’t have enough energy left for that and a record given the rate of decay I’m currently experiencing. The record is more important. They need to know what happened. What could have been. It started when all the outposts began going dark along the Harbinger Void. The Sages pulled all deployed Emulants from the frontier, the elder terminal combing back through the records. The Network's skepticism couldn’t stem the tide of panic sweeping over both galaxies towards our small Heaven on the parameter. Then, Nalgani technopaths arrived on our doorstep. They dragged an Emulant from their hold. Their data lace was inoperable. Several technicians performed a cyopsy on the cerebral husk remains. The results didn’t make sense. How could the senescence decay cycle already be on its second revolution? A Sage and a single node from the Network combed through the lateral storage archives. They found a-gah!-they found one from almost a billion years ago. From when the Third Coming had swept through Nadir. The signs were almost identical. It was happening again. We had approximately 10,000 years to prepare before the encrypted Martyrs reached us out in our dwarf galaxy. All dyson projects were reallocated. Energy consolidation and matter particle manufacturing were given extensive resources. Scouting efforts searched everywhere for a place to hide.  While they searched, we built. And built. And built. I remember my sense of awe at the sheer number of constructor forms. The generation ship-city, our salvation: Azertycus. But then it all went wrong. An Encrypted Martyr found us. Kill on site, but they managed to plant some kind of plague or curse before they were disintegrated. Cancerous data started spreading around the ground-zero point of the Martyr’s death. Quarantines were in place and holding, but if one Martyr found us, it wouldn’t be long before more showed up. The scouts had come back with some success. A small black hole within Paladin’s Burst. We could hide in the time dilation field until the Fourth Coming ended. No other sentient life there other than some burgeoning and primitive fungal organisms. The Network didn’t wait for a final report. It was time to move. Preparations to launch Azertycus were rushed. Mobs of plague stricken Emulants tried to force their way into the flying city-ship. I remember the horror, watching the throngs of wave-form tumor ridden bodies scrambling over each other to come with us. The other Sentinels obliterated them without hesitation. It was almost humanoid how things went wrong. The black hole was larger than we expected. Data carcinogens began cropping up inside Azertycus. Between the adjustments needed to keep the city-ship from falling into the event horizon and the Sentinels increasingly frantic efforts to quell the blighted portion of the population, an error was inevitable. I was on a patrol when I saw the tumors. Not on an Emulant. But on Azertycus’s drive core. The plague was a part of the city now. Engineers did their best, but unrest outside the control nexus spelled our doom. Crowds of the afflicted stormed the central hub, either out of a pursuit of fair treatment or the increasingly addled state of their minds. Analysis suggests it was likely both. A critical course correction for the ship failed to process during the chaos. Azertycus lilted towards the black hole. Then it was too late. Billions of us rushed to the escape shuttles. Maybe a hundred of us made it. I don’t have long. There’s a wave-form tumor on my left-axial limb. The power drain rate is…terminal. A parsec away, I can see it still, our beautiful city, our once salvation slowly churning to ash under the beating of the accretion disk. The remains plummet into the event horizon, fading from view as time warps them beyond any recognition. It couldn’t have been a marvel. It could have been-been-been-been…

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  2. 2.13 - Lights of Fridjardin

    ١٢ مايو

    2.13 - Lights of Fridjardin

    [Transcript] The Fridjardin Lightway is a cluster of systems about 3 lightyears long. Too short to bother using an Odo Lens or metaphysic diaphragm. Neutrino substrates are frowned on there by the residents. Never met one myself. They’re said to be like comets, long flowing trains of ice and metal dust in their wake. The Lightway is dense with almost 4,000 systems packed into such a small stretch of the Continuum. But for how crowded it can be, it's quiet. A gentle wash flows over the traditional coms. I’m taking a Lamorae to the other side to meet family of theirs. We lay out the hours reclining in the pilot and co-pilot seats, watching the glow of greater things drift by outside. Lamorae says they're nervous about the meeting. Lamorae hatch from egg sacks that grow along the length of a central placental vine. I don’t pretend to understand how that works, but from what I’ve gathered, those closest to them when they emerge are a bit like siblings. My Lamorae friend hadn’t seen theirs in some time. Got stranded in the Lecodran Quadrant during the Cymolgyt Civil War. Made travel difficult and first chance they got they wanted to head back home. I said it would likely be fine. Family should understand if something you can’t control’s got you hold up some place. The Lamorae rubbed their mandibles together. Sure, but you never know. I shrugged. That’s all you can hope for. What about you? The Lamorae asked. Family?  Outside at this speed, the accretion disk of a black hole whizzes by. I watch it fade into the distance, remembering how time gets all mangled once you get close to the event horizon. You lose track of how fast things are going. You get separated, cut off even if you didn’t plan it. But gravity, like time, moves us whether we want it or not. We get to the end of the Lightway. Lamorae’s sibling comes out to meet them. They’ve got rows of faded blue baleen instead of the red of my passenger had. They say goodbye and I watch them go, two people together in the whole universe. I look back at the rich stretch of stars in the Fridjardin. I think about how long I’ve been doing this. How long I’ve done it by myself. And I don’t know if I want to keep doing it that way anymore.

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  3. 2.12 - Grudges of Fellwhim

    ١٢ مايو

    2.12 - Grudges of Fellwhim

    [Transcript] Fellwhim Commune got wind of us finishing a job over in the Eadron Quadrant. . That abbot I gave a ride to way back when must have told them an abomination was loose in the Continuum. Not like I’m the only one. Hyperskiff drifters come blasting out of faster than light travel, their neutrino substrates hot on the scopes. Hamark takes co-pilot and Zery takes point on the reverse thermal accelerators on the back of the ship. Ruthin starts running in circles in the hold around her chrysalis, but no time to calm her down. The first trio of Hyperskiffs come in from linear Y fast and I have to hammer a stilted command into the console to duck the ship into a roll. Hamark gets fully integrated and I give him the stick. The Commune drifters open fire with Weak Force repeaters. One hit of those and the vitro-plastic steel will spontaneously alpha-decay under the strain.  We tuck into the Spectrum Nebula and that mistake hits us like a wall as a blistering scalpel of psychic energy slams into us. Ruthin is going more frantic but not time to worry about that. The Avantis Commune taught me a few things about cognitive duals and I managed to deflect the worst but, Shoals be damned, they must have an abbot or Creed Inquisitor on one of those hyperskiffs. Hamark and Zery are feeling it, too. Right up until Ruthin stops panicking and then goes stock still. The psychic pressure of the attack vanishes but the drifter’s hail fire from behind doesn’t let up.  It’s touch and go. A few scrapes from the repeaters but no hull breaches. Hamark’s busy with flying and I start plotting coordinates. Can’t get our celestial bearings in the nebula so I settle for the metaphysic diagram. I try a nerve request but get no response. Try again, but nothing. Hamark throws us into another roll and I tumble from the cockpit to trouble shoot. Down and towards the back where the vitro-plastic steel flowers cobalt-blue veins. The thrum cage beats irregularly. The organic and elemental vault where the diaphragm breaths is soaked in blood, a hemorrhage somewhere from one of the repeater shots. There’s no time for a better plan. I cut along one of my dorsal arms, pushing my fist into the thrum cage membrane. I feel it latch on, the cobalt rich blood inculcate into my body and my own vitality bleeds into it. The diaphragm gets more stable but I start seeing dark circles. I scream for Hamark to hit the nerve request one last time.

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  4. 2.11 - Sands of Tedriskeer

    ٩ مايو

    2.11 - Sands of Tedriskeer

    [Transcript] Zery’s more familiar with Morobian customs and rites than Hamark, Ruthin, or myself. Though, given Ruthin’s fallen back into hypernation, that ain’t sayin’ much. Zery says the Morobians are an adventurous type, brave, and courageous and all that. The one in the cargo hold is rechecking that suit of theirs for the fortieth time.  Morobian anatomy is mainly crystalized exodermis shielding the botanical membranes that make up their guts. I notice their suit ain’t got any slots for their wings. Gossamare things. Two sets that can beat faster than Pojket Jet Piston. Yep, no wing slots, but they do have a CO2 canister. Tedriskeer is half way out into the Drelneigh Quadrant. Bodaclorian Xenogeologists reckon its dune covered surface is from the aggressive winds and the merciless meteorite bombardment it gets on the other side of its star.  I release the metaphysic diaphragm and enter atmo above Tediskeer. You can see the vortexes sand from here. Beyond the wind and astroids, Tediskeer is dangerous for another reason. Those xenogeologists still aren’t sure why but something deep in the planet vibrates. The whole surface shifts and undulates to the rhythm, the sand melts into currents from the oscillations. 30 meters from the shifting sands, our Morobian pal hooks their safety line into the fuselage with one hand, checks their CO2 with their other, finally tightening their equipment belt with the third. They raise a hand in a fist: go time. Cargo bay hatch drops. Morobian doesn’t even look, just leaps, the sitrisine cable scratching as it reels out. Hamark’s colony synthesizes a telescopic eye. Through it we all watch as our friend makes the planet fall. And then dives into the sands. The cable reels out fast. Too fast. The spindle thins aggressively. We wait. Then…it catches. Moments pass. And all at once the ground below our hover gives way, emptying into a massive concave bowl. At the center is our friend atop some construct. At it’s center is a massive tangle of what look like feathers vibrating to beat back the sands. We reel in the Morobian. As they stumble back on board and we put par secs between us and Tedriskeer, I see our friend clutching something. A small statue. Humanoid. Child-like. A figure encased in volcanic tephra.

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  5. 2.10 - Void of Secrets

    ١ مايو

    2.10 - Void of Secrets

    [Transcript] The Methagor Dwarf Galaxy lies about 650,000 light years up linear-y from Apotheosis. Dexikai home world, Dexes, is on the far rim. Zery managed to sweet talk us a job from the Termescash Conclave. They’re trying to establish a new fulcrum diode that goes out beyond the Kedder Void, beyond the Fubrosis Supercluster. The job would take us further away from home than I’ve ever been. We stocked provisions, I sent some final messages to Tod’rish Scar and a few other friends. Hamark left some data packets for his Orware family and Zery wrote a synth entry to her mother. She was sad she might never see the weavers on Hakelm Adi again. But a job’s a job. Termescash Conclave gave us an antique Odo lens. The Seraphim cornea they sculpted it from still had the nictitating membrane over the iris. The antique lens would let us jump straight into the Kedder Void for the survey work. Tasks were simple enough. Take their measurements, collect density data from the void, investigate and dwarf galaxies or other celestial bodies. And then come back. I dipped my hand into Hamark’s micro-colony, Zery’s silken fingers giving my other a squeeze before I set the lens telemetry. Way. Way out there. Into the dark we went. We track our orientation with precision. Most reference Em waves are too redshifted to be of any use to get back otherwise. It’s empty. Blank. A black, velvet sweep of nothingness in all directions for 436 million lightyears. We hurry to get the job done, eager to return to the rest of the Continuum where there’s life, light, and an assurance you are not utterly isolated from the rest of the universe. We’re wrapping the last of the density survey data when Hamark sees something on the scopes. It’s thin maybe no more than 6-10 centimeters wide. But it is long, stretching well beyond sensor or psychic range and off into the null vacuum nothingness. A job’s a job. So we follow it deeper into the void. It goes on and on. Hamark takes exact telemetry notes each time we use the lens to follow this surreal filament deeper into the darkness. At one point he notes it's almost 200 million light years long. And still it stretches before us. We pause, closing in on the strand to get a better look, giving up trying to find the end. Up close it’s a string of nanoscopic beads chained together with the strangest data lacing I’ve ever seen. And there’s something else. Power. 10^40 joules worth of energy flowing through these intergalactic cables. From where to what? We don’t stick around to find out.

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  6. 2.09 - Avatar of Adnexos

    ٢٨ أبريل

    2.09 - Avatar of Adnexos

    [Transcript] Zery and I were looking for another crew member.  Startin’ to feel the strain of only the two of us doing jobs. Met a Gahjavian while working for the Commune of Obdrin. Poor bastards still trying to save their Wrot. Zery bets it won’t last another millennium. I give them another hundred years. Obdrin Commune had us going towards the galactic heart of Apotheosis. Said there was a genus of beings there who might have a way to save their Wrot. Commission had a handsome reward through Apotheosis’s heart is a devil to navigate. Gahjavian said they could do it for us. We’d need the help to make it. Density of solar masses and interstellar medium at the heart means no metaphysic diaphragm and no Odo lenses to jump in close. Gotta lean on your neutrino substrate. And pray. Amid the hyper-density, a wicked, wide arch comes through the viewport. A lopsided ring a lightyear across. And it’s alive. Something starts gumming up the outside of the ship. Thick film of organic matter which I didn’t think was possible in this part of the galaxy. They grow gills, indusium veils weave over the surface of our ship which yank us towards the ring.  The super-structure perspires droplets into space but the distance and sheer size are deceptive. We get closer and those droplets are planets. Deliquescent maturations of the larger fungal gleba. And it is fungal. The organic membrane around the ship seeps through the Oganesson-Titanium seals holding the vitro-plastic steel together. Zery and I duck into the sarcophagus but our Gahjavian navigator is too slow. Invading mycelial veins grab them. Mycorrhiza threads plait through their exoskeleton and then they grow still.  I hear the ship land. After a few hours, Zery cracks the sarcophagus lid. It’s been hauled from the ship. Prototaxite stems nine meters tall surround us, the Gahjavian encrusted into the trunk of one. As we stir, so do they, their torso breaking off from the coniferous prototaxite, effluvial fluid gushing from the hole they leave behind. The fungal avatar of our former crewmate stands expectant. We explain why we’ve come here. No, they have nothing for this dying Wrot far away. Death doesn’t seem to be something they understand. And so, with no say in the matter, we’re ushered back out into space, empty handed, the Gahjavian still tethered to the strange fungal ring world in the galactic center.

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  7. 2.08 - Gates of Phet

    ١٩ أبريل

    2.08 - Gates of Phet

    [Transcript] Tritium barnacles don’t come off vitro-plastic steel easy but the commission from the Escathai was too good to pass up. Ship is docked on the dorsal side of their Reef Leviathan for the time bein’. They needed navigation help gettin’ around the Lorn Supercluster. Something I just so happen to be uniquely qualified for. We take a wide arch around the it but that has the unfortunate consequence of steering us close to the Gates of Phet. Doorway to the Dominium Vitae of the Herlochti. Been there as long as I can recall and ain’t never met anyone or anything can remember a time the Gates didn’t stand looming over the Drawt Nebula at their feet. Escathai use Odo Lenses exclusively so we jump as close as I dare to the Gates before taking the next few cycles to double check my sightings before jumping us out. Hamark had never seen ‘em before but they ain’t much to look at. A three by three by five grid of perfect cubes each of them exactly one light-year in each dimension. No one’s sure if there are any Herlochti left. The few celestorians and Segathi Trance Seekers have recorded seem drawn uncontrollably to the Gates of Phet. One of the few thousand or so known entities the viral vector of human cognizance can’t attach itself to. They move by fractal, the passage of time flowing through their bodies is what lets them reposition themselves. They can be made of just about anything, the pattern bein’ what really gives ‘em life. Phet is a kind of afterlife, from what I hear. A realm constructed of pure psyche like the Mythosphere is for humanoids. Except time doesn’t seem to exist there. Our only external account comes from the Wrot Kelemandias who tried to force their way through the Gates of Phet about two and a half billion years ago. It’s no mean thing to kill a Wrot, but that did. The commune was tapped into their psychic stream the moment Kelemandias breached the Dominium Vitae barrier. What lays beyond is immutable, permanent, fixed for all eternity extending into the past and present. In Phet time doesn’t exist. Rest, I’d guess, from the never ending stream the rest of us must endure.

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  8. 2.07 - Corals of Badacamsana

    ١٤ أبريل

    2.07 - Corals of Badacamsana

    [Transcript] Badacamsana is not a friendly place if you don’t know what you’re about. A Sckelian’s been talking us up to transport a Kedash Monolith for a friend of his there. Hamark is back on Plaxis so it was just Zery and I on the scout to see if the delivery was even possible. Badacamasana lies between three white dwarfs. Celestorian out of Falomorgon hitched along for the ride out. The Badacamsanese tell a legend of an angel breaking through the oneiric plane, their dark world at the end of tendrils of light and data placed at the precise center of the three stars. Balanced impossibly in the midst of the three celestial bodies.  Seems there’s debate about this in celestial circles. Falomorgian’s come out to settle a bet from the sound of things with a Vikoorite colleague of theirs. Vikoorite says the angel in the story is a Seraphim at its peak back between the 1st and 2nd coming. That would make Badacamsana real old. The Falomorgian thinks that’s unlikely. Cognitive decay scales with size and temporal dissonance and xeno-ontologists don’t see that in the Badacamsanese. What are they like? Zery asks, cuttin’ into the Falomorgian’s tellin’. He lets out a humorous thrum from their mucus membranes. We’ll see for ourselves. I almost don’t believe it on the scopes. Badacamsana is massive. Any bigger and it’d collapse into a star. Nitro and hydrogen rich. Almost nothing but. Ain’t any far orbit stations. Falomorgian puts a mandible on the controls, and angles straight down. Pressure gets thick. I have to stack pharaoh charms on the diaphragm to keep us from getting crushed. I almost don’t have enough. Clouds around us get colder, denser. Soon we’re moving through supercritical chlorine with odd shapes floating in the supercritical expanse. Then lights in the X-ray spectrum. Brilliant sellels and washed out letops, colors outside the 380-750 range. Caustics float over corals made from hyper compressed polymerized nitrogen. Sculpture architecture hewn from metallic hydrogen-neon lattices. I-I ain’t ever seen anything like it. Badacamsanese come out to meet use, tubular, liquid beings made from synth-organic compounds normalized at this pressure. Ultra-violet pulses like constellations ring out from a group. I looked at our Falomorgian. They ain’t got a mouth but I hear a smile in their voice. What’s going on? I ask. They’re saying hello, he says.

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A non-linear, Sci-Fi flash fiction audio drama set 7.8 billion years in the far future known as The Continuum. Come explore.

المعلومات

  • صناع العمل
    Conundrum and Esoterica
  • سنوات النشاط
    ٢٠٢٦
  • الحلقات
    ٣٥
  • التقييم
    ملائم
  • حقوق النشر
    © Conundrum and Esoterica
  • موقع البرنامج على الويب
    Grave Orbits