by Isaac Petrov
Ximena clears her throat. “Er, earlier sexual maturity.” Miyagi nods and keeps his gaze locked on her. Oh Goah. “Er… Yes, just natural selection at work, Professor. Shorter lifespans create pressure on the reproductive cycle. Early breeders have higher chances to pass their genes to the next generation, so after a few generations, uh…” She clears her throat again.
“Perfect. Thank you, Ximena.”
She sits and draws a deep breath.
“Well done,” Mark whispers with playful tone. “But you got to work on that thing you do with your hands while—”
“Oh, shut up,” she says, and mocks a slap on his shoulder.
Miyagi is pointing at a pretty South Asian Lundev student that is raising her hand insistently on the front bench. “Yes, Sky?”
She is frowning. “Makes little sense, sorry, Professor. Even with all that dying… There were still a few million survivors.”
“You are right. Most of them in North America, about fifty million, where Townsend was already spreading the Gift of Goah. But there were only fifty or sixty left in the rest of the world combined.”
“Still,” Sky spread her hands, “plenty of people to keep civilization running, I would think. That’s what I don’t get. Even if everybody dies young, so what? All our knowledge and technology—it doesn’t disappear from one day to the next.”
“That,” Miyagi points at her, “is a great question. Nice, Sky. Anybody care to…? Ah, Cody, great. Happy to see our Townsend University friends more active. Keep it up. What do you have to say to Sky?”
“With all due respect to my esteemed fellow,” Cody says with slow, studious tone, “what good is a quantum field theory manual to a farmer that can barely read?”
“Oh, come on, GIA,” Sky says with an exaggerated roll of the eyes. “Not all remaining millions are farmers that can barely read.” Ximena doesn’t like her tone.
Cody’s kind expression remains stoically unmoved by Sky’s reply. Always the attentive debater, Ximena has seen him in action before. “I am sorry if my metaphor was too simplistic,” he continues. “My fault entirely. In my haste to make an obvious point, I wrongly assumed a hint would be enough.”
Ximena smiles. Touché.
“What are you saying?” Sky stands and points a finger at him. “Are you calling me a—?
“People, people,” Miyagi raises his hands and tone. “Come on. Keep it civilized and respectful. Discuss away, but no name-calling. Sky, sit down, please. Thank you. Cody, please, no more metaphors nor, uh, hints. Tell us in simple, everyday words, why the radically shorter lifespans destroyed the sophisticated civilizations of the golden age.”
“Apologies, Professor, Sky.” He bows at her with convincing humility. “I did not intend disrespect.” Ximena chuckles. She knows him better. “To find the truth, I believe we need to take a step back from Dem, the collapse, the great dying, and ask ourselves the proper questions.”
“I like how you think.” Miyagi is nodding at him. “Finding the right questions is a cornerstone of science. Often harder than finding the answers. So, tell us, which questions are relevant to the second collapse?”
“The key question, I believe, is: what makes a civilization?” He pauses a second. “And the answer, in my humble opinion, is not knowledge nor technology. Not directly,” he hastily adds as Sky seems about to say something. “The answer is specialists.”
“Specialists?” Miyagi says, squinting eyes staring at Cody. Ximena throws a glance down to the front bench where Sky seems to scoff. “Yes, quite right,” Miyagi says. “The more complex the civilization, the more specialized we all become.”
“Yes, Professor. Doctors, engineers, scientists, botanists, analysts, merchants, financiers.”
“Don’t forget historians,” Miyagi adds with a chuckle. “Each splitting into dozens of more concrete specializations. My best friend is a solar-energy automation engineer specialized on Near-Earth habitat structures.”
“Yes, Professor,” Cody says, his kind smile broadening, “great example. Now that we have a candidate answer, specialists, to the key question, what makes civilization, we can postulate the impact of Dem killing at ever younger ages.”
Ximena is mildly jealous of Cody’s ability to remain calm and well-paced. The whole auditorium is staring at him, and many, like Sky, even with suspicion, if not open disdain. He just doesn’t care.
“Put simply,” he continues through that perennial smile of his, “specialists died, one by one, together with their experience and wisdom. Until all that was left were ignorant kids. Take your friend, for example, Professor. What would happen to our space habitats if specialists like him died from Dem without replacement? Yes, as my esteemed fellow Sky rightly points out,” he extends a hand in her direction, “human knowledge persists, but, alas, only on paper and digital storage.”
“And what good is that knowledge,” Miyagi says, “if nobody has enough time to absorb it, right? Great answer, Cody. Thanks. Love this discussion. You began by asking how old Edda was in the sequence we observed and ended discussing the ravages on humanity of the second collapse. Only by the outset of the twenty-third century did lifespans finally stabilize at twenty-seven, and so it remained, unchanged, until the early twenty-fifth century—the fascinating times which we are studying in this seminar—when that stability came spectacularly to an end.”
Seven
The Reseeding Effort
“Aliens, aliens, aliens,” Miyagi says, pacing the stage with his usual self-confidence. “You either love them, or love to hate them.”
He laughs aloud, as if he had delivered a joke. Some students chuckle obligingly, but not Ximena.
“Their meddling in human affairs has gone unnoticed for way too long. But finally, First Contact is imminent.”
Some students around Ximena actually whistle and cheer with anticipation. Ximena can of course understand the historical importance of the event, but why the excitement? Even Mark is smiling sheepishly at Miyagi.
“Before that, though, I want you to meet them right before First Contact. Yes,” he raises a hand at the sudden roar of excitement, “I know you’re eager to see our favorite alien again, huh?”
“Favorite?” Ximena murmurs to herself. How can there be a favorite—?
“Rew,” Mark whispers in her ear. He’s heard her. “He’s speaking about Rew. You wait and see.”
Ximena doesn’t have time to reply before Miyagi continues, “For the first time in dreamsenso, we are actually going to dramatize events from a non-human perspective. Sensational stuff, people!” He raises both arms. “You’re welcome for the privilege.”
Ximena watches in confusion as the surrounding students clap fiercely. At least her fellow GIA students, on the opposite side of the amphitheater, seem as baffled as she feels.
“Thank you, thank you. Obviously, we have taken some liberties, like dubbing and such. But all in all, our historical sources are solid, and I’m quite pleased with the results. Now, without further ado… Ank, if you will.”
A scene materializes immediately: a flat ground, made of some sort of impossibly polished dark stone, that spans infinitely in all directions. There is nothing on the ground: no object interrupts the spotless sight to the horizon, anywhere you look. The sky is pitch black, yet a soft light irradiates in all directions. A dream, thinks Ximena. Empty and simple, but a dream nevertheless.
A figure is now standing on the infinite expanse. It was not there an instant ago.
Ximena has seen this creature before. In Edda’s detention cell.
It is not quite human: a grotesquely elongated figure, thinner and taller than any human could possibly be; no clothes, no hair, no genitals; spotless white skin; a proportionally smaller head; no ears, no nose, just an over-sized black, humid mouth and two fully white eyes—no iris nor pupils—whiter even than the color of its skin.
The figure just stands there, idle, still.
And time passes.
“So, who is this
?” Miyagi’s powerful voice breaks the students’ absorbed attention.
“It has to be Rew, or Yog,” Lora says.
“She’s Rew,” Miyagi says. “Yog has three bodies. At least had them before First Contact. She also features in this scene, coming up any second now.”
“Is this a female?” Sky asks from below Ximena, as her eyes scrutinize the alien body.
“No,” Miyagi says. “Mares do not reproduce sexually. If you are asking why I say she instead of it when referring to a mare, it’s simply an academic convention for asexual sentient creatures. We need to somehow address them as people, not things.”
“Why as female? Why not male?” Mark asks.
“I know, I know. Please let’s not open that can of worms, pretty please? In any case,” Miyagi points at the mare on the scene, “look at her thorax. Rew is not breathing, ha! But unfortunately for us romantic historians, there is little drama to that. No zombies, no vamps. Mares just don’t have lungs. Which means they cannot speak like we do. They don’t even have ears. When they communicate, they reverberate psychically, a special type of telepathy. Very, very efficient. They don’t have the problems we do with accents and sore throats.” The students laugh. “In this sensorial, you will hear the communication in High Hansasian English. Oh!” Miyagi points at the floating scene. “Here comes Yog.”
Three more mares pop into existence. They appear at roughly the same moment, side by side, facing Rew, and just as ghostly white. Rew bows her small head slightly at the three figures.
Nobody speaks. As if waiting.
A larger creature materializes next to the four mares. She is not even humanoid. As large as an elephant, as sticky and soft as an octopus, and as many appendages under her body as a millipede. Two large bulbous eyes—white like those of mares—protrude from a head that is as large as the rest of her body. A head with no mouth to be seen. Her skin is white, also resembling that of mares, but thicker, and it throbs slowly like waves of flesh. Her body is so massive, and her short appendages so delicate, that any xenobiologist would correctly guess that her habitat is underwater. And indeed, she seems to be somehow floating above the ground, as if pushed by invisible currents.
The four mares bow to the creature. A very human gesture, Ximena thinks with wonder. Perhaps some type of convergent evolution on the body language of biped sentients?
The massive creature does not react.
“Sense and bind, Master Gorrobor.” The eerie female voice echoes crisply in the auditorium. Its source are the three mares standing in front of Rew, speaking as one. While she speaks, her black mouth remains shut, and her body unnaturally still.
“Do name yourself, and state the objective of this gathering,” Gorrobor says. Her deep, female voice—oddly old—comes out of her bloated body with no obvious physical source.
“Yes, Master Gorrobor. I am Yog,” the three mares say, “dreaming from Yian, Overseer of the Reseeding effort in Oromantis. We are gathered to hear the report of Walker Rew-at-Deviss.”
“I am Rew,” says the mare that arrived first, “dreaming from Deviss, Walker assigned to the Reseeding effort. I did summon this gathering to report on its progress and to request arbitration.”
The protruding eyes of Gorrobor study the mare carefully. “Walker Rew-at-Deviss,” she finally says, “I know of you. One of our few Human Whisperers, are you not?”
“I am, Master.”
“Sense and bind, Human Whisperer. Do report.”
“Yes, Master. I began assignment under Overseer Yog a year ago. My directive: to use my discretion as Human Whisperer to maximize the Reseeding impact, and so generate and maintain the long-term increase of human population.”
One of Gorrobor’s eyes jerks at the three limbs of Yog. “Sensible.”
Rew continues, “I did spend this period studying and making a preselection of the most promising regions to focus my effort on. I did find promise near Diamar, and so I rebased to Deviss.”
“Master Gorrobor, if you do allow.” Yog bows. Gorrobor’s bulbous eyes lock on her. “I did raise to Walker Rew reservation on her choice of base. Human settlements in third-wake Diamar are far from the center of human power. Deviss itself is a fringe operation, too small to exercise effective Reseeding action. I did try to—”
Gorrobor interrupts, her eyes jerking back to Rew. “Human Whisperer, what makes a region more or less promising for the Reseeding effort, in your perception?”
Rew takes a few moments to reply. “There are several factors. I did study in detail the social dynamics of human settlements, and there are regions where they are more prone to… new ideas. Furthermore, for reasons concealed from me, there is significant variation among humans regarding their innate talent to walk.”
Gorrobor regards Rew in silence for a few seconds, before replying. “I do sense the wisdom in finding humans that do change their ways with more ease. But I do fail to sense how their talent to walk is of relevance, Human Whisperer.”
“Master Gorrobor,” Yog says, “I did raise to Walker Rew similar reservations. Not only is the walking skill of humans not relevant to the Reseeding effort—it can become dangerous.”
“A risk perhaps,” Rew says, “but a controlled risk if we do manage it actively. And as with most risks, it offers an opportunity. It is this opportunity that I am focusing on, Master Gorrobor. Humans can become our tools. We can leverage their rudimentary walking abilities to reach into their societies far more efficiently than we could ever achieve on our own. Our numbers are too few since the forced hibernation. This must be done.”
Yog’s three bodies make a slight step forward. “I did instruct Walker Rew to abort and perform a standard persuasion campaign closer to Yian.” Her words are directed at Gorrobor. “Regrettably, my authority has not compelled Walker Rew into compliance. To protect the Reseeding effort from… unpredictable consequences, I did rule Walker Rew unfit for service.”
Now it is Rew who takes a slight step forward. “As of my official prerogative as Walker, I did decline Overseer Yog’s suggestion, and did request high arbitration. Thus, this gathering, Master.” Rew bows.
Gorrobor floats in thoughtful silence, the tip of her appendages moving as if caressed by invisible currents. “I am intrigued, Human Whisperer. Do elaborate the relevance of the walking capabilities of humans to the Reseeding effort.”
“Yes, Master.” Rew bows again. “I do begin my exposition with a statement. It is my conviction that unless we do succeed with the Reseeding effort, humankind will soon become extinct.”
“I do not agree,” Yog interrupts with a slight bow. “Human civilization is solid, their numbers are stable, and they have settlements over the still inhabitable parts of their world.”
“Their civilization is stable now,” Rew says, “but precarious. As Whisperer, I did study them with more detail than most marai, Master.” She looks at Yog. “With their artificially shortened lives they lack the capability to adapt. A typical human has barely time to gather the knowledge required to keep going exactly as their ancestors have. Humans are essentially blind farmers. Labor specialization is a rarity. Their scientific and industrial capacity is rudimentary, and their world is wounded, out of ecological balance. One more nudge from nature—a crop’s failure, an epidemic, a war—and they will be gone. Forever.”
“An unlikely outcome,” Yog says. “Their society is stable. With our persistent support, the Reseeding effort shall succeed, as projected.”
“Overseer Yog has considerably more trust than I do in human civilization, or their environment, to remain stable for the whole millennium our best projections require. Alas, Overseer Yog lacks the insight in human psyche and the nuances of human civilization that I do possess.”
Yog seems about to reply, but Gorrobor intervenes. “No more interruptions, Overseer.” Yog lowers her three heads in submission. Ximena smiles at the human-like gesture. “Do proceed, Human Whisperer.”
“Yes, Master. My analysis suggests that, wi
thout intervention, humans shall become extinct in the next century or two. And without humankind, our purpose on this world vanishes. We shall leave Nubaria and return to space for eons, in the hope to find another suitable world, if we ever do. To avert this scenario, we must act hastily and decisively.”
“A perturbing vision, were it accurate,” Gorrobor says. “Do expose the nature of your intervention effort, Human Whisperer.”
“Yes, Master. As already reported, I did rebase to Deviss in Diamar, on the Western coast of Oromantis. The third-wake human settlements in this area are on the periphery of human civilization, which appears to make them more susceptible to new ideas. But even more relevant to my intentions: there is a noticeable concentration of vibrant human halos. I do expect natives to have an abnormally high talent for walking.” Rew pauses, almost as if expecting an interruption. “I am selecting a sample from among the most promising humans in this area and am selecting those that are most suggestible to my persuasion.”
“How do you determine their… suggestibility?” Gorrobor asks.
“My staff in Deviss has been selecting young specimens all over second-wake Diamar since I did take over the operation, Master Gorrobor.”
“Selected… how?”
“I did instruct my staff to pick independent-minded individuals with strong halos; not quite emotionally mature, but old enough to have real influence in their settlement. After that, I had to take over personally over the subsequent phases; alas, no marai in Diamar has my expertise. I took to observe the interactions of all human candidates and selected those that appeared less satisfied with their status quo—a task only a Human Whisperer can fulfill. Finally, I did test their determination to overcome their dissatisfaction.”