“Perhaps they must,” Achi mutters.
Traemuña eyes him quizzically. “What do you mean by that?”
Achi blushes a bit, caught in a rare moment of thinking out loud about deeply held thoughts. “Probably just my ignorance, but I've often wondered why evil exists as it does. My perception from being in His presence, uh, numerous times, is that it is somehow necessary. Similar to how the universe is full of matter, but an equal amount of antimatter must have been generated when it all came into being. Only by keeping at least some of it separated does the universe and all that is in it exist. Perhaps good and evil, life and death are the same in some spiritual sense. Some beings become sentient, and evolve into moral beings, and by so doing gain everlasting life. The rest never overcome their material selves, and eventually perish. A permanent separation so that some can evolve and live?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Probably nonsense.”
Beltare laughs. “You really do fancy yourself a philosopher, don't you? Although, I have to admit that is actually…provocative.”
Traemuña stares at him, contemplating. “Indeed, your insights are not far removed from what some of our greatest minds have posited, though this is not widely shared.“
Now Cloufen really looks puzzled. “Why not? Isn't that the purpose of the collective—to share information and insights?”
Now it is Toshi's turn to laugh, albeit humorlessly. “No. The collective is a means to an end, no more. A construct created by our ancestors and tended by galanen elders to impose moral order on otherwise completely independent individuals. It enabled and now sustains our evolved society; any use beyond that is merely a side effect. There is much that is not shared—for the good of the collective.”
Jevelle picks up the thread. “What value is there in sharing such insights? What if some races must die so others can evolve? What should the galanen do with such knowledge? Should we prejudge which races are the best candidates? If some individuals must die so that others may live, should we choose whom within the collective are the most evolved and winnow out those who are the least productive? That path is the first step to becoming a failed race; we can't play God. We must do what we can, both as individuals and as a race, if we wish to continue to evolve. The growth process never ends—at least, not that we know of.”
Clive looks around the room, marveling at how almost all of his friends have become inwardly focused. “Um, I don't mean to wreck the mood or anything, but I don't think Sklávoi Ashtoreth will be taking time off from plotting their next move while we contemplate the moral underpinnings of the universe. I think the question before us is whether it is worth some time and resources to focus on this prospective site in Turkey. Frankly, I find all this dream stuff pretty weird, but I trust Achi's instincts on this; there is something there.”
Zaleria nods her agreement. “Thank you for getting us back on track. Achi and I obviously think it should be explored.”
“I don't think any of us will argue against that,” Beltare says. “So for me, the real question is what is the best way to proceed? If this is indeed their 'home,' we don't want to tip our hand that we've discovered it.”
Cloufen lifts her head up. “Perhaps we should start with passive means. Full spectrum electromagnetic, seismic, sonic, and neutrino topographic reconstruction—using Terran nuclear reactors and Sol as background sources. Start with that and see what we get.”
“How long will it take to get an accurate assessment?” Zaleria asks.
“I don't really know. Two, maybe three weeks? Success depends on a lot of factors we don't know, or control,” Cloufen responds.
“Well, you should probably get to it then,” Beltare states. “Let me know what you need, and it'll be made available.”
Achi looks at Toshi and Traemuña. “I think we need to discuss final preparations. We need to make sure we can actually kill this 'god' when it comes down to it—and the shell if they aren't one and the same.”
“There is much we must manufacture. I think the bulk of the equipment is on Perxephsis,” Toshi says, Fandtha nodding.
“Yes, there is much that must be seen to,” Fandtha agrees.
Jevelle stands to end the meeting. “Beltare and I can see to things here. We'll stay in touch if anything changes.”
“You also might want to engage in a few raids, take out another couple cells or keep the pressure on the financiers, just to keep our adversary busy. Wouldn't want it to think we were planning something big,” Achi advises.
Jevelle nods. “That makes sense; I'll see to it.”
Prior to departing for Perxephsis, Clive and Achi seek out Cheryn, who expresses a strong desire to join them. Beltare is concerned, but both Traemuña and Toshi don't believe it'll be a problem. They rest during a sleep cycle and depart the next 'day.'
Soon, they find themselves before the gatekeepers. Cheryn is met by a single individual—vice the pair that everyone else seems to encounter—as she looks around marveling at how everything changes slightly within the higher dimension. This gatekeeper is not as tall as the others, appearing only slightly taller than Cheryn. He regards her with impassive, pale yellow eyes. Like the others, he seems to radiate an inner light that makes it impossible to clearly perceive his features. It is definitely male, but how she knows this, she cannot say. Finally, it speaks to her, “Why are you here?”
She repeats what she has been told. “I'm traveling with friends and family to Perxephsis.”
“Declare who you are,” the being says, which feels more like curiosity than a command.
“I am Cheryn Douglass, a human.”
“You do not know who you are,” the being states matter-of-factly. “You must learn this on Earth, but you are at Perxephsis.”
“Wait!” Cheryn implores. “What do you mean? You know who I am, right?”
“You are known to me but unknown to yourself. The Light reveals all truth.”
With that, the D-ship transitions back into the universe. Cheryn stands there puzzled, and disquieted. Both Achi and Clive notice immediately.
“What's the matter, Cheryn? Gatekeeper say something to you?” Achi asks.
“Yes, it said I didn't know who I was and would only learn that on Earth. It didn't say I couldn't go to Perxephsis but seemed to want to tell me to get back to Earth.”
Achi nods his head. “What they say is frequently inscrutable, but they seem to want to guide us. I think we're too 'simple' for them to relate to. The reality, though, is once you see Perxephsis, you probably won't want to stay here for too long. There isn't much to do here, yet.”
The waverider lands near their home, which has progressed considerably since the last time he was physically here. The cave is starting to grow in depth, with the beginnings of a few side tunnels taking rough shape. The telitorri trees have sprouted and are now a wispy quarter meter or so tall, with a couple fibrous roots visible above the surface. Meanwhile subtle changes are occurring within the mat of vegetative matter that covers most of the island. If examined closely, there are clear signs of differentiation within the mass of mats. These will eventually evolve into different elements of their garden, growing in complexity and function, eventually providing them with food and nectar, water, and other raw materials to make their home comfortable, self-sufficient, and beautiful.
Achi watches Cheryn's face as she takes it all in for the first time. There is a mix of awe, and disappointment. “Earth is an old planet, nurtured by a star large enough to have an ample life zone, but not so large that it dies before complex life can arise. This planet looks much like Earth would have over a billion years ago, but its star will die before more complex life than what you see around you can evolve. Garden worlds are the very rare exception; most planets never even achieve this level of life,” he says as he gestures around them. “We have inherited such a gift on Earth; yet we take it for granted.”
Cheryn nods to acknowledge what he has told her, while carefully looking around. “How long will it take you to bu
ild your home?”
“It will take the better part of a hundred years to excavate everything, another two hundred before the telitorri trees reach full maturity, and around a thousand years before our garden fully evolves,” Zaleria says.
Cheryn shakes her head. “I can't even imagine thinking on such timescales, and that is still only a small portion of your life…,“ she trails off, wistfully. “I'd die of boredom.” She takes her time, looking around at everything, getting a lay of the land, seeing their vision through the work so far accomplished. “I can see where your design is going. I think it will be stunning when it is done.” She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly cold, and not just from the cool breeze coming down the ridge as the sun sets. Achi and Zaleria have never seemed so alien to her as now, taking a thousand years to build a home. That would be like, what, 40 human generations? Whatever remains of humanity will have no memory of her, but these two will still remember. She shivers again as she turns to look at the distant harbor—both in space and time—for it has yet to be built. She sees Clive looking at her.
“It's mind-boggling, isn't it?” he murmurs, just loud enough that she can hear. “What human would make plans on such a timescale? Yet for them, it's as natural as our buying a car or a house.”
She nods, goose bumps involuntarily breaking out along her arms. “Suddenly, they feel so alien.”
“Yet, they are no different than you or me. Just older, and immortal.”
She shakes her head slightly, thinking. “No, it's more than that. They have a peace inside that most humans lack. And patience. They're different in so many ways. Could we really be like them? I'd like to think so, but I don't believe it. We're too evil, too petty.”
Clive looks at his sister, marveling at how much she has grown in such a short time. “Perhaps all we need is time. Time to mature properly. Something we lack because of our short lifespans. What did Zaleria say? They're not considered adults until they've lived for around a thousand years, despite maturing as fast as you and me.”
She closes her eyes, trying to imagine such a life. She opens them and looks around at Perxephsis, seeing its potential, far off in some distant future she will never experience. Seeing Achi and Zaleria tweaking their design over the millennia they'll live here until their strategy is realized in all its glory. Will mankind come and visit when it is completed? Or will their hosts only reminisce about what might have been as they contemplate the failed race Achi once belonged to? She turns to regard them and sees them watching her, seemingly reading her every thought.
“You see me for what I am not,” Achi comments, stating the obvious. “I don't think I am human any longer. Nor am I galanen. I don't know what I am. But you are not who you once were, either. Who will you become, I wonder?”
“Why do you care?” she retorts.
“Because I do. Can humanity be saved? If so, it'll happen one person at a time. Every person is important. Like the life that grows within you.”
“I can't face that right now,” she says as she turns away. “I never wanted children; to be a mother. I can't deal with it, especially if it looks like that, that… thing.”
“Where there is life, there is hope, but you must decide your fate. Freewill is perhaps our greatest gift, or curse. While you are here, relax and rest. We have to finish making preparations. Would you like to see how the galanen achieved individual freedom?”
“What do you mean?” Cheryn asks, trying to keep up with Achi's rapidly changing moods.
“The galanen are at once both highly intertwined, and incredibly isolated. They live most of their lives virtually connected, but physically separated by vast distances. Few rarely gather in any one place. To make logistics simple, each galan is fully self-sufficient, able to manufacture all they need for themselves—food, communications, defense, transportation, you name it. Their technology is what enables all of it. Let me show you.” He leads her over to a set of several simple structures, each about the size of a shipping container on Earth, except slightly ellipsoid, with flat bottoms where they rest on the ground. They reflect Perxephsis' yellow-white sunlight off the by now familiar flat white of most galanen structures. She knows now that is so virtual images and scenes can be best overlain by each individual's symbiots—enhancements mundane humans like her lack.
A door dilates open in the side of one of the room-size containers, granting access to its interior. Cheryn sees a stack of transparent boxes along the walls and floor, with a narrow path from the door through the middle of them. Different items are in various states of “growth” in each box, arising from what looks like fine sand or dirt in the bottom. Some look like weapons, others like clothing, and some appear to be belts or harnesses of some kind.
“Nanotechnology underpins all galanen industry,” Achi explains. “They can assemble any conceivable structure, given enough raw materials and time. The galanen have plenty of both. Autonomous probes comb each galanen solar system and home world to mine raw materials, and they're willing to wait a thousand years just to construct a home. Waveriders, D-ships, and things like that are actually simpler devices—purely mechanical. Their homes are frequently alive, formed from genetically modified or purpose-built lifeforms. They grow their food, but if necessary, they can manufacture that as well. And if their body, their “unitary” as they call it, is destroyed, they can grow another in about two years.”
Cheryn shakes her head, trying to understand it all. “It is so complex, so far beyond anything we can achieve.”
“Actually, it isn't that far past our current state of the art. We're already beginning to manipulate nanoscale structures and experimenting with early quantum computing. The concept is very simple, but extremely powerful. The machines can probe and manufacture at the atomic level, enabling all you see. The rest comes from nearly endless repetition and sheer numbers. Many of these nanites are only about 10 microns in size, and a billion of them weigh around a kilogram. I can use mine to connect to cell phones and Wi-Fi—access the internet. Our technologies are starting to become interoperable.”
“So what are you guys making?” she inquires, looking at the wide variety of gear being woven, one molecule at a time.
“Armor, weapons, remotes, and perhaps a few surprises for our adversary.”
“You planning something big?”
“Everything we do has that potential. Remember what this thing did to Zaleria's world. We have to be prepared to take drastic action if it comes down to it. There is so much to lose,” Achi says, resignedly.
“So what you're saying is it kinda makes my problems seem trivial,” she accuses.
“Everything seems trivial when you compare it to the entire universe and all that goes on within it. Yet, when I've stood before the Being of Light, it was the small stuff that mattered the most. Every choice we make between good and evil, being selfish or being selfless; these are what mattered to Him. When I stand back and think about it, this is perhaps the biggest irony of life. We should pay more attention to the small matters, and perhaps not sweat the big stuff. So by that measure, your problems are not trivial at all, certainly not to me.”
She is about to make an angry retort but stops herself. She knows he is telling her the truth. She thinks about all that she saw when she worked at the foundations and realizes he really has been focused on helping people. Like Clive, like her. He didn't need to, and could have easily left her for dead, but he didn't. He has provided her guidance and opportunities but has always left the decisions up to her. And he hasn't given up on her, at least not yet. She suspects there is a line he won't go beyond with her, but she hasn't crossed it yet.
She goes back outside and looks around. A storm is approaching, which means they'll soon have to huddle up in one of the larger shelters, but it’s almost dinner time anyway. She looks for Achi and sees Zaleria watching her from further up the hill, worried. It wasn't too long ago that Cheryn tried to kill her, after which Zaleria saved her life and has now welcomed her into her
home. Cheryn shouldn't be here; this is Zaleria's home, her future. But to Cheryn, it’s alien. She is so full of hate; all she wants to do is lash out, find more of those things and kill them, over and over, until… until what? She doesn't know and realizes she won't find the answer here.
She can't stay here forever; she'll eventually have to go back to Earth. She feels a flutter in her belly, the stirring of life, making her realize she doesn't have much time to waste. She'll have to leave soon. Perhaps it'd be best to do so when they depart on whatever mission they have planned.
Chapter Twenty-two
“Pólemos pántōn mèn patḗr esti”
Time. In the material universe, it orders all that goes on within, ensures that cause always precedes effect, that birth precedes death, and that people move always forward—learning from their past in an attempt to predict that which may come in their future. This gives any being with foresight and patience a distinct advantage. It favors those with experience over those without it, which often gives the aged a leg up on youth. If this is true for humans, how much more so for a being that can pull from a quarter million years of experience. A being that has outlived entire races, and one for whom humanity is nothing more than a plaything.
The Sol system is billions of years old. What is 75,000 years to its endless cycles? No more than a mere 300 orbits of Pluto, and even fewer for the objects that lie beyond it in what is known as the Kuiper Belt. Objects so distant that even if they could travel at the speed of light, it would take hours to reach the faint sun they are loosely bound to by gravity. Objects so distant that even the galanen are challenged to monitor all that goes on there.
So when a signal from the third planet in the Sol system reaches the ancient objects embedded in this belt as a long-ago planned ambush, the galanen are unaware of their feeble energies coming to life, warping the fabric of space-time itself to begin moving the masses they are attached to with incredible precision toward their final destinations.
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