The Keeper

The time is wrong.  

The Trinary is not in the correct configuration for a new cycle. 

Instead, my oblivion is stirred by a distant echo of violence. One of our long-range sensor arrays has felt the murder of a star and the subsequent tremor in the Stillness. And, carried by the ripples, one simple fragment of music.  

A technological signature and evidence of a human society somewhere out there. The simulations reconstructing this sparse data into a synthetic spectre of a civilization are vague but pregnant with possibilities. A tangle of cultures, politics, and history that is complex yet strikingly familiar. It speaks of empires, corporate behemoths, and expansion spheres blooming into the unknown. A lost tribe capable of great beauty and destruction… 

A hope.  

We are not alone after all.
Too long the gate network hasn’t carried thinking meat through its veins.  
Too long the trickle of souls was dry.  
Too long the frontier had lain empty, churned and torn by the fierce tides, a desolate void haunted by traitor automata.  

Our hecatomb will not be in vain. The decision was made to retrigger the program. A new crop is gestating.  

The music though… If I had tear-ducts I would have wept. 
The time has never been so right. 

Metadata 
user: Keeper, date: N/A, location N/A, NP: N/A