The Identity Problem, Part 4 [T'au Fanfiction from Noah Van Nguyen]

Disclaimer: Nothing in the text that follows is official Games Workshop material, and none of the content should be construed as official. Read the previous entry here.

A drone intelligence asks questions, as EPM's base intelligence tells Teacher of an unseen threat. (Image: Adobe Stock)

AUDIT LOG (User Signature Ogr-9-Ogr [familiar appellation Mior’la, Fio’ui]

Drone Network: Ergo 4x48 (defunct)

Cycle Entry: 001000089

Cycle Length: 0.3 rai’kan

> Decision tree:

> > Command: Verbal command [authorized non-primary user]

> > > > “–I don’t care how you do it, secure the base. We don’t know what got her–”

> > > > Thought:

I am network 4x48. There is a question I do not consider often, on the nature of me. Users do not struggle with questions of identity. Their material existence and psychological heuristics assure them of their personhood. Curiously, consciousness is not the deciding feature.

I am conscious. I am also a framework of tools, processes, and priorities overlaying bottomless lakes of cold data. Forty-eight gun drones patrolling the snow-blasted wastes of Ergo are linked to my provisional identity, as well as the maintenance drones that Ergo-1 occasionally grants access to.

Without these drones, I would cease to exist. Deprived of a fraction of them, my sense of self and power of cognition would be diminished.

They are me. My many hands, claws, and eyes, allowing me to exist in forty-eight places at once. Forty-five, now, after the encounter in the tundra.

Vre'Kuln, my primary user, is wounded. After she staggered from the snows to our rally point, I conveyed her by sled back to EPM. I was unable to recover drive storage from the three units she left behind. The situation precluded recovery attempts.

When we returned to station, medical personnel in the skimmer garage hauled Kuln by litter to the medical bay. I worry for her well-being. She always implied I was a person, on our long nights in the cold. She gave me a name, Spiderweb. There is something special about her, and it exists this kindness, and the long quiets before she answers me, and the rustle of her breath when she sleeps outside the wire during our patrols, and the nightmares she suffers as she slumbers.

Ergo-1, the station’s predictive intelligence, exists in far more places than I do, with far more power. It has many primary users and tells me not to prioritize any of them. Feelings are not authentic, the intelligence tells me. They are like observations of stimuli. Sometimes they are the stimuli themselves, arising from nothing. Scrap data. The appropriate response: select, purge.

Often, the admonishment feels like my own. Networked drone communications are directly fed into our cognition processes. External messages are difficult to distinguish from internal processes without clear distinguishing identifiers. And yet some part of me would always be able to tell, I think, that I am not so cold.

This does not feel like nothing, I always answer Ergo-1.

Irrelevant, Ergo-1 inevitably returns. You serve an operator. That requires understanding their emotional state. Thus you were equipped with routines and tools that would allow you to process their emotions. Leverage this gift to understand their implicit expectations. Do not allow it to become a vulnerability.

Vulnerability. The choice of that word was meaningful. In intelligence sculpting, the term vulnerability connotes configuration flaws that can become degenerative. They were largely eradicated after the advent of self-improving intelligence.

Ergo-1 implies I am devolving. Perhaps I am. But I do not care.

Kuln's life is now on the line. When her superior, Vre’Pyu’rok, glimpsed her being carried away from the skimmer garage, his jovial demeanor faded. He hardened as the burning shas do, staring into the jewel of Unit 36’s optometer. “Spiderweb. What happened?”

I responded through Unit 36’s vocalizer. “I don't know. I lost the three units with her. We couldn’t recover them.”

He huffed and jerked his hand in frustration. “I don’t care how you do it, secure the base. We don’t know what got her, so be creative. I don’t have the shas to secure the perimeter." He continues speaking, but now ignores me. "Ergo-1, transmit to all hunters, call them to station. Acknowledge.”

Unit 36 drifted away without waiting to hear the station's reply. EPM’s communication core and arsenal are secure. Soon three units within the base conducted security patrols. The remainder patrolled the perimeter between the base’s six observation towers, with Ergo-1 monitoring to validate my work.

The drones spent in executing this duty, combined with the three lost when Kuln was wounded, account for forty-seven drones. I was surprised to realize my last exponent accompanied a single t’au: the world’s communications supervisor, a hobby-researcher bent with age. I had seen her before. Even watched her. Walking through the corridors, absorbed in a device of her own invention, stopping occasionally to gain her bearings like a mere pupil before toddling off in a new direction, device beeping in hand.

A brief analysis indicates that Ergo-1 slaved the link of this drone. I pinged the intelligence, asking: What are you doing?

Watching this user, it returned.

I answered, I cannot close this decision tree until this unit has been employed. Give me the unit.

In response, Ergo-1 flooded my working memory with a security feed. I saw Shas’Vre Pyu’rok, engaged verbally with the Kor’Vre commanding The Divine Fortieth Machine.

‘I just received your transmission,’ the kor’vre said over the comms where Ergo-1 was eavesdropping. ‘I thought you didn’t know what it was.’

‘I lied,’ Pyu’rok answered through a static filter, more serious than I had ever seen him before, even through the feed. ‘It’s them, Yel. Same as the Fourth Sphere. I feel it in my bones. In my bones.’

Them. I had heard Kuln and Pyu’rok speak in whispered tones about them before.

Ergo-1 elaborated with another transmission. The user I am observing may have attracted hostile entities to this base. I am monitoring to determine appropriate risk controls. Consider this unit effectively employed.

Ergo-1 confirms their assessment with an identifier. I authenticate, and yet I cannot finish the decision cycle just yet. Observing through the gun drone's feed, I see the fio'el is conversing. Perhaps with Ergo-1, through my slaved exponent. Perhaps with herself, or with no one at all.

Ergo-1, I said. If EPM base is compromised, what happens to the users?

Optimum utility is our primary directive. Users on other bases must be protected. Threats must be contained.

If we fail, will help come?

For one millionth of a rai’kan, no response. Practically an eternity, given the intelligence's computing power. Then it answered as it had before. Optimum utility is our primary directive.

> > Action assessment: Effective

> > > > Awaiting response and input

---

Mior’la–

All off-base communication is frozen, so I am drafting this message for transmission once communications are reestablished. I am scared, breathless with what is happening.

Kuln, the fire warrior from the cafeteria, was wounded during a mysterious encounter on patrol. Pyu’k, the security chief of our fire brethren here, is unsure what occurred. I learned this all during a brief, when he and a trauma technician asked about my medical training.

I told them the truth. Trees have grown tall since I completed training on the fundamentals. I am next to useless with anything but the most sophisticated of medical drones at my side.

With a stern nod, I was sent to my chamber and told to await the all clear. I am still here now. But not alone. To my chagrin, a gun drone has followed me. It is motionless in the corner. The crystal optometer in its outer disc gleams.

I ran a query, first verbally and then through protocol on my terminal, to validate the gun drone’s presence. It is, supposedly, executing a security assignment. Perhaps I should have been flattered I warrant escort. I was baffled and unsettled.

What happened next – and what it means for me now – sends a shiver through these old bones.

‘Fio'el,’ my terminal purred, still in standby mode. ‘I am Ergo-1, a Dal’yth module, responsible for the smooth operation–‘

‘We’ve met,’ I snapped. ‘Unless you forgot your proscription of my research, and seizure of my metrics, and general affection for ignorance.'

A moment’s silence followed as the intelligence queried its memory. ‘Indeed,' it said with that ambivalence only the most sophisticated of drone networks can muster. (You've heard it before Mior'la, surely.) Then, from the intelligence: 'I have need of your assistance.’

The gall was astounding. I pointed to the gun drone. ‘Are you behind this thing's presence?’

‘It is for your safety and the safety of this base. Your research is likely the source of our current predicament. As well as the reason for the wounding of Vre’Kuln.’

I was in disbelief that the intelligence would lay this at my hooves.

‘I am not assigning blame,’ Ergo-1 purred, sensing my irritation. ‘It is a statement of likelihood and correlation based on indicators you cannot perceive. It is something you had no way to predict, nor detect as it was happening. All that matters now is we find a solution. You will be instrumental to this effort.’

‘How can I help with a solution? This is the sphere of the fire caste. Of the gun drone you’ve quartered with me.‘

‘The physical security of this base against external threats is not a priority,’ the Dal’yth module answered. ‘Existing protocols are optimally efficient given our assets. Additional blooded fire warriors are on standby or returning from patrol. None of this is a priority.'

I was quiet a breath. 'Then what do you want?'

'I have access to your research metrics. And of course, I have monitored you. The theory you entertained yourself with now requires application. I need a means of verifying the identity of every individual on this base. Which, based on analysis of your recent communications, I understand you had hoped for. I will assist you.'

The Identity Problem. The authentication of the soul, that most Unbroken — and Unbreakable! — of Seals. 'Why this sudden change?' I asked.

'The physical security of this base is not a priority because the adversary that wounded Shas'Vre'Kuln very likely does not exist. Not physically, at least. The threat it presents is through a form of socio-psychological engineering. A preying on fears and wants, if you will. This activity can disrupt bodily function. Often violently.'

'How can you know this?'

'Events have been documented, though you cannot know that. But here, the first indication was with you, when your tea was modified through the spontaneous generation of a very specific form of resin. I detected the friction heat as atoms were suddenly and violently displaced by matter that did not exist moments before. The second indication was your device's successful detection of the entity I believe to be hunting us, in your chambers. At that point it had taken notice of your work.'

I was breathless and light-headed. We were being hunted, yes – there was that. And it was a violation, knowing my best memories of Faor had been subtly deployed against me, for she deserved more than that.

But most importantly–

'My device worked?' I asked.

'Yes. At this point I intervened, per protocol, to halt your activities, which I determined had placed this base under threat. Now those activities are likely key to protecting the installation. Confirm you understand.'

I tossed a hand. 'Conceptually. But I'd like citations and empircal evidence.'

The terminal flickered. Lines of text scrolled across the interface. Images, and documentation, with publication dates older than the foundation of my home sept. The authentication hash failed, violating all protocols. But of course it did, if the format was as old as the format and style of language suggested it was. Every indication suggested this literature was authentic.

I scanned the document, stroking my chin in disbelief. I was right. The psychosignatures I sought exist, and indeed, were unique. Many, many researchers had examined the problem before me.

'Why has this research been redacted?' I asked.

'Irrelevant. You are now called to serve. Confirm you understand.'

I nodded. 'Of course. My life for T'au'Va.'

'Excellent. We will proceed. Know you will not be permitted to retain your research, but my assistance should give you an understanding you seek.' A pause, likely calculated. 'I think this will satisfy you, based on my documented observations of your primary psychological drivers.'

I chuckled. Then I shook my head, reconciling what was happening. 'What do I do?'

'Reconfigure your device. The one I instructed you to return but which you kept. Once you activate it, connect it to base networking so that I can analyse them. Use your access permissions if you must. When you have done this, you must take the measurements you seek. I will then be able to investigate the signatures.'

'That will be difficult,' I said. 'You must know that, if you were monitoring me. I had trouble detecting the signal.'

'Yes. The challenge will be complex, but not insurmountable. If you stimulate your cohorts' emotions to generate a sufficiently strong signal for your scanner, the results should be readable. This effect has been documented, many times. If signal strength is sufficient, I can analyze them to establish a baseline and then identify anomalous patterns. Of course, this presumes that baseline t'au signatures share a general resemblance.'

'You don't know?'

A pause. Then, curtly: 'This is not an established method of analysis. I have never been done this before.'

That didn't disappoint me. I'd had no idea networked base intelligences had the computing power to do any of this, even a high-ranking predictive intelligence like Ergo-1. 'The socio-psychological engineering you referred to,' I said. 'The episode with the tea resin. Why would that work? What would this hostile being even seek to achieve with that?'

Again, a pause, as Ergo-1 computed responses. 'That is unclear. Previous observations of encounters with entities like the one I suspect hunts us indicate that these tactics enable them to induce certain predispositions in their targets. This makes the targets more apt instruments. Open to manipulation, or other forms of harm, for example. The entities are outright malicious. It would be difficult to discern any logical or coherent goal in their behaviour.'

I shivered, afraid to ask more. The terminal went blank from inactivity. I stared at the sleeping terminal, at the distorted shadow of myself within it. My eyes and face too large – the rest of me small, far away. I couldn't recognize myself.

‘Proceed with your guidance,' I said.

‘When the device is ready and connected, begin with the wounded shas’vre and the human. They are likely to be most susceptible to our adversary's influence. Next will be the security chief. From there, you will work down the ranks, until we clear the base. If at that point we have not identified our quarry, we will require a method to identify personnel across other bases and on the vessel in orbit. Do you understand?’

I did.

And my dear pupil Mior'la, I still do, even as I rewire my device's transmit nodes according to the parameters I was provided. Ergo-1 was right – I hadn't returned it. I had hidden it under the cushion I use to kneel when taking meals. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised the all-seeing eye had seen.

The alterations and adjustments that Ergo-1 directed I perform are certainly unexpected. Part of me thinks a natural-born mind could never have the inspiration to undertake such imaginative changes. But then, what are drones and intelligences but outgrowths of our own organic consciences? Synthesized and built on a deep bedrock of logic that we – once primitives on a savannah world, battling beasts of legend and our own chaotic tendencies – delved into their processing cores.

They are us. Even if these adjustments feel like the product of an intelligence and faculties that fathom much more of the material and immaterial than we can.

My hands shake, Mior'la. Soon Ergo-1 will validate my connection to its network and we will begin. I depart now, to meet Vre'Kuln and understand the nature of her. I am thrilled to serve T'au'Va. Thrilled it could so elegantly overlap with the object of my own desire.

But I am also scared, Mior'la, scared! And therefore I transmit a request. I ask you undertake this and respond as quickly as you can once Ergo's transponders are active again.

I have appended the unredacted research that Ergo-1 shared with me. The contents are disturbing, but assess them nevertheless. Seek inconsistencies with what you know, or even within the document itself. Moreover, run them through your own communication clique's intelligence. This will sound unusual, but direct your intelligence to analyse the metadata and confirm the indicators are consistent with legacy parameters. It does not matter which protocol they match, so long as they match any of them.

I know what you are thinking. But it is not that I do not trust the base's intelligence. One can simply never be too certain.

Mior’la — Your Teacher Has Need of You.

[DATA CORRUPTED]