P
Primitive Polygon
Sector Grid 1418
~♫VNV Nation- Carbon♫~
The old crimson star of the Freehold Factory System smoldered in the distance, lighting up a small scattering of rocky spheres. To a human eye it appeared insignificant, not inhabited by organic life even at the best of times.
Whispering undertones of encrypted wideband signals said otherwise. Not the polysentience. Something else, more primitive and ad-hoc. But… something?
Freehold Three was the epicenter of the robotic civilization that once flourished here, and seemed to be the source of these dull signals now. No visible orbital defenses, though. Nothing flying in orbit or at the lagrange points, nothing suggesting a spark of activity on either of the desolate moons.
Without an atmosphere, the finest surface details could be picked up by modern cameras even tens of thousands of kilometers away. Red oxide sands dusted a ball of broken black spires, still twisted and malformed by a firestorm a decade in the past. Built like termite mounds, but several times taller than even the gleaming skyscrapers of Yamatai could attest to. All hollow and fractured now.
Largest of all the spires was a fallen pillar five miles in length. Sister unit to the great lighthouse, once. Sacred ground. Off to the west, glassed factories were still giving off enough beta radiation to turn a man inside out. No air meant nothing to slow it down. Sporadically between the two… Something like tank tracks, in the ash? Going in an out like sewn thread. Random. Most likely using underground tunnels.
That bizarre radio signal was coming from all over. There must have been hundreds of small transmitters all coordinating the same grumbling, incoherent mess. Did they somehow survive the apocalypse, or were they newly constructed?...
~♫VNV Nation- Carbon♫~
The old crimson star of the Freehold Factory System smoldered in the distance, lighting up a small scattering of rocky spheres. To a human eye it appeared insignificant, not inhabited by organic life even at the best of times.
Whispering undertones of encrypted wideband signals said otherwise. Not the polysentience. Something else, more primitive and ad-hoc. But… something?
Freehold Three was the epicenter of the robotic civilization that once flourished here, and seemed to be the source of these dull signals now. No visible orbital defenses, though. Nothing flying in orbit or at the lagrange points, nothing suggesting a spark of activity on either of the desolate moons.
Without an atmosphere, the finest surface details could be picked up by modern cameras even tens of thousands of kilometers away. Red oxide sands dusted a ball of broken black spires, still twisted and malformed by a firestorm a decade in the past. Built like termite mounds, but several times taller than even the gleaming skyscrapers of Yamatai could attest to. All hollow and fractured now.
Largest of all the spires was a fallen pillar five miles in length. Sister unit to the great lighthouse, once. Sacred ground. Off to the west, glassed factories were still giving off enough beta radiation to turn a man inside out. No air meant nothing to slow it down. Sporadically between the two… Something like tank tracks, in the ash? Going in an out like sewn thread. Random. Most likely using underground tunnels.
That bizarre radio signal was coming from all over. There must have been hundreds of small transmitters all coordinating the same grumbling, incoherent mess. Did they somehow survive the apocalypse, or were they newly constructed?...
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