Margin of Error

[al103]

Yeah, that was my bad when writing the story and not spotting it. I'll try to keep an eye out for that sort of thing in future, though, none of my supporters noticed it, and as I'm juggling 4 active stories, there's a fair chance I'll have a scene that needs redrafting because of that (i ope not, but given I'm over 50 chapters into this privately, then I can't say for certain).

Click to shrink...

*laughs*
Same thing can happen with published author who have around 20 betas, believe me, I'm one of said betas, I seen that happen.

 

[USSExplorer]

Same thing can happen with published author who have around 20 betas, believe me, I'm one of said betas, I seen that happen.

Click to shrink...

I have betas (though not logic/continuality ones for this story), and Patreons who've read this up to 20 chapters ahead.
None of them caught that mistake, though I'm not sure how many are reading this story as it's new, and not one of my other, more established stories.

 

[USSExplorer]

A/N: Based on reviews and comments, I've adjusted the chapter and those that follow to hopefully dial down the paranoia and melancholy. They're still there, but they shouldn't be as blunt and obtrusive.

---

0007: Whispers of Mars
…​

October brought shorter days and a chill that I had grown accustomed to while growing up in the city. It had been less than two months since my co-authored paper had been published, and the ripples it caused continued to spread. One of those ripples was why, close to lunchtime, I was sitting in the living room of my private flat with Dr Okonkwo beside me.

Through her efforts and the publication of the paper, the University had arranged to cover the cost of a private flat for me, saving me from staying in one of the University's Halls of Residence once again. I'd already checked the flat for any hidden trackers, though, as expected, I'd not found any. The flat offered me solitude and privacy, which I was happy for. But the news that I had it had drawn focus from other students, adding to the sense that I was getting special treatment, which I was.

The reason that Dr Okonkwo was in my living room was that today I would be having a video conference with several people she worked with on projects for ESA. As her protégé, a term she enjoyed teasing me with, I would need any arrangement with ESA to flow through her and the University. A sign that the politics of academia still existed when discussing the future of spacecraft propulsion.

Lars had come over the day before and helped me configure the room for the three-way conference that was about to start. I could've done the work by myself, but I understood there were benefits in keeping in contact with him. Plus, it meant I didn't need to accept such offers from others, particularly Elena.

Ever since the celebration, I'd been hesitant around her. I wasn't sure whether that was because she was starting to see past my attempts to hide much of who I truly was, because of how my body responded to her presence, or because of another, as-yet-unseen factor. Regardless, I was doing what I could to avoid her without making it obvious, or so I hoped.

As the call began, two figures floated above my desk, the projectors installed in my room not allowing them to be displayed at full scale.

Each shimmered in blue light I'd been used to almost my entire life here, yet which still nagged at my memories. Another small hint, like with the names of several companies, that I knew more about this world than I should, or that those names held some importance to the future that was slowly, constantly approaching. I just wished I knew why I felt so certain of that.

Dr Klaus Vetter was from ESTEC in the Netherlands and was grey-haired and professorial. Dr Ingrid Larsson worked for ESA's mission planning division, was Swedish, and was perhaps in her mid-thirties.

When Dr Okonkwo had told me of the meeting and mentioned them, I easily recalled their names. They were figures that had come up during my evaluation of the Doctor before I started sitting in on her seminars last year. I'd done deeper dives once the meeting was confirmed and knew these two could be invaluable to me in gaining access to cutting-edge science with off-world applications and without being confined to corporations that would seek to control and limit my work.

"Your paper has generated considerable interest," Vetter said, his English carrying only a slight hint of accent. "The theoretical framework for asymmetric field gradients addresses problems we've been wrestling with for years. We'd like to fund experimental validation at scale."

"I'd be interested in discussing that," I replied carefully, managing my emotions so I appeared both mature for my age and excited at the prospect of working with ESA.

"We're talking full-size test articles," Larsson said, taking over, "not laboratory models, and eventually, actual propulsion units we could integrate into mission architecture." She leaned forward slightly, her holographic image flickering with the movement. "With expanded operations planned for Mars and beyond, efficient propulsion is becoming even more critical."

Mars. The word landed differently now than it had even six months ago. The news feeds had been full of it lately. Reports of increased funding, new mission proposals, and a growing sense that something was shifting in humanity's approach to the red planet. As with the colour of the holograms and various company names, the planet tickled my memories as if it carried importance for the future that I should already know.

"You've seen the reports from Promethei Planum, I assume?" Vetter asked, his tone carefully casual.

"The anomalous readings?"

"Anomalous is... diplomatic." Larsson's slight smile held something I couldn't quite read. As if she knew more than she was willing to reveal for the moment. "Ten orbital platforms have experienced sensor failures over that region in the past eighteen months. Mass concentrations that appear and disappear between measurements. Magnetic field variations that don't match any geological model we have."

"Sounds like equipment malfunction," Okonkwo offered, though her tone made clear that she didn't believe her words.

"That's the official explanation." Larsson's smile widened fractionally. "Unofficially, we're increasing mission priority for that region significantly. Surface exploration, subsurface scanning, and a whole new generation of survey equipment. And we'll need better propulsion to get Earth probes and vessels there efficiently."

The more Mars was discussed, the more that tickle at the edge of my mind grew stronger. I knew, on some instinctual level, that Mars was important. More so than the companies and blue-light holograms. Why, however, remained hidden: locked away in my mind by someone, or more likely and worryingly, something.

"What exactly are you proposing?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain steady. I made sure my annoyance at the hidden truth and knowledge that were just out of reach didn't mix with my interest in what was on offer.

I listened quietly as Dr Vetter outlined the arrangement. Consulting work, through the University rather than direct employment. Access to ESA's data networks and simulation environments, along with funding for experimental validation at Edinburgh, and all with Okonkwo maintaining academic oversight. All that, along with regular briefings on the mission requirements and technical challenges, where my work could be applied.

It was everything I could have hoped for, more so given how soon it was coming. Space agency connections without institutional control, and resources without obligations. A foot in the door of one of the places that I was increasingly certain I needed to be.

"I accept," I said before Okonkwo could interject to negotiate on my behalf. The terms as laid out were fine as they were.

She shot me a look, but I could see the approval beneath the exasperation. It was as if she had hoped to get more out of Dr Vetter and Dr Larsson than what they had offered. I understood that, but by being compliant now, they would think I was easier to deal with. Later, when the knowledge I felt was just beyond my reach came into my hands, the balance would shift in my favour, and I'd be able to draw out far better terms.

If they wouldn't support my work, others would. I was sure of that.

From there, the meeting shifted. Times for technical discussions were worked around our various schedules. Formal agreements would be transmitted through the University's administration since I was still an undergraduate. I took it all in, letting Dr Okonkwo take the lead for most of it while still paying attention so that, when the time came in the future for me to speak for myself in such moments, I'd know how to approach it.

Eventually, the meeting concluded, and the two Doctors vanished as they ended the call. As the light returned to normal, my mind played over everything that had been mentioned about Mars. Anomalies, mass concentrations, and things that didn't match any expected model.

Dr Okonkwo turned to face me. "You're thinking about it," she said. "The Mars readings."

"Aren't you?" I responded with a smirk.

"I'm thinking that ESA doesn't reorganise mission priorities for equipment malfunctions." She gathered her materials, but her focus remained on me. "And I'm thinking that you reacted to those anomalies like they meant something to you. Something more than they perhaps should."

"It's probably nothing," I replied, hiding behind the uncertainty.

"Probably." She didn't sound convinced. "Keep me informed, Marcus. Whatever you're working toward, whatever you're preparing for, I'll be there to help when you need it."

I nodded, already having realised she would be. Even in half a decade, when I should be able to move without her help, I would keep her part of my work. Beyond being my mentor, she was intelligent enough to deserve to be there with me. And perhaps she might be able to help when I needed it.

Something was happening on Mars. Something important. I just wished I knew what.

---***---
​

About a week later, I was in a common room of one of the Halls, enjoying lunch with Lars and some of his friends. The chance to keep my connections with him and them was worth having to trek here for the meal.

"...Mars Orbital Survey reports unexplained phenomena in the southern polar region..."

My head turned at the BBC report. The volume was low enough to ignore, but not so low that I failed to catch another passing mention of the red planet.

A student beside me, one of Lars's biology cohort, gestured at the screen. "They're calling it the Martian Bermuda Triangle. Satellites keep glitching over Promethei Planum."

"Probably just solar radiation," another offered. "Or magnetic interference from something geological."

"For two years? ESA's throwing serious money at it. That's not how you respond to equipment failure."

I stayed silent. The agreement with ESA meant I couldn't reveal I knew more than the general public. Lars looked my way, almost as if he sensed I was holding back, though he didn't push. I was thankful for that, though I wasn't sure what I could or would tell him if he did, at least beyond that Mars was important.

---***---
​

One evening, about three weeks after the ESA meeting, I walked into Dr Okonkwo's laboratory. Her head was down, focusing on something on her datapad, as she muttered to herself in a way I'd learned meant she was genuinely puzzled.

"Prometheus Planum magnetic signatures... this doesn't match impact crater formation at all."

"You're reading about Mars geology?" I asked, drawing her attention.

"ESA sent it," she answered with a troubled expression. "They think the anomalies might affect orbital mechanics for their propulsion planning, and they wanted my input on trajectory calculations. Do you believe in coincidences, Marcus?"

"No."

"Neither do I." She tapped the screen. "And this feels like the universe pointing at something."

As I examined what she was looking at, I couldn't help but agree.

---***---
​

In mid-October, I frowned at seeing a call from home. That was unexpected, as they never called outside the agreed-upon times.

I accepted the call, unsure of what it would bring, only to be greeted by Callum's face filling my datapad screen with childish enthusiasm.

"Marcus! Did you see the news about Mars? They found something weird!"

"They're just sensor glitches, Cal."

"That's what they said about the Oort Relay before they figured out it was alien!"

I froze. Oort Relay? There was a familiarity to that, though it made no sense as to why.

"What?" I asked, my mind distracted as those words pointed again at the hidden knowledge that seemed locked behind a door in my mind.

"You know, in that old sci-fi show? The one where humanity discovers the relay network and meets all the aliens? Mum, let me watch the first season."

"Sounds like a good show," I replied, offering him a warm smile as my mind drifted.

I remembered that show from my childhood. It wasn't anything special, but there had been something about it that felt familiar. A feeling that was now settled on Mars.

"It is! Maybe Mars will be the key to making that real. Maybe we'll find aliens!"

"Maybe," I said. "Anyway, how's school going?" I asked, changing the topic.

---***---
​

One night in late October, I was sitting with David at a private workstation, our regular meeting to continue the security project we'd begun last year, which was still in development. It had evolved into something more comprehensive, even more so than when I had suggested the change to make it all but uncrackable. As we often did now, we worked in comfortable silence, each focused on our own problems.

"Look at this pattern." I turned from my screen, seeing him going over something that had nothing to do with cryptography. "Satellite malfunctions. Sensor anomalies. Communication delays. Even some orbital drift that ground control can't explain. All centred on Promethei Planum."

I fought down the urge to roll my eyes. Mars was everywhere, and it was growing tiresome. More so because each mention brought that feeling that I should know more than I did, but I couldn't tell what or remember why.

"What are you suggesting?" I asked, curious to hear his thoughts. It wasn't in his field, but he understood patterns, and he might have seen something that others, even I, might've missed.

His expression was half-joking. "Something's buried there. Something that doesn't want to be found."

"That's ridiculous," I said after laughing uncomfortably. The idea of something buried there only increased those feelings that I should know what was happening, or about to happen.

"Probably." He shrugged, returning to his code. "But someone's taking it seriously. ESA just approved another four new Mars missions, as have NASA and others, all targeting that region. That's billions of Credits' worth of 'probably nothing.'"

---***---
​

Alone in my room, late in the night, I was researching Promethei Planum. The data that ESA had provided to Dr Okonkwo and me was confusing and contradictory. Multiple agencies and missions were reporting different readings, and official explanations ranged from solar activity to instrument calibration to geological phenomena no one quite understood.

Something was going on there, and whatever it was, it was affecting our technology in ways that shouldn't be possible.

The answers were in my mind; I was certain of that, but the door there remained locked. Whatever was causing the problems on Mars was critical to understanding the threat I knew was lurking somewhere in the darkness of the galaxy, though I still didn't know why I was certain there was a threat. Only that it had fed years of caution brought forth by how different I was compared to everyone else.

---***---
​

November brought signs of an early winter, and as had been the case since the start of the month, I was in a laboratory, working on extending my field coherence framework to higher power densities. The mathematics kept breaking down at certain thresholds, collapsing into instabilities that made no logical sense.

I stared at the equations floating in the holographic display, frustration building in me. I knew this should work. No, I knew it did work. I was certain it did, by I knew that continued to elude me and I was finding it near-impossible to let the matter drop until I understood why I knew what I did.

The standard approaches weren't working. I'd tried every conventional technique I could think of and computational shortcuts the analytical VIs could suggest, but nothing held. The field equations kept diverging at precisely the point where they should've been most stable.

I needed something new. Something that accounted for...

I froze mid-thought as it hit me.

The revelation didn't come gradually as I'd expected. No, it arrived fully formed in my mind, as if the door had opened just enough for the knowledge to root itself in my thoughts before I could take a single breath.

Field recursion and nested geometries. The field doesn't just propagate; it folds back on itself, creating standing wave patterns that reinforce rather than destabilise.

My hands flew across the haptic interface. Corrections and new equations flowed from me faster than I could track as I transcribed them into the interface. I was remembering the solution and not working towards it.

I recognised many of the lines of equations that appeared on the screen, just not in the way they were currently used. Others… they were entirely new, and yet I knew they were correct even before I had finished inputting the formulae.

The framework took shape in minutes. Recursive field geometry for sustained acceleration. A complete theoretical model for multi-stage propulsion that exceeded anything I'd published, anything I'd even hinted at. It was beautifully elegant and completely unprecedented.

I sat back, breathing hard as the VI worked to confirm everything I'd just inputted was accurate. In mere moments, I had crafted an entirely new framework of physics. One that, while still unfinished, would change how ion engines were used.

"Marcus?"

I spun in my chair, so lost in the work that I'd failed to realise someone had entered. I tensed before I saw the speaker.

Dr Okonkwo moved closer, concern on her face, and a cup of coffee in her hand. "It's five in the morning. I was hoping I wouldn't fin–" Her voice caught as her eyes saw my screen. "What is that?" she asked slowly, her eyes widening as she read the first few lines of equations.

"An extension of the coherence model. Recursive field geometry for sustained acceleration." My reply was blunter than normal, a sign that I needed sleep more than I'd realised.

I rolled my chair to one side, letting her see the fullness of what I'd crafted. She was silent as her eyes moved over the equations, and my eyes glanced at her cup; the aroma tempted me seductively.

She turned to face me after a few minutes. "This is..." She paused and started again. "Marcus, if this works…"

"It works." There was no hint of doubt in my tone.

"You can't know that. You'd need months of simulation, experimental validation–"

"It works," I repeated, almost challenging her to test me. "I know it does."

The silence stretched between us. She was looking at me the way she always did when I said or knew something I shouldn't. Concern mixed with intellectual interest marred her features, along with an almost parental sense of worry.

"Where does it come from?" she asked quietly. "Really. Not 'I've been thinking about it.' Where?"

"I don't know," I said, unable and unwilling to deflect as I usually did. "Sometimes I just see patterns, connections others don't. It's like... like reading a language I don't remember learning."

"That's not normal."

A dry chuckle slipped from my lips. "I know."

She studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "Marcus, have you considered that there might be something... unusual about your neurology? Something worth investigating?"

"I don't need an investigation," I said, keeping my voice level, pushing down my fears. "I need to do the work."

The last thing I wanted or needed was her, of all people, wanting to study me. Others I could avoid, even cut out of my life if needed, but not her. I needed her connections and her mind for the path forward I was crafting.

"And if the work requires understanding where it comes from?"

"Then I'll understand it myself. On my own terms."

She held my gaze for what felt like a long time. Then, slowly, she nodded.

"Alright. But if you ever change your mind, if you ever want help understanding–"

"I won't."

She held my gaze for another minute and then nodded.

"Okay."

She didn't say anything more, but I sensed she was upset that I was keeping her out. One day, perhaps, I could let her or others in, once I was sure of what it was I knew, and what my body and mind were capable of.

Perhaps I was overreacting: if I hid the extent of what my body was capable of, or at least what I knew it could do, and only allowed my mind to be showcased, I might be fine. Yet the wariness that formed once I was certain I had been reborn, and then hardened once I saw signs that this world wasn't as rosy and safe as everything suggested, wouldn't release its grasp over my thoughts.

I returned my focus to Mars and the anomalies over Promethei Planum. Whatever I was, whatever it was that was trapped in my mind, that place was the key to understanding most of it, hopefully all. I just had to be prepared for what was found, though I wasn't sure what it would be or if I would be ready.

Or if the world would be.

---***---
​

 

[StormCalledRaven]

"And if the work requires understanding where it comes from?"

Click to shrink...

This confuses me. if the math maths then it would be accepted after testing. you don't go poking at someone's grey matter to figure out how they did it.

 

[eien]

Welp i can see the inevitable crash out the MC is about to have when the Protheian archives are discovered.

 

[tankuser32]

All these hints lead me to believe there are other abnormal people in his past or present, someone planted ME lore into the world, maybe even other fictions also as they probably didn't know which world they were born in.