Credible Prime

War!

"War!" Pol cried.  " It's war that they will conjure up!"

He was pacing up and down the gangway of the bridge, hands clasped behind him and his head bowed in thought. Through the viewport he could see the wreckage of Kalus in the distance, knowing that his prize was there somewhere among that mess. Soon the armada would lay waste to the planet and he was none too eager to make the call to fire.  His energy was dark and his face glared with an anger and an intention that surprised even his crew. When Pol set his mind to something, it was as good as done. He hadn't become who he was through mercy, understanding, or empathy.  He became who he was through the ruthless attention to detail.  Tenacity didn't even begin to describe him.   His motions were furious and urgent.  He glided back and forth like his feet weren't even touching the deck.  And in a nefarious sort of way he possessed grace of movement. There was an aristocracy about his villainous demeanor. 

The ensign was silent, almost meek. But somehow his behavior spoke volumes about the nature of what was happening.  His family on Kalus was the only thing on his mind now.  Getting a port path to the Hammerlight would ensure their escape past the armada.  If and when it was discovered however that he was the one who sent it, he would surely be executed. With the weight of his family's fate on his shoulders, with sweat beading on his brow and his heart exploding in his chest,   he transmitted the coded message.  He watched with angst as the monitor flickered with code and the transmission bar slowly filled in green.  Within moments the Hammerlight would have the port path needed to escape the armada and treason would save his family.

As the armada energized, as ships arrived in preparation for Kalus's destruction ( it took the armada time to uplink and coordinate firepower) the battle raged in an orbital showdown. Chase ships obliterated floating debris, carving a safer path for a landing party to reach the inner sanctum of Kalus.  The backup plan had always been a ground assault if, for some reason, the armada failed to do its job.   Destroying the planet would ensure that piece of Kalfate's puzzle would be lost; the riddle and its prize untouched.  Maybe Kalfate itself was amidst the chaos of this floating wasteland and would be annihilated in the attack.

When the Vast was the Void, Kalfate was: The conscience of existence, the sublight particles that pop in and out of existence, the infinitesimally small chaos that, together, makes up the essence of being.  In these quarks and photons existed Kalfate as an idea, stored as data among the quantum mechanics of the universe. It was not just an idea but a quantum level of knowledge.  It was what knowledge would be if it was self-aware. That's what Kalfate was.  And is.  And both is and was and also isn't.  The Yend saw this kind of organic connection as proof that solely science and Pragmata chart the path of creation.  Seekers see the conscience of Kalfate as the Divine answer, as if Kalfate is itself the spontaneous living, thinking creator.  Kalfate feels and doesn't feel. Kalfate is chance and also certainty.  It's a sentiment that is  arbitrary and also isn't disembodied , for that which carries Kalfate carries the promise of immortality.  So Kalfate is passed from one to another and the brotherhood which protects the Kalfate at the time are the Mercs of Kalfate, standing steadfast in protection and continuation of the secrets. Because this much is known and still exhausts the most brilliant of minds across the vast: Kalfate remains enigmatic, full of interpreted definitions, opinions and assumptions. And that connective ethereal tissue through the fabric of existence sometimes finds conduits that are hyper tuned to Kalfate.  Sometimes those entities receive such a strong Beacon that it changes them inside and causes them to pursue the truth across the stars to worlds that are encrusted with every last piece of refuse.