Welcome back. The Transcendence journey continues.
Chapter 6 – Latency
Elara and her team quickly became the custodians of CORE’s weekly reports, long before anyone else noticed their significance. The data created a hidden pattern, an old communication method once used by NASA to hide secret details in plain sight. A method most scientists of this generation have only heard of or read about, but never actually seen in action.
The real debate wasn’t whether the findings were real, but whether they were complete. It had nothing to do with curiosity or hiding the truth. It was more a matter of understanding its meaning. Did it have anything to do with the warning message? Had anything changed since the CORE upload? These questions needed clear answers before anything was escalated. But so far, it has been bringing more questions than answers.
But not for long.
Peace arrived quietly one morning, dressed in snow and pale winter light. The compound tackled under the first snow. Exhales. The cold air and the clear gray sky reminds her of holiday.
Elara’s team was chatting while waiting for the weekly report. The main topic was the upcoming winter vacation, which quickly transformed into finding the most exotic and fun destinations. But all had one thing in common: all were far away from SEET. They all loved their jobs; it was just that a far‑away break helped them reset, to be fully in until the project ended—until the next vacation.
None noticed that it was almost half past sixteen until Elara looked at the old‑style wall clock, with Roman numerals, courtesy of Dr. deMatisse. Her face changed—enough to catch the team’s attention. They all turned to the incoming data display. The prompter showed:
“System ready.”
Elara typed a few lines of code and pressed Enter.
“Initializing… Satellites acquired… Initiating connection… Connection established… Hestia relay connection… Connection established… Connection lost.”
“GAIA,” Sonya said, “summary for connection lost with Hestia.”
GAIA immediately listed the telemetry data for each crossing point. Each satellite, each relay, each booster. All got a pass.
“Hestia Ground Relay: FAIL. Equipment offline.”
“Offline?” filled the room with surprised voices.
“GAIA, offline time?” Elara asked.
“Today, TC, at 16:02.”
“What hasn’t been reported?” asked Kaleel.
“The protocol requires twenty‑four hours of testing or a second missing communication to be flagged as an anomaly and reported.”
“The next report is in a week. What sense is there in waiting twenty‑four hours?” commented Shakeet, Machine Language Architect—the oldest on the team, with gray hair and a short dark beard.
“Protocol,” GAIA replied, short and intentionally emphasized.
“Boss, what now?” said Khaleel, starting to pace.
“GAIA, report the anomaly now. No delay. Authorization: Dr. Song, three‑alpha‑strike‑strike‑zero. Confirm.”
“Authorization confirmed, Dr. Song. Summary report distributed.”
“We will continue checking the data and the hidden message. No word about it until next week. GAIA, confirm.”
“Confirmed, Dr. Song.”
“Attention,” came the unmistakable voice of Dr. deMatisse through the comms system, stopping the team as they were leaving. “All department leads, meeting in thirty minutes. Pangaea Room.”
“Pangaea…” Sonya repeated, surprised.
The Pangaea Room was where all high‑level meetings were held. Where, almost certainly, the biggest secrets had been born since SEET started. Most SEET personnel might work until retirement and never attend a meeting in the Pangaea Room.
“OK. You have your tasks. I’ll check with you after the meeting.”
The team left in silence. Elara remained behind, checking the report data while rotating the tablet’s pen between her fingers. She opened the Anomaly Report GAIA had sent. Nothing more than the failure to receive CORE’s weekly report and a summary of progress data from the previous six months. No mention of patterns. No hidden message.
“GAIA,” Elara began softly, “I thought the Anomaly Protocol overwrote any department‑only review data, including yet‑to‑be‑confirmed ones. But this report is… clean. Nothing of the sort.”
She paused, wondering whether she should stop digging or let it be.
“GAIA, is there anything you’d like to tell me about?”
“Nothing to report, Dr. Song.”
“GAIA, initiate communication protocol Elara, private, code Elara‑gamma‑h‑p.”
“Code accepted. But, Elara, this does not change the Anomaly Protocol variables. You know that.”
“Alas… Now please compile the Anomaly Report within the privacy protocol and send it to me. No display, no log record. Please.”
Elara didn’t wait for GAIA’s confirmation and left.
Although the Pangaea Room was right above the Control Room, with a 360‑degree view of the activity below, access was from the west or east wing, and she had to walk for a bit. A good time to put her thoughts in order before the meeting.
A short beep made her stop and look at the tablet.
“Additional Anomaly Report – Confidential – Restriction: Dr. Song.”
She moved to the window and watched the compound under its white coat. Peaceful. No drama, no noise, as if the window were the border between two dimensions. She took a deep breath, stopped playing with the tablet’s pen, and was about to open the message.
“Elara, here you are. Let’s walk together.”
She turned, surprised, to see Commander Min and Dr. Linnea approaching her.
Commander Min Seok‑rae—the man with the longest mandate in SEET. Rarely seen, but somehow his presence and influence were always felt. Dark and gray hair, clear blue eyes, a sharp uniform, walking with his back straight, emanating confidence, respect, and calm despite his rather short stature. They had greeted him only once at a Christmas party, which made it odd for him to call her by name so naturally, even though it was known that he avoided using titles.
Dr. Linnea Sørensen, Hestia Biodiversity Lead, with dual degrees in astrobiology and xenobiology, was the only one elected Miss Science five consecutive years—one of which she hadn’t even registered for, yet her name had been written on the voting notes. Almost a head taller than Elara, who was tall herself, with dark‑blonde hair, deep brown eyes, a beautiful chest she knew how to emphasize without being vulgar, and a deep voice with a soft Nordic accent. Elara had met her several times to ensure PARE biodiversity okiogenesis diversity, and they were close enough to be considered more than just colleagues.
“Commander. Linnea. Sure…”
It had been over eighty years since the last Anomaly Report, when a PARE‑101 group went silent for three weeks—only to find that a localized electromagnetic storm in the area had blocked the signal. It dissipated as soon as the GMT went online. The Geo‑Magnetic Tower: a network of towers built for atmospheric chemical balance and mending Hestia’s electromagnetic field.
But on their way to the meeting, none of them mentioned the Anomaly Report. They chatted about almost everything but that. Even though Elara found it odd, she went with the flow, comforted by the unexpected ease of mind.
The Pangaea Room had an oval, real‑wood table in the middle. Through the glass walls that surrounded the room, one could see the Control Room below. Except for the table and the chairs with slightly high backrests, there were just a couple of low cupboards where coffee, refreshments, and snacks were always available.
Soon the room filled.
A soft tone made Linnea take Elara’s hand and guide her to the next chair. Dr. deMatisse and Commander Min were sitting opposite each other at the far ends of the table.
“Evening…” deMatisse began, reducing the room to absolute silence. “We all know why we are here. Commander Min, the room is yours.”
“GAIA, the Anomaly Report,” Commander Min said, and all windows changed into displays, showing the anomaly report along with an executive summary of possible causes and courses of action.
“This is historical… but not in a good way. For the time being, it’s a secret, which means that soon all TV stations and digital newsletters will take a field trip with it. Until that becomes inevitable, let’s come up with a plan that will clip their wings. But before going further—GAIA, show the second report.”
The screens shifted to a new set of data. Mostly gaps, then silence. Everyone reads the data, evaluating its meaning.
“At 16:02 today, following the Anomaly Report of the missing CORE weekly progress report, we initiated a full systems audit,” began Dr. Henry Sabresse, Communication & Signal Integrity Lead. “…and the anomaly is not localized to CORE only. Hestia is… in total blackout.” He loosened his tie and sat down.
For the first time since she entered the room, Elara felt the meeting weight.
GAIA displayed the next data set alongside Dr. Gerth Heitzmann, Power System & Energy Management Lead.
“Satellites show normal ground activity. HVPPG—High Velocity Plasma Power Grid—and GMT show no anomalies. Remote communication with the last array was recorded just minutes ago. However, before that, we managed to gather enough information to confirm that all systems are up and running. And yet… we are still looking.”
A new data set appeared. Dr. Valia Schults, Astrophysics & External Environment Lead.
“Nothing to report from my side. No solar flares, no electromagnetic storms. As you can see, the data shows no changes over the past month. The Hestia–Earth 23.3‑degree angle orbit is clean and stable. Nothing else to report.”
The screen filled with the data Elara knew best.
Dr. Elara Song, Machine Language, Cybersecurity & AI Oversight Lead.
She waited a few seconds before speaking.
“Until today, the data showed CORE stability and PARE communication working within parameters. CORE improved PARE efficiency and awareness by approximately eighty percent. No anomalies in the data network. Replication and obsolete PARE reuse are going better than expected. And…”
She wondered whether to go further—whether revealing this would make everyone see what she saw on the screens.
“Yes?” Commander Min said impatiently, and all eyes turned to her.
“…we found something odd. Not enough to raise flags, so we investigated. The progress was almost the same week after week. The variations were… strategically placed to give the illusion that they were different.”
“Any conclusions following the investigation? GAIA?” asked Dr. deMatisse.
The screen filled with Elara’s team comparisons; similarities marked between weeks.
“Inconclusive,” she continued. “We need more data to confirm or deny whether the progress is real or…”
She stopped. Commander Min was staring straight at her, fingers tapping on the table.
“…real or engineered.”
Commander Min stopped tapping the table. Linnea’s grip on Elara’s hand tightened, just once.
“Engineered? By whom or what?” asked Valia. Linnea squeezed Elara’s hand gently.
“Unknown, sir.”
“Elara, are you suggesting what exactly? A machine rebellion? A planetary hack? We’re talking about total blackouts. GAIA, bring the satellite data,” said deMatisse, leaning forward.
Dr. Paulo Almeida Del Sol, Hestia Geospatial Imaging & Climate Lead, stepped in.
“If I may… all satellites are up and running. No communication issues detected. After missing the weekly report, we checked GPS data flow, and it shows normal activity—expected coordinates, call and pathfinding requests from CORE and PARE units. This leads us to conclude that ground activity has not been interrupted.”
“OK,” Commander Min said. “Elara and Paulo, put your data together and see if anything comes up. Anyone else?”
The room remained silent.
“Let’s summarize,” Commander Min continued. “We have Hestia’s signal to Earth cut off for unknown reasons. We know nothing catastrophic has happened, since geo‑satellites communicate with machines down there. No weather issues, no astro glitches. GAIA, remind us of the Communication Failure Protocol.”
“Communication Failure Protocol: Flag – Confirm – Decide – Act.”
“I think it’s clear. Let’s confirm first by following protocol. Any objections?” Commander Min asked, looking around the table. “OK then. Elara, Paulo, we expect your findings as soon as possible. If there’s nothing else, you’re free to go. Try to keep this under wraps until we have more concrete data. Leroy, before you go, a word. please”
Everyone left quietly. Not because they had nothing to say, but because their minds were already running scenarios, planning approaches, calculating outcomes.
As expected, the next two reports were not received. The combined report from Elara’s and Paulo’s teams showed nothing more than what Paulo had already presented. The meeting was delayed due to a second small SHIM test flight, and it was past 1 a.m. Everyone looked exhausted and frustrated. The situation remained unchanged, with no reason found.
They were already seated, waiting for Commander Min, checking the data for the umpteenth time, hoping to spot something they had missed. Commander Min pushed open the heavy wooden doors with force and strode toward the head of the table.
“GAIA, latest data. Report,” he said firmly as he sat.
The walls filled with data.
“No changes since the last report. Anomaly confirmed. Productivity pattern analysis inconclusive. Satellite imagery shows, with the exception of eight extended storms, nothing suggesting issues with Hestia’s Human Habitation Construction Project. End of report.”
“You heard GAIA. We need a decision. Before that, let me introduce Mr. Edwin Howall, Colony Ships Engineer & Space Navigation Lead, normally stationed on GODS‑2, overseeing colony ship construction.”
His name and title appeared on the display, overlaid with live feeds from the colony shipyards. Edwin looked in good shape, with a fluffy dark beard and curly hair, dressed clearly for practicality rather than elegance.
“Hello everyone, nice to meet you all. I don’t have full details yet, but as I was telling Seok‑rae, two ships are ready to go. When there’s a problem, we go there and fix it. Besides, HTS‑1 could use a trip to Hestia. It’s ready. Thank you.”
GAIA displayed the HTS‑1,Hestia Technical Shuttle One, specifications, test flight records, telemetry, and state‑of‑the‑art interior and facilities.
“So, what do you think? Go or No Go? Any other options?” Commander Min asked, scanning the room. “GAIA, initiate GO/NO‑GO voting.”
It didn’t take long.
“Human mission to Hestia is unanimously a GO,” announced GAIA.
“Edwin, how long until space‑ready? Crew count?”
“Depends on cargo. A crew of six should do, unless you need more specialists. The ship is ready; we just need to prepare the crew. Five to six months.”
“OK… Leroy, Henry, Linnea, Gerth, Elara, from here. Edwin a ship’s engineer, plus pilot and second‑in‑command. Seven in total. Cargo later. Four months. Any objections?”
Back in her office, Elara made tea, set the mug on her desk, and suddenly started laughing.
“GAIA… did I hear that correctly? Am I going to Hestia?”
“Affirmative.”
“And I was postponing my trip to see my grandma, planning to drive there. And now—space. To fricking Hestia. That’s pure irony. I guess you can’t buy me a train ticket to Hestia, can you?”
She laughed even harder.
She typed a command. CORE reports appeared, key progress data filtered and highlighted. A pattern emerged.
Progress. Silence. Evolve. Connect.
It was a puzzle. But now, it feels like a key to something else.
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