“I’ll bet you have questions,” the sun-tanned god said, and Mik couldn’t interpret the look on his face.
“There’s really only one question, and it’s the one every soul in The City wants an answer to.”
“Ask away.”
“Is this world ready for us yet? Can we come here?”
Apex shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He looked off in the distance, and it seemed to Mik that he was considering more than one answer. “The risks are high, Mik.”
Mik looked around, and tried to keep a neutral tone in his voice. “It doesn’t seem very risky from here.”
“A day like today is a mere moment in time. When all of humanity lands here, there won’t be any margin for error. Any mistakes, any surprises lying dormant on this world, any major die-off of life I’ve introduced, and the human race is doomed. At best, we’ll be on the run again for another thousand years.”
Mik leaned back in his chair and looked to the western sky. The setting sun was coloring the horizon in deep purples and reds, and another color he didn’t have a name for. “It seems we’ve got risk every direction we look. I can only speak for myself, but if we have to go, I’d rather go out on our own world, and not trapped in an airlock somewhere in space.”
“I know you think I’m being overly cautious, Mik, but my perspective comes from hard-won experience. Do you know the story of New Sydney?”
“I’ve heard whispers, but it’s not the kind of story they teach in school. They don’t push history that makes the gods look fallible. Bad for morale. But wasn’t that an experiment with a new world that didn’t work out?”
“You could say that,” Apex said with a sour look on his face. An older servitor bot rolled up bearing two goblets and a pottery jug. Apex took the goblets and handed one to Mik. “It’s a hard cider. I don’t have all the ingredients for a full range of alcoholic beverages yet, but apple trees seem to like this world.” He took a deep drink, grabbed the jug, and refilled his goblet.
Mik took a careful sip, and was once again astonished by the sensations induced by these apparently simple foods and beverages.
Apex dismissed the robot, and then took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“New Sydney was my first attempt to build a world for mankind. It took me ninety-two years to find it, but it seemed like the perfect spot. The planet was slightly more massive than Earth, although the heavier gravity was nothing that people couldn’t adapt to. New Sydney orbited in the temperate zone around a star similar to Sol, with mild temperatures, fertile lands. I found no overt toxins in the soil. There was native plant life, and multi-cellular organisms, but of a primitive sort, like you’d expect to find on a young world—nothing that would have been a hazard for humans or the menagerie of Earthly life I’d brought with me.
“Or so I thought.
“I began the process of introducing Terrestrial plant life and simple animals, the kind that are pretty far down the food chain. At first it all went well. The Earth plants took to that soil like they were made for it. The animals reproduced at such a rate I had to accelerate my plan to introduce higher species in order to keep the population under control.
“Things were going so well that I brought over a dozen families from The City. I needed to see how actual people would adapt, and I also wanted their perspective on what needed to be done. That’s how far along we were. The Terraforming moved along at a much faster pace than I anticipated.”
Apex again refilled his goblet from the jug.
“The native life was primitive and not nearly as diversified as that found on Earth. Yet in a very short timeframe those life forms united in an implacable front against every terrestrial life form I introduced. I saw exotic phages develop. Many of the native plants sprouted a new strain of acidic spores that hadn’t been there previously. The animal life, simple as it was, grew increasingly aggressive. The whole world was adapting with frightening speed to repel my little invasion.
“Understand, Mik. I was literally a few months from opening New Sydney to all of humanity. And here I was, watching my people, the very people I’d selected to be my pioneers, falling sick and dying, each with some new disease that hadn’t existed mere weeks before. Those precious bloodlines were ended forever. I couldn’t send them back to The City for treatment, for fear that the sicknesses might be communicable. We have so few people left, and to lose them like that…”
Mik noticed that the servitor bots had ceased roaming around the small encampment, as if whatever method Apex used to control them had come grinding to a halt under the weight of his revelations.
“In the end, I couldn’t stave off the collapse of the Terrestrial biome I’d introduced. For every counter-measure I developed, the native life of New Sydney responded with some new evolution that defied all logic.
“So you see, Mik, when I say the risks are high, I’ve seen the cost of failure with my own two eyes. We’re literally gambling with the future of the human race. If I got it wrong on this world, we could lose everything.”
Apex slumped back in his seat, and in that moment, Mik thought that he looked every bit like an old man, a thousand-year survivor of countless hardships. Mik took a swallow of his cider and watched the elder god brood for a few minutes. The Fixer inside Mik contemplated the horror of watching everything go wrong and not being able to fix it.
Not being able to save your people.
After a somber moment, Mik leaned forward. “So on this new world,” he said, gesturing around him with the goblet in his hand, “have you seen anything like that?”
Apex shook his head. “When I selected this world, I chose it because it contained no native life. It had every other element you’d want in a world—it already had oxygen and nitrogen in the atmosphere from ice volcanoes at the poles and the effects of the oceans. The temperatures were just right, the gravity was within the comfort zone, and I’ve already told you about the local star. But there wasn’t so much as a single bacteria on the whole world. It’s remarkable, really, to find a world where all the conditions are perfect for life, yet none exists.
“Everything you see growing around you is life from Earth. My ship is nothing more than an ark. I’ve long since buried it underground—right down that tunnel,” he said, motioning toward the cave opening. “It holds a collection of what life forms we could salvage from our ruined homeworld and preserve. Some of it even came from our underground storage facilities on Mars. That’s where the botanical gardens and hydroponic farms in The City originated, from my stores. But I held back as much as I could to seed the new world.
“Even so, there’s no guarantee that life from home would establish itself on this planet. The early results are positive. But as I said, the risks are great.”
The last glows of color from the horizon faded and darkness blanketed the sky. Starlight winked to life among the blackness, as if the night was awakening.
The servitor bots stirred to life again, rolling off into the new night, then returning carrying bundles of wood. They placed it in a shallow pit not far from the chairs where Mik and Apex sat. When they had assembled the pile into a small pyramid, one of them extended an appendage and sent a tongue of flame into the dried wood.
Mik watched, astonished, as the fire spread, sending flames and sparks skyward.
Apex grinned at Mik’s reaction. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to create atmospheric conditions where you can have an open groundfire? It’s not as easy as you think.”
“That’s not what I was thinking,” Mik said, mesmerized. “It’s just that wood is such a precious resource in The City that no one would ever burn it just for warmth. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Apex stood, and walked up to one of the servitor robots. He stared into its crude face, and Mik guessed he was giving it new orders. After a minute it turned and rolled toward the cavern. Several others turned and followed it. “Living here will be an adjustment for everyone, in a lot of ways,” he said. “Both good
and bad.”
Mik circled the growing fire, moving in closer and then backing away as the heat surged outward and then retreated. He felt the warmth on his face and the chill across his back in a way that he never encountered in the climate-controlled warrens of humanity.
The robots returned carrying blankets and simple cots that they unfolded and arranged within the comfort zone of the fire.
Mik watched them uneasily. “We’re not sleeping in the cavern?” He’d spent most of his life surrounded by the stone walls of the UnderWorks. He liked the solid comfort walls provided.
“Nah. Too stuffy in there.” Apex went to his cot and lay down. “Besides, you’ll want to get used to all this space if you’re serious about moving here. But get some rest. Busy day tomorrow, and you’ll have to head back soon.”
Mik sat on his cot and looked out toward the darkness beyond the fire’s glow. He pulled a blanket over his shoulders. It had been a very strange day, and he felt the weight of everything suddenly settling upon him. He’d completed a journey taking him a ridiculous distance across the galaxy, met one of mankind’s seven gods and instead of the towering giant he’d expected he’d found a weathered old man, and he’d walked on the surface of a new world. It would be hard to top such a day. He was already thinking about how he’d explain it to Talia.
Apex was watching him. The god could sense Mik’s anxiety, but misread the cause. “Don’t worry,” he said, “there aren’t any stinging insects out here. At least not yet. And the bots will keep the larger animals away.”
Mik just nodded and stretched out on the cot. He placed his hands behind his head and stared up into the immensity of the universe above. It was not the same as watching the stars through the roof of the dome. The clarity of it made it seem as if his vision had evolved into some new sense.
The wonder gave way to apprehension. As hard as he tried to ignore it, he was painfully aware there was nothing but a thin atmosphere between himself and the rest of the universe. He was exposed to every danger he’d ever been warned about. He couldn’t remember a time in his entire life when there hadn’t been something over his head shielding him from the pitiless terrors of the void.
This was a beautiful world. Fresh and alive, a clean new start for a human race that had been hiding under a dome for an age.
But he wondered how long it would take before he could ever call it home.
Chapter 18
The Reluctant God
Mik awoke to find Apex standing, staring into the smoldering fire, rolling the data capsule from Apollo in his fingers. He looked troubled, and Mik wondered if he’d slept at all.
After a moment, Apex noticed Mik was awake and turned to him.
“You can tell Apollo the answer is yes. I’ll load the technical details he requested onto this…relic. You’ve got your new world, Mik. That is, if Apollo isn’t crazy and we can pull off his plan.”
Apex didn’t elaborate any more about Apollo’s message, and Mik decided not to press. Apollo had been rather scarily serious when he’d spoken with Mik about the importance of the data capsule.
By the god’s demeanor, it seemed to Mik that Apex had not arrived at his decision until that very moment. The god exhaled deeply and squatted next to the fire. He began feeding it small twigs to bring it back to life.
Mik got up from his cot and groaned as his muscles protested. The hike through wild terrain, under heavier gravity than he was accustomed to, had introduced new forms of pain to his body.
Apex saw his discomfort and waved a hand in his direction. “Here, let me help you.”
He began feeling better almost immediately, and Mik realized that Apex had activated his blood riders, most likely to deliver more oxygen to his muscles.
“Thanks,” he said, and stretched. He wandered off to find a place to drain his bladder, then circled back to the fire. He picked up one of the small tree branches that the robots had gathered during the night. The bark was rough in his hands, the texture unfamiliar. A long, slender thorn stuck out from the side like a bone emerging through skin. It looked in general like something from the trees in the arboretum of The City, although he could tell it wasn’t something that grew there. It was exotic in its simplicity.
“I’m going to take this back to The City,” he said. “I want something I can place in people’s hands from the new world so they’ll believe it.”
Apex smiled. “Many years ago, I sent a shipment of wood to Tower for use in The City. It was from the first mesquite trees harvested on this world. It was supposed to be a morale booster. But I never followed it up, and it might have been forgotten. That was long before you were born, maybe even before your father.”
“Flamewood! That’s what we call it in The City. It’s rare, and only used in the most exclusive places. I always thought it was just a fable that it came from the new world.”
“That’s a shame,” Apex said. “Another failing of mine, not to follow up.”
The servitor robots rumbled up again, as they had yesterday, bearing hot tea and warm loaves.
They sat in front of the slowly growing fire to eat. Mik couldn’t help but notice that Apex was in a somber mood. The almost jaunty god of yesterday was staring intently into the flames, his expression utterly serious.
“Tell me, Mik,” he said at last. “Do they still call us gods? I mean, that’s how the people see me and the others?”
“Of course. Your temple is always kept immaculate. I throw a token in your plate every Benefactor Day.”
Apex grimaced, and Mik saw that he had not given the answer the god had hoped for.
“Is that…insufficient?”
He shook his head. “No, that’s fine,” he said. The expression on his face didn’t match his words.
“You don’t want the people to worship the gods?”
“Not as gods, no. But I lost that battle long ago.”
Mik realized the confusion on his face must have been evident from the way Apex looked at him.
“Oh, I begged ’em, kid. Call us titans, or sentinels, or hell, even superheroes, but don’t call us gods. Anything but that.”
“But why?”
A trace of anger flashed across his face, but it passed quickly, replaced by sadness. “Unlike the other six fools, I actually worship God. The God. The creator of all things, including our immortal souls. Some of the others used to be believers too, although they won’t admit it now. After the Otrid almost killed us all, they lost faith, like weak-minded teenagers grappling with the death of a loved one for the first time.”
“So, you didn’t want to be elevated?”
“It’s not that. I was ready to do what was necessary to survive. But the Benefactors and a surprisingly large number of people insisted that we needed to be more. The people had to truly believe we were something beyond mere figureheads, they said. We had to become warrior-gods, larger than life. We needed to inspire awe, and wonder, and the only way to do that was to stand above the people and adopt powers that no human beings had ever wielded before.”
“I didn’t realize that it was all so controversial,” Mik said, still shocked by Apex’s revelation.
Apex shook his head. “You had to be there. It looked like the human race was finished. Only a little more than four thousand of us survived. We were scared, scattered, and almost totally dependent on the goodwill of aliens. You don’t know how lucky we were that the Beh’neefazor took us in…We never could determine their true motivation for sparing us. It was probably no more complicated than the fact the Otrid viewed them as vermin to be exterminated also, and figured it was worth it to preserve as many allies as they could.
“But at the time it didn’t matter so much why, it mattered that they were willing to help us and share the technology we’d need to survive.
“And so I went along, the reluctant god. There wasn’t much choice, really. I was the only one left alive who had any clue how to terraform a new world. Anyway, after Maelstrom engineered a way to actually
leave his body behind, my argument was well and truly lost. Once you’ve seen his twisting magnetic field bands light up the sky, like glowing snakes in some sort of mating ritual, well…a lot of people began to believe in gods again.”
Apex looked at Mik with piercing eyes. “Does he still glow like that? Does Maelstrom glow like some kind of angel from on high?”
“No, he lost that ability in the attack,” Mik said. “As near as I can tell, he’s basically the equivalent to a lower-order AI, locked into whatever neural network that can hold him.”
Apex stood and warmed his hands by the fire. “That’s a long way to fall, but I guess he’s used to being disembodied.”
Apex’s openness emboldened Mik. There was so much still to learn, things that only the gods knew. “Is that why you still look so human? An unwillingness to be considered a god?”
“I kept my original form, just constantly rejuvenated. We were made in the image of God, you know. Besides, how could I build a world for the human race if I left behind every aspect of humanity? How can you prepare a world if you can’t run your fingers through the soil, if you can’t swim in the waters, or breath the air the same as any human being would?”
Apex sat on the ground and crossed his legs, as if to emphasize the point.
“You say I have a fine temple in my name in The City?”
Mik nodded. “Your temple is especially popular with young mothers, who pray their children will grow up on the new world.”
“How am I portrayed?”
“A giant. Wise, determined. A builder.”
“Of course. The legend just keeps growing.” He waved a hand in disgust.
Mik shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. He was about to press the god in a way that could be read as disrespectful, but he wanted Apex to know the true state of things.
“There’s a large faction under the dome that doesn’t really believe there’s a new world being built. They say that after so many hundreds of years, and with no evidence or witnesses, it’s all just a myth to keep us in line. Those people are in for a big surprise, I guess,” Mik said, looking around. “But the point is—no disrespect intended, Apex—you spoke about maintaining your human form and perspective. But human timescales matter too. You tell people something great is going to happen in a thousand years, and they don’t put much faith in it. They’ll never live to see it. The promise becomes legend. Belief in the new world is just as much a matter of faith as believing in gods, at least for most of the people back home.”
Gods and the Stars (Gods and the Starways Book 2) Page 13