The Thought Graves

They sleep a death like slumber...

I stand before a mesa, black and grey stone walls that stretch for miles. I see massive metal doors, lined with gorgeous geometric shapes carved into the steel. The doors are open. Someone's already inside.
I've been standing here for at least five minutes. The visions, I understand them now. These are not meant to show me the future. They show me possibilities. I see them now, despite being awake.
I see where I succeed, but I see where I fail too. I fail over and over again. My stomach twists and turns as I remember the flash of pain; the moment of impact from antimatter rounds. I fail more often than not.
I don't want to do this alone. Why did they have to stay behind. I heard the rails echoing just moments ago. It's so quiet now. Is Fraeia still alive?
What should I do? I have to do something. I have to push through the fear. It's time. With a single trembling step, I enter the bunker.

From The Archives of Safeharbor

We aren't the only ones, you know. Many have touched these distant stars. The galactic community tends to avoid our section of the galaxy. They lack the star charts needed to navigate it. Its unknown terrors are more than enough to discourage them. Our Wayfarers are different. They see not the infinite void, but the flickers of light fretted within it.
We discovered something new. I’ve just been given a wealth of data gathered in an expedition to Holv-453. The planet was lifeless and barren, save for a single structure built atop a mesa near the southern pole of the planet.
We’ve stumbled on these structures before, but their nature eluded us for quite some time. These massive bunkers were built to protect the dead of some lost civilization. They may be empty, cold, and lonely, but the dead are not as silent as it would seem. Let us speak of the Thought Graves.

Thought Grave Bunkers

A Thought Grave is part military bunker, and part graveyard. The species that built them intended for them to stand indefinitely. Millions, perhaps hundreds of millions of years, have passed since this race died off. During my studies, it seemed impossible to truly understand their purpose. Why build something to keep troops alive and fill it with their lifeless bodies?
Each structure is unique in its layout and composition. They are always made from stone and metal, camouflaged in local rock formations. They can appear on any world. We’ve found them on wastelands as often as we’ve found them lingering on planets teeming with life. They can stand nearly a hundred meters tall and just as wide, but there is so much more hidden behind what you can see.
Within each Thought Grave are perfectly structured rooms, filled with strange metal coffins. Each room is built in complex geometric shapes. This is likely a religious practice, similar to how we built our cathedrals on earth. The rooms are connected by halls that weave deep beneath the planet's surface. Until now, that’s all we knew about them.

Anomaly

With this data lies an answer to the most pressing question. These installations are well armed and easily defended. They possess factories, armories, and living quarters. What’s strange to me is the presence of the coffins. I once believed that it could only mean one thing: perhaps their religion focuses on ancestry and warfare. They keep their soldiers close to aid them in battle.
I was wrong. I love it when I’m wrong. It's a delightful change of pace. We have never been able to open the coffins in the past, but this has changed. I’ve scoured the data. Two things stood out to me: First, each coffin features some kind of interface, implying connection to a power source. Second, each coffin is connected to an intricate network of pipes that seems solely placed for the coffins themselves.
My friend, If my theory is correct, then they were not trying to honor their dead, nor did they wish to keep the spirits of the fallen with them in battle. Within the plumbing of the complex, there exists traces of dimethyl sulfoxide, a common cryopreservative. They were refusing to let their warriors die.

Function

Thought Graves are never so well-preserved. Most of the time we stumble on little more than rubble. Even in this case, many of the coffins had little more than dust inside them. When wayfarers entered the complex, something activated within in. One of the coffins opened and the wayfarers were attacked by the creature that slumped within it.
No one was injured. It was unarmed, and It died very soon afterwards from a gunshot wound it sustained before being preserved. The process was never meant to be reversed. They were to be suspended indefinitely, the wounds they suffered, or their health being far too taxing to live for long after their revival. Remove any of these proud warriors from their coffin, and they will die, terrified and alone.
Then we must consider the connection between them. It’s obvious they would need a power source, but each coffin is linked by seemingly redundant connections. Again, I have a theory. This took so much in the way of resources, and for what? Why go through all this trouble? Why preserve them and not just let them die?

The Link

Each coffin is linked to fuse the warriors into a single entity. Their brains would be inactive, their personality unable to add to a collective, so it can't be a hive mind. The purpose of this link would be to harvest their skills.
Imagine all of humanity's greatest warriors, and the ability to pass on their skills. Perhaps they did so to create more realistic or challenging simulations for recruits. This is possible, but I like to think big. This was not a training facility. This was a military base. It’s a fortress. I don't think the training is meant for the soldiers, at all.
There is one final piece of data that I’ve found. Deep in the heart of the facility lies a strange device. The images on the drives, the data collected, all suggest the same thing. These looked like servers, a mechanism located at the center of the room that looked to be the brain of sophisticated artificial intelligence. They were teaching a machine the art of war.

The Gravemind Generals

This would mean each entity has a name and identity. Each one collects the skills and experience of the soldiers, learns from them, and develops independently of the others. It would effectively create an entire entourage of military genius.
These entities commanded the entire war machine of the species that built them. Each had a preference. Some favored ground combat, others favored naval warfare, and so on. They likely possessed their personality, their eccentricities.
This level of technology is incredibly sophisticated. It’s hard to imagine how such a race died out. It’s possible the grave-minds wiped them out, then went dormant. We know of fifteen of these bunkers. I’d hate to see what would happen if they woke up.

The walls are made of stone and metal. I walk down a corridor with branching paths that lead to rooms, each room filled with coffins.
The further I go, the darker it gets. It's near pitch black by the time I reach the command center. I notice the light first, a blinding white that hurts as my eyes try to adjust
I hear a voice, angry and bitter. It echoes down the hall as I creep closer to the threshold.
As I peek inside, I notice a glare from the wall, a camera. I freeze as the lens opens and narrows. The bunker is alive, dormant but aware.
I hear the voice again, louder than before. I can even make out what he says, "Yes, I give my consent. Why aren't you working?"
I remember the message from my visions. Maybe it was never me at the console. On a hunch, I look at the lens and nod. I feel it, a rush of heat that starts in my head and passes through my entire body. Caesar, I think to myself, That's your name, right? It hears me. The lens flutters as if responding. It can hear my thoughts.
I see the man in the command center, a human fumbling at what appears to be a console made of jet black stone. "Caesar?" The man says with a laugh. "If that's what you want to be called." The man raises his hand over the big red button.
It's now or never. What should I say? How do I say it? Should I say anything at all? Maybe I could try something I haven't seen? As the options present themselves, I can see the events unfold in my mind. Only one option leads to my survival… and it makes me sick.

I don't know, just do something.
"Stop," I shout.

The man turns around and stares at me with narrowed eyes. "You? Of all those they could send, they sent you?"
"I don't understand," I reply.
The man laughs and rubs his temples. "I'm sorry. You didn't have to follow me. You could have escaped."
Wait... I've seen this before. Oh no.
Before I can react, the man raises a pistol and fires. I feel myself being pushed back. I feel pain. I see the blood burst out, painting the walls, the floors, and even my visor. I stumble. The pain fades as my heart races. I look down and a massive chunk of my stomach is gone. All color fades, my vision blurs, and soon after I find myself in a serene, black void.

Keep the element of surprise.
I aim the rifle and shoot.

I raise the rifle and aim for the back of the man's head, but I can't fire. I want to, and I know I have to, but I can't. I don't want to be a killer.
I take in a deep breath through my nose and it breaks the silence. The man spins around, reaching for the pistol at his side. I fire.
This is new. I haven't seen this particular chain of events before. I don't like it.
The round lands squarely in his chest. The force sends him backward. His body hits the terminal, pushing the button.
The bunker rumbles all around me as I drop the rifle. I guess I'm more like mom than I thought…
I hear a loud crack and feel a rush of pain. Blood bursts from my stomach and I'm thrown back further down the hall. The man spent his dying moments paying me back. Lucky.
The man coughs and tries to stand, using the console for support. "Sometimes it takes more than one shot, little girl. Sorry."
I feel cold. The color drains from the world around me. My vision blurs. I can't keep my eyes open. Funny… I can't feel the pain anymore. It's like falling asleep…

Use that bounty hunter voice, Amber.
I aim my rifle. "Don't move."

The man freezes, his hands tremble as he slowly turns away from the console. "I was wondering when you'd turn up."
Wait. I've seen this before but he never said that. "Excuse me?" I reply.
Ne nods, his eyes wide with wonder and fear. "I've seen you in my dreams. So many different scenarios, but I don't think I've seen this one."
Does he have the dreams, the visions? That makes sense. What if he can see the possibilities just like me? I think he's making choices too. He's right. I haven't seen it either. Is that the secret? Do something different? "Step away," I command, "let's both leave alive. I think that would be best, don't you?"
"No," the man replies. He spins around and slams his hand on the button.
The bunker rumbles as I try to line up a shot. I've seen this... but it was from his perspective. My memory stirs, eden tech is the best.
It takes only a moment, a single realization that guides my aim to the left side of the room. The man dodges to the side. Space warps around him. He moves like a blur, the motion propelling him nearly twenty feet from where he was and right into the sights of my rifle.
My finger twitches against the trigger, a moment of hesitation that resists a fully committed squeeze. A twitch is enough. The rifle fires all the same.
There's a white flash and a loud crack. The man is smiling when the round hits him in the chest. The expression fades to wide eyes and a slack jaw. The blood slowly pours from the wound, pooling at his feet as he stumbles backward.
I can't move. I'm just as shocked as he is. "No," I shout. "I'm sorry."

He's reaching for something, the pistol. I pull the trigger with tears flowing down my face. Sometimes it takes more than one shot. He falls backward, dead before even hitting the ground.
I hold my breath as if waiting for him to stand back up. No. This isn't me. I'm not a killer. The truth begs to differ. I guess I'm more like mom than I thought I was.
Caesar speaks, and his words filter through the translator with ease. "Thought Grave operational…"