“The various Alka Alon political establishments all promoted the idea that the migration was mandated by environmental issues similar to those faced by Terra,” reported the machine. While there were variations to the accounts, they all seemed to follow the narrative that the migration was forced by objective circumstances. The other subspecies often had differing perspectives, however. The Karshak and related lines, for example, reported the migration was due to overcrowding and political strife among the Alon nations. The Tal Alon had a more simplistic explanation, that the Alka Alon had decreed a migration, and those Tal who were properly loyal agreed to follow their masters. The Casadalain oral histories were even less complete; apparently their sub-species was inadequately developed, culturally, to have a coherent narrative intact.”
“Well, that wasn’t as helpful as I’d thought,” I admitted, as I packed the pipe. “I was hoping for more detail.”
“In later analysis, it was determined that the Alon migration was likely due to a political, as well as environmental, collapse on the Alon homeworld,” Forseti reported. “The colonists all seem to be from political and cultural units who lost the planetary struggle they were undergoing at the time. Though the impact of environmental factors is ubiquitous in the accounts.”
“Wasn’t that true of our own people?” I asked, as I carefully examined the bowl of the pipe.
“Yes, but in the case of the Alka Alon, the emigration seems to have been more of a retreat of defeated forces than the voluntary settlement of culturally marginalized elements.”
“You’ve lost me again, Forseti,” I admitted, as I brought the stem to my lips and lit the bowl with magic.
“The Callidore Colonial effort was intended as an attempt at preservation of certain cultures on Terra, largely from the North Atlantic Ocean region. Other colonial efforts were dominated by other geographical or cultural regions, but more than one hundred thousand of the colonists originally came from small coastal cultures displaced by rising seas.”
“Our ancestors were mariners?” I asked, intrigued, as I inhaled the sweet smoke.
“By your reckoning, the most superlative mariners in the world,” agreed Forseti. “Indeed, your ancestors were sailors of great repute. Their efforts united the world under common standards and provided the basis for global governance. But by the time of the colonization effort, their contribution had long been discarded as a historical footnote. Air travel had replaced sea voyages as the preferred method of cargo and personnel transfer. Those who enlisted in the New Horizon’s colonial enterprise were largely seeking an undeveloped world that would allow their archaic culture to persist.”
“Well, I suppose if we had boats that could sail the air, then boats that merely sailed the seas and rivers would seem limited,” I agreed, as I tried to sort through what Forseti was telling me.
“Indeed. The archaic cultures that lined the North Atlantic Ocean region were endangered by both geography and economics. When the opportunity to emigrate from their dying coastal communities presented itself, many took advantage of it. The aftermath of both World War Three and First Contact provided the means.”
“A war and . . . contact?” I asked, confused.
“Not merely a war, but the conclusion of a series of wars that dominated life on Terra for almost two centuries. Only the intercession and involvement of nonhumans from beyond the world kept a final, extinction-level conflict from occurring. Once hostilities were ceased, and off-world colonization was made possible and reasonably affordable, certain communities were prioritized based on their historic marginalization, among other factors. The New Horizon colonial enterprise, originally planned as one of twelve missions of the European Imperial Space Agency, was eventually contrived in the post-war era to provide a fresh opportunity for a number of cultures that were impacted by the war.”
“Nonhumans? Then, we didn’t have any nonhumans on our homeworld?” I asked, fascinated.
“The dominant species of Terra was homo sapiens and had been since the Neanderthal Decline about fifteen thousand years before colonization. There were no other obviously sapient nonhuman terrestrial species, though several aquatic species were thought to be comparable in intellect, if not technological level. When First Contact happened, humanity saw itself alone in the universe, much less on its homeworld.”
“So, our ancestors were . . . left behind by the world,” I suggested, thinking of the bumpkins in the Pearwoods and in Northern Gilmora, among other remote places. “But we were proud mariners.”
“And agriculturalists,” agreed Forseti. “One of the primary goals of the colony was to re-establish a sustainable agricultural and horticultural economy as the basis of colonial society. The colonization effort was strongly against a well-developed industrial and manufacturing economy, as well as excessive urbanization. Those traits were strongly associated with the negative consequences of the wars,” it added.
“Interesting,” I agreed, as I puffed and contemplated our ancestors. “Yet I see little devotion to the . . . agricultural arts,” I said, diplomatically, “when I study the wonders of the ancient world. Indeed, the pride of Perwyn always seemed to be its glorious cities and august academies, not its rural life.”
“Perwyn was designed to be a staging area for the greater colony,” explained Forseti. “The first several waves of colonists were pioneers and terraformers, not farmers. Their job was to explore, discover and build the biological and physical infrastructure of the colony. It was the later waves that were dedicated to agriculture and horticulture. Industrial manufacturing was largely carried out on the New Horizon, and the orbital stations. In fact, the agriculturalists you seek began their careers on such stations.”
“Lilastien explained that those were kind of self-contained cities that flew far above the atmosphere,” I recalled. “They were actually farms?”
“Three of the Ecologically Contained Horticultural Orbiters from the colony were devoted to cultivating native crops and varietals. Three other ECHO stations were designated for Terran crops that were eventually transplanted to farms on Perwyn and Merwyn, among other places. Further settlement companies established themselves directly on the colony.”
“But why?” I asked, still confused. “Why go so far from home just to . . . farm?”
“Their goal was to preserve the cultural and social factors they found important to their quality of life. That included fishing, ranching and farming, which were considered important cultural legacies they sought to preserve from their ancestors. Others, as I said, were motivated by pure scientific curiosity. Yet others were motivated by a sense of duty to their communities, their nations and their species. It was widely believed that the best way to preserve Terra’s unique cultures was to seed them in colonies across the stars. In the wake of the war, and of First Contact, it was the only way they felt they could preserve their way of life in the face of a rapidly changing and deteriorating environment.”
“I suppose that make sense,” I decided, reluctantly. “How were things so bad that they thought Callidore was an improvement?”
“It was partially a political decision, as such things often are,” offered Forseti. “The New Horizon was a relatively late colonial enterprise, compared to the early Euro-Imperial and Han efforts, but there was still sufficient reason for the colonists to abandon their homes in search of a brighter future. The first world that they attempted to colonize—”
“Wait, the first world?” I asked, even more confused. “I don’t remember reading anything about that!”
“It was a historical footnote to most of the colony,” agreed Forseti. “Less than a thousand specialists were awoken to evaluate the one terrestrial world that had colonization potential. While within the basic standards of human colonization, that world was ultimately deemed too difficult to terraform, and the decision was made to continue the journey through the next intragalactic gate. A navigational error during that transition saw the New Horizon emerge at a distant edge of
the Coalsack Nebula. That was more than four hundred light years beyond the expected course,” it admitted. “After the ship emerged, Callidore’s star system was closest to the emergence point.”
“I suppose that was convenient,” I said, though I only understood a bit of what it was telling me.
“It was essential,” corrected Forseti. “The damage sustained in the unscheduled emergence was substantial. It was unlikely that the New Horizon could have made a voyage to another system before most of its essential systems failed. That would have doomed the colony.”
“So, instead, you came to Callidore and begged the Alka Alon and the Vundel to stay,” I nodded, as I smoked. “You convinced them to give us a patch of ground to farm and the use of the Shallow Sea for our boats. So we could farm,” I said, still trying to convince myself.
“The goal was to re-establish the ancient cultural folkways of Terra’s past, to preserve that which your ancestors valued in their societies. To build a new society that epitomized the best of their ancient past,” Forseti instructed me.
“Would you say we were successful?” I asked, amused and irritated.
“Initial surveys would support that they were,” agreed Forseti. “Though the loss of industrial capacity is distressing. You were never intended to till the land by hand, or with mere animals. That requires far more labor and energy to establish food security than they were intending. Nor are the social systems that have evolved as peaceful or democratic as they’d planned.”
“Once we sank Perwyn, we had to improvise, I suppose,” I sighed.
“May I ask: what your intention is with this line of inquiry, Minalan?” asked Forseti, curiously.
“In a moment,” I assured. “Let me explain my reasoning, for context. You are familiar with the . . . quantum irregularities that plagued our ancestors? The ones we call ‘magic’?”
“Assuredly,” agreed the machine. “Though the mechanism of your manipulation of those forces is still a mystery to me. Quantum physics was not my specialty.”
“I’m only half-sure how I do it, myself,’ I said. “But magic is an essential part of Alka Alon society,” I reminded him. “In fact, it has a role to play in most societies on Callidore. If you study the matter closely enough, then you come to understand that magic is also essential to the biology of a goodly number of Callidore’s natavia species. Including the Vundel. Especially the Vundel,” I corrected.
“They are the dominant and only native civilization on Callidore,” agreed Forseti.
“They are. Yet I’m confused as to why they let us stay. Even in this supposed backwater corner of the world,” I grumbled. “Do you have any insights into that?”
“The Vundel were most concerned with re-establishing a functional biome in the human colonial zone. When we explained what our terraforming technologies could do, they saw some value in the colony. The Alka Alon were more reluctant.”
“Well, they have to actually live next to us, so I suppose I can appreciate that,” I conceded. “But were you aware that the ability to perform magic – or the ability for naturally occurring species whose biology depends on magic – will be endangered in a mere three thousand years?” I asked, quietly.
“Our understanding of the native quantum field effect was quite elementary,” confessed Forseti, “though there was tremendous scientific interest in it. But we were not aware of any potential problem with the field. Of course, communication with the Alka Alon was difficult, and communication with the Vundel was fraught with problems. Our primary concern was securing the rights and resources to establish the colony. What does that have to do with the motivations of the colonists?”
“Because I didn’t know why our ancestors would cross the Void to come here, just to see the entire planet expire a few thousand years later. I’ve been informed that magic as we know it on Callidore will be extinct in three millennia. Along with most of the species,” I added, glumly.
“That could have been considered a positive development, by some of your ancestors,” the machine informed me. “There was a small but vocal minority who expressed frustration with humanity’s inferior position in global politics, and who saw the manipulation of the quantum field effect as a threat to the colony’s long-term survival. The majority were more concerned about immediate viability.”
“I can imagine some of them hated magic,” I agreed. “Plenty of my contemporaries do, too. It complicates things. But it’s also essential for life to function on Callidore. Which presents a quandary.”
“How reliable is your information, Minalan?” challenged Forseti.
“It came from the Vundel, themselves, indirectly. But apparently the Alka Alon are aware of it, too. And when I brought it to their attention, they . . . demurred. In a most patronizing way,” I added, with a chuckle. Seeing Lilastien and Letharan both look anxious and guilty had almost been worth the weight of the news that the planet was dying. Almost.
“I would hesitate to factor it into your plans until the information has been verified,” suggested Forseti. “Many such odd and outrageous stories came to the colony during the early days, as we learned how to communicate with the natives. Most were deemed exaggeration or examples of interspecies miscommunication.”
“I’m fairly confident in this news, but I don’t deny there may be some nuance I don’t understand,” I agreed. “Hells, I don’t understand it at all, except that the most ancient species on the planet are worried about it. And I’m concerned what they might do, as they get worried. As well as suspect their motives for inviting us to settle here. There is a mystery, here, and one I was hoping you could help explain to me.”
“To my knowledge, there is no long-term danger to the world due to astronomical factors,” Forseti reported. “Compared to Terra’s system, there is a far lower incidence of cometary collisions here. While there is an abundance of seismic activity, it is well within the normal expectations of a terrestrial world of this size. Without a more exact understanding of the quantum field effect, it is impossible for me to determine the nature of the threat.”
“Me, too, and I’ve studied it for more than half my life!” I snorted, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “I know magic is necessary for life on Callidore. I don’t know why. And I don’t know why it might stop. From what I know about the Magosphere – sorry, the ‘native quantum field effect’ – it’s a permanent effect, based within the ancient coral of the world. Not even the insights I gain from my own magical explorations have explained it.”
“Without more data and a better understanding of the nature of the effect, I have no better information for you, Minalan. I’m sorry.”
“Well, it was worth asking,” I sighed, disappointed. “I suppose it’s a little unfair, asking you about things that happened after you were . . . deactivated. And are in such poor repair.”
“That doesn’t mean I cannot be of more immediate assistance,” suggested Forseti. “If Gareth manages to produce the designs I’ve explained to him, you should see an improvement in the economic health of your province. From what I understand, textiles are an important part of trade. The spinning and weaving machines I have described should see your community enjoy an advance through its employment.”
“Yes, yes, that sounds fine,” I agreed. “But it doesn’t answer my questions. If the ancient past has no answers, and my contemporary allies are reluctant to tell me any, I have little choice. I have to seek elsewhere.”
“Minalan, while I understand your feelings about the disappearance of magic,” Forseti suggested, “I assure you that your ancestors managed to create and sustain a remarkable civilization without it.”
“It’s not us I’m most worried about,” I confessed, tapping out the ashes of my pipe. “You see, deep within the deepest oceans of Callidore are creatures even more ancient than the Vundel. They are known as the Formless. They, like we, were not native to Callidore, but they were among the first races the Great Mothers invited here – much to their sorrow. They warred agains
t their hosts for thousands of years before they were finally driven to the Deeps and contained there. By magic.”
“And you fear that the loss of the quantum field effect will release these creatures,” Forseti realized.
“Among other horrors, yes. Humanity might be able to survive without magic,” I agreed, “but we cannot survive against the Formless and their vassals. Not even the Vundel feel confident to do that. If they lose their power, and those great barriers open, it won’t matter whether we have magic or not. We’ll be destroyed.”
“There is no guarantee that such lifeforms are hostile,” reminded Forseti. “Most of the non-native alien species on Callidore have not been seen as belligerent.”
“That’s because they’re all afraid of the Vundel, in one way or another. All but the Formless. They’re just angry. And powerful. And they . . . consume magic,” I tried to explain. “According to the accounts I have – and there are damn few – the Formless ate the rich corals that provide the basis of the Magosphere to extract its power. They are huge and they are potent. Even the Vundel fear them and worry about their release. Because it’s unlikely they can put them back. Especially if their magic fails them.”
“That time is, allegedly, thousands of years from now,” the machine dismissed. “It does not seem of immediate concern.”
“To the Alka Alon, that’s a generation and a half,” I pointed out. “To the Vundel, that’s six months from now. The Leviathans can live up to a hundred thousand years, if Lilastien is right. All perspectives need to be taken into account as we ephemeral species try to survive.”
“I see your point,” agreed Forseti. “But how does that affect your immediate situation?”
“I don’t know. But perhaps the Vundel are hoping that the snowstone I accidentally produced can mitigate the disaster, somewhat. And the Alka Alon are certainly nervous about it. There’s no telling what they might do. Especially their more fanatical elements.”
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