Interlude IV — Fractures Beyond
The Federation general lifted the crystal shard carefully, feeling warmth pulse through the quartz matrix—not heat, but concentrated information density. ECSE-v2. What they'd nearly gone to war for.
The shard was small enough to fit in his palm, yet when analysts ran instruments over it, data folded back on itself in recursive patterns that defied physics. Five-dimensional information storage. Emotional patterns preserved in quantum states. Technology decades ahead of anything in their classified programmes.
"This is not just information," one general said flatly. "Whoever controls this controls the next generation of psychological warfare."
An older intelligence officer studied the symbols etched in the crystal's core. Three letters glowing under specific light frequencies: CCX.
"A signature," he said quietly. "Someone inside the Republic marked this deliberately before sending it out."
The room waited.
"210 in Roman numerals. Christ Cross Crucified." His voice carried weight. "Whoever CCX is, they're telling us their identity. Someone who sacrificed everything—position, safety, possibly life itself—to get this technology out of the Republic's Vault."
He set the shard down with something approaching reverence. "We're not just dealing with stolen data. We're dealing with an individual. Someone inside the Republic willing to betray everything they knew for what they believed was right."
"A martyr," someone murmured.
"Or a revolutionary," another countered. "Someone who chose conscience over country."
"Whoever they are," the admiral said carefully, "they've changed the game. This isn't faceless espionage anymore. CCX is a person. And if the Republic finds them before we do..."
The unspoken hung heavy: If this individual could extract ECSE-v2, what else did they know? What else could they access?
The hunt wasn't just for data anymore. It was for the person behind the cipher.
In the Gaule Republic's capital, ministers gathered beneath vaulted ceilings that had witnessed centuries of diplomatic defeats. The Federation had shared preliminary analysis—enough to demonstrate ECSE-v2's capabilities, not enough to grant access.
"They're calling it CCX," the Minister of Intelligence announced. "The Federation interprets it as 'Christ Cross Crucified.' Martyrdom."
"They're wrong." An older scholar's voice cut sharp. "CCX is 210 BCE—Scipio Africanus taking command in Hispania after his father and uncle fell. Rome bleeding under Hannibal, the Republic on its knees. Then Scipio turned catastrophe into victory. Saved the Republic. Became legend."
His voice rose with conviction Gaule desperately needed to believe. "The Republic of the Houses marked their technology with the year of transformation. Not martyrdom—ascendancy. Proof that republics survive collapse and emerge stronger."
Silence settled heavy.
"We need access," one minister said, desperation barely masked. "The Federation will set terms, grant us auxiliary status at best. But we cannot be excluded. Not again."
They pressed harder for inclusion even as they recognised the truth: they would not be partners controlling CCX. Only supplicants grateful for crumbs of power they could never claim.
In the Southern Commonwealth's capital, intelligence officers reviewed fragments—third-hand analysis, diplomatic whispers, information arriving hours after others had drawn conclusions. As always, the Commonwealth stood outside the circle.
"CCX," the senior analyst reported. "Federation claims 'Christ Cross Crucified.' Gaule argues Scipio Africanus. Both see triumph through adversity."
The Director leaned forward. "And what do we see?"
"Vulnerability disguised as strength." A younger analyst pulled up historical records. "210 BCE—also the death of Qin Shi Huang, first emperor of the Central Union. Entombed with archives, treasures, terra cotta armies. He believed vaults could preserve power eternally."
"It fractured within years," the Director said quietly.
"Precisely. Vaults don't make empires immortal—they make them brittle. The Republic hoards knowledge like Qin Shi Huang hoarded power. CCX isn't a warning to us. It's prophecy of their own collapse."
"An interesting theory," the Defence Minister said pragmatically. "But strategically irrelevant. We maintain solidarity with the Federation bloc."
Orders went out: align militarily, position for whatever access eventually filtered down.
But the analysts knew: the Republic had made the mistake empires always made. They'd treated knowledge like treasure to bury, when information always escaped every cage built to contain it.
In the Republic's capital, Olivia Yang sat in her private office, reviewing incident reports that shared an impossible commonality.
Wall Pod anomaly: Deep VR system developing capabilities beyond specifications. Buried in corrupted logs—one name. Chris Xiong. Maintenance worker, paid under the table.
Semi-VR demonstration: The Yang twins' equipment generating emotional realism that shouldn't be possible with their hardware. They'd mentioned someone who tested the system before the anomaly manifested. Same name. Chris Xiong.
Two facilities. Two impossible events. One name appearing in both.
To most, it would look like coincidence. A foreign-born clerk who happened to be present at unrelated incidents.
To Olivia, it was a pattern.
She pulled his personnel file. Christopher Xiong. Southern Commonwealth origin. Recently transferred to IP Oversight, Dawn Bureau. Nothing remarkable in his record. Nothing that suggested he should be connected to technology behaving impossibly.
But the pattern held. And patterns didn't lie.
She could report this to the Bears. Flag him as a person of interest. Let their investigators handle it.
But if there was something unique about him—some variable that made systems respond differently in his presence—crude interrogation would destroy what it should preserve. The Bears would break him trying to understand what might be intrinsic, unrepeatable.
Olivia made a note in her private files:
"Christopher Xiong—common variable in dual anomaly incidents. Origin unclear. Requires observation under controlled conditions to determine mechanism. Will maintain personal oversight."
She would approach him herself. Build rapport. Study the pattern up close before others noticed what she'd seen.
Whatever made technology behave impossibly around Christopher Xiong, she intended to understand it.
Before anyone else asked the right questions.