Under the Eye of God

by David Gerrold

  For instance:

  Many thousands of years ago, humans had spread across the great Milky Way galaxy. The bold diaspora, this tidal wave of sentience, rippled outward from the spiral arm, discovering, exploring, colonizing, and settling wherever life could make a stand. Human plows broke the ground under scores of new suns. Human children tumbled and laughed in alien skies.

  The expanding sphere of humanity enveloped hundreds, then thousands, and finally countless numbers of new worlds. Necessity gave birth to grand technologies. A golden age of freedom had begun. Humanity grew and rejoiced in its growth.

  And then, according to legend, the first predator arrived, floating silent and undetected out of the deadly night.

  The first world died in puzzlement, without its inhabitants ever understanding what mysterious force had enveloped them. Comprehension did come easily. The hungry predators represented an order of life that lay beyond the limited comprehension view of common men and women.

  Many years later, a second world died while still puzzling over the death of the first. The colonists on the third world had more time and much more warning, but little more understanding. As the decades slid away, a fourth and a fifth world also died. By now, a line of death stretched like a dagger aimed at the heart of human worlds. A seventh world also died, but in the process of extinguishment, gave up the identity of its killer.

  The mysterious predator showed up on no displays; it didn’t have enough mass to register. Instead, it drifted as a vast amorphous veil of spider silk, stretching across an area larger than the average star system. Those who finally discovered and studied the thing found it difficult to conceive of it as alive; not life as ever previously imagined. Nevertheless, it functioned like something alive. It searched, it fed, it reproduced—and perhaps maybe, it could also die.

  No one knew.

  Mindless and hungry, the predator seeks out the brightest sources of electromagnetic radiation in the sky, the kind emitted by technologies common to inhabited worlds. The predator moves through space like a cloud. It floats upon the cosmic winds, the ebb and flow of light and radiation in space. The pressure of photons across its vast, and nearly massless, surface gives it the motility it needs to soar from world to world. It steers itself by furling and unfurling itself like a sail, tilting its plane to catch the maximum possible push in the direction it wants to go. When a predator finds a world with a bright radio spectrum, it begins to wind itself around and around the planet in an ever-tightening shroud.

  The extinguishment of a world lasts for many days, weeks, even months—as the sky becomes darker, the air grows thicker, and the filmy mass of the predator grows in monstrous accretions across deserts, lakes, mountains, forests, seas, snowcaps, volcanoes, and cities. When the predator pulls its entire mass into a single planet-sized shroud, it becomes a crushing burden—an envelope of desolation, gray and all-consuming. The predator devours energy. It feeds on heat.23

  When the predator has fed enough, when it has satiated itself, consuming all the warmth it can from the victim world, it begins to expand, unwinding slowly, allowing its billions of separate layers to rise ever higher, pushing the topmost threads of the shroud high into space where they begin to slowly unravel. The predator pushes itself up as far as it can go, all the time fraying and unwinding and unfurling at its edges, and finally as it has extended itself in a vast silky corona out beyond the gravity well, it begins to pull the rest of its mass up and off the now dead world, strand by strand by strand. It leaves behind a bleak and blackened sphere. No life remains anywhere on the planet. And now, as the predator unwinds to its fullest dimension, stretching itself out again for its next long leap into darkness, it has grown substantially larger, spreading itself across an area of space many times greater than before.

  It may not have life, but it feeds.

  The Retreat

  Many theories exist about the origins of the predators.

  Some think that the creatures began as a doomsday machine, a weapon of war that continues to destroy long after its creators have passed into dust. Genuinely immortal, the predators may not even have begun in this galaxy; some scholars believe that they have wandered here hungrily after exhausting the resources of their own birthplace.

  Whatever the truth, all defenses failed against the predacious onslaught of spider-webbed hunger.

  The first predator stretched itself and split into two parts after its seventh feeding, and the offspring split and reproduced again after their seventh meals. And again and again. Slowly, the things spread, so slowly that no one realized the danger, no one took them seriously for much too long a time.

  But over the course of a thousand years, more than three thousand inhabited worlds and moons had died. Try as they might, they could not stop all of the delicious emissions of their various technologies; and the radio-emissions of their previous generations betrayed their existence in an ever-spreading call to dinner for every hungering predator to see.

  Eventually, that first single predator spawned a hundred and thirty prowling clouds of doom. The star charts of their progress showed a spreading web of horror, death, and panic.

  Humans tracked the predators. Humans attacked the predators.

  Nothing worked.

  The attackers died, their ships enfolded, and so did their worlds.

  Humanity fled.

  As the predators swept steadily across the galaxy, following the course of human expansion, destroying one world after another, humanity ran before them. The predators cut a great swath across the worlds of the dying exodus. As long as ripe worlds remained, the silent horrors spread their webs, fed, grew and split. Humanity would not survive the next millennium.

  Humanity had no choice but to take “the long voyage.” The great ships began a new diaspora—out of the galaxy. Many fled to the Palethetic Cluster, a tightly packed ball of stars drifting high in the galaxy’s wake. Even the largest and fastest starships found it a long and arduous journey. Most of the voyagers made the trip in hibernation; many did not survive.

  Those who did, searched, discovered, settled and built—and made a vow: “Give us a place to stand and we will reclaim the stars.”

  It took three millennia for the survivors to settle throughout the Cluster and begin rebuilding what they had abandoned and lost in the home galaxy. For a long while, ships continued to arrive across the great empty gulf, each vessel bringing fresh reports of the continued scourging of the growing swarm of predators, each report spreading new despair and discouragement.

  Then the ships stopped coming.

  The Birth of the Regency

  And then, the first predator appeared in the Cluster.

  Panic reigned supreme.

  The TimeBinders of twenty-seven worlds met at a Gathering and mind-linked. They authorized the creation of the Palethetic Regency to oversee a vast military organization. Each of the Cluster worlds would share a proportional part of the financial burden. The Regency’s sole purpose: to protect the Cluster from predators.

  The Gathering proposed a daring and courageous plan. The most brilliant engineers in the Cluster would design and build a giant radio-emitting target that would attract a predator like the ripe technology of an inhabited world. Perhaps the predator would perceive it as an inhabited moonlet. When the predator had fully surrounded and enshrouded the target, the defenders would evoke a pinpoint black hole at the heart of the structure.24 The entire device would then collapse into the singularity, pulling every bit of the predator in after it.

  To carry out this plan, the Gathering authorized the creation of a military aristocracy—The Phaestor—and additionally, the Gathering also authorized the creation of the Moktar Dragons as an elite corps of troops to serve the Phaestor. These two species would form the backbone of the Regency’s authority. The Regency would create and adapt other variants of humanity as needed, but the Vampires and the Dragons would rule as the brains and the brawn needed to seek out and destroy all predators.

&
nbsp; During the first hundred years of The Regency, the Phaestor discovered and destroyed six predators. In the next two hundred years, they discovered and destroyed only one small predator. During the next five hundred years, they discovered no further predators in the Cluster.

  Without the galvanizing external threat, the Vampire aristocracy grew bored. Worse, the worlds that supported the Regency began to resent the high cost of maintenance for the Regency fleets. Internal tensions began to accumulate. The collapse of the Regency became a very real possibility. The Phaestor grew alarmed; they decided to act to prevent the collapse of authority.

  Nearly a thousand years after the first Gathering, the Phaestoric aristocracy declared itself the rightful ruling class of the million worlds of the Cluster. Individual families expanded their authority to replace the institutions of their resident worlds. Where rebellion occurred, the imposition of order quickly followed. The Moktar Dragons compelled the loyalty of the aristocracy’s subjects.

  The justification for this assumption of power? The Vampires lived at the top of the food chain. Food did not have rights. The Phaestor began to systematically revoke the citizenship of any species that did not feed at the top of the pyramid. Soon, they declared themselves the master race, the species destined to rule over all others.

  Those who had lived as loyal citizens of the Regency, suddenly found themselves servants. Those who had served, found themselves slaves. And those who had existed as slaves, became property.

  Civil wars broke out in many parts of the Palethetic Cluster and the Regency fleet suffered great losses in putting down these insurrections. The Vampires suffered many costly victories.

  But they had won.

  And now, they intended to savor their triumphs.

  The Poetry of Dragons

  The puppies fretted restlessly. They yelped and whined and pulled on their leashes. They looked tired and wan and they whimpered pitifully.

  Kask had the reins of three of the dog-children; Keeda held the leads of the other three; but Kask held his too closely, and the puppies pulled away from him as far as they could, complaining strenuously and wailing. The close proximity of the huge Dragons frightened all the pups; several of them had already urinated all over themselves in fear and the stink rose offensively.

  The smallest of the pups kept twisting away, yanking at his leash and chewing frenziedly at it. The smell of Kask’s hot breath terrified the little pooch; its eyes had gone all white and crazy.

  Kask noticed the dog-child working at the ornate ceremonial restraint and yanked it hard, sending the small animal sprawling. He growled warningly at the little creature, but instead of quieting it down, his deep bass rumble only drove it wilder. It leapt about in wild panic, upsetting its litter-mates; they began crying and pulling too.

  Captain Naye-Ninneya, an even larger Dragon, came by then, lumbering heavily across the marbled floor. “Can’t you keep those brats quiet?” he demanded.

  Kask wanted desperately to explain. He wanted to talk about the inherent intractability of these foul little creatures and make the Captain see the sheer impossibility of the task, but he knew better than to try. Too often, explanations carried the foul stink of excuses. He hung his head in shame and admitted, “My Captain, I admit that I cannot.”

  “Hmpf,” rumbled the other. “Let me show you.” He took a deep breath—his heavy tail straightened out behind him—and gave out with his loudest and most deadly roar. He aimed it at the frightened little dog-children, a furnace blast of orange rage.

  And as suddenly as he stopped, everything fell silent. The children froze where they stood, too frightened to move, too paralyzed even to whimper. The smallest pup grabbed the loop of his leash and bit it nervously, shoving it deep into his mouth, a terrified reaction. He resumed his frantic chewing at the leather. Kask deliberately ignored it; better that the damn thing should chew than cry.

  Captain Naye-Ninneya grinned wickedly. “You see? Always put the fear into them first. When in doubt, terrorize them. It always works.”

  “Yes, my Captain.”

  “Hmpf.” Naye-Ninneya glanced over the puppies, as if he’d never seen them before. He snorted loudly through his nose. “Disgusting. Tiny little morsels. The six of them together wouldn’t satisfy me. Not enough here to fill the roar of a healthy Dragon, let alone his belly. Barely enough for a taste. Just when you get one in your mouth and start crunching away—what then? One swallow and your hunger still gnaws. The Lady calls them fancy gourmet delicacies—hmpf. And hmpf again. A frivolous waste of time. I want a meal, not a snack. I say, feed me something I can eat. Something I can sink my teeth into deeply, so I can feel the blood spurting and pouring, filling my mouth and flowing over my teeth. I like it when it runs down my chest. I like the smell of it, I love the hot wet feel of it. Give me a good fat bullock any day. Remember this always. If you want the Regency to flourish, you have to feed your Dragons well—not this frippery, not these insults. Hmpf.” He concluded his discourse with a contemptuous snarl, and he lashed his tail with a vigorous flourish, by way of punctuation.

  Then, having nothing else to say, Naye-Ninneya took a moment to study the uniforms of the two warrior-lizards. He narrowed his gaze like that of a warden and frowned, and he tapped at the metal studs ornamenting Keeda’s chest armor. He did not feel satisfied that either of the two warriors would pass inspection before the Dragon Lord, but the time had passed for correction. He grunted. “We will present the Lady’s gifts soon. Do not discredit me. Listen for the chime.” Not expecting any answer from his subordinates, he turned and stamped heavily back to his waiting room.

  Kask exchanged a knowing glance with Keeda. The Captain’s anger derived more from the ignoble disgrace of guarding a litter of food than from the alleged superficial quality of the meal.

  Keeda said, “He makes me hungry. All this talk of killing and eating. When it comes to food, the Captain has the soul of a poet.”

  Kask nodded in agreement. “He does it on purpose—he comes down here to torment us. I’ll bet you he’s already stuffed his fat face tonight. We still haven’t gotten the taste of space rations out of our mouths and he gorges himself on fresh pig and brags about it to us.”

  “When you become a Captain, my brother, you’ll do the same.”

  “When I become a Captain, my brother, neither of us will have to stand and wait for oatmeal. We’ll eat meat every night.” He grabbed his big fleshy belly and rubbed it vigorously. “Right now, I’d rather have a meal that moos than a gold sunburst on my uniform.”

  “Me too.” Keeda shrugged and looked at the dogs. “I could even eat a couple of these wee things. No problem at all. I don’t share Naye-Ninneya’s distaste.”

  Kask made a low-pitched chuckling sound. “Help yourself. They’ll make for a tasty last meal—but not a very filling one.”

  Keeda returned the grin. “The Lady and her guests can have my share. I seem to have lost my appetite for dog.” He laughed roughly; the rumble came from deep in his throat. Two or three of the puppies looked up nervously. The little one began chewing even more vigorously.

  Gifts

  Lord Drydel whispered into the Lady’s ear. “I admire your strength. You handled him magnificently.”

  Lady Zillabar allowed herself a smile of acknowledgment. The expression on her outer face, however, had no relation to the feelings of the self known as the inner face. Privately, Drydel’s comment annoyed her, because it carried the stench of his judgment, and that implied that he believed he had the right to make a judgment on her activities. She also recognized the sycophantic quality of his approval and that annoyed her further. She knew that in truth, she had handled the moment badly.

  Her exhaustion and irritability had overwhelmed her wisdom. She had left d’Vashti simmering in his own anger. She had probably created more problems than she had resolved. She knew all too well how much store d’Vashti put in personal justice. She wondered if she should ask for his death. As much satisfaction as that mi
ght give her, it would unfortunately leave Lord Drydel holding too much power. She couldn’t do it.

  She had no misconceptions about Drydel’s loyalty—or any male’s loyalty, for that matter. She knew her species well enough. Males existed to serve females, to bring them pleasure as well as service. Concepts beyond that had little value to a member of the Phaestoric aristocracy. Nevertheless . . . relationships still required lubrication. Loyalty, like service, has to flow downward before it can flow upward again. The Lady Zillabar turned her cold gaze to her consort and said, “I have brought you gifts that I know you will enjoy.” She motioned to the Dragon Lord. “You may present the gifts now.”

  The Dragon Lord made no apparent movement of any kind, but a moment later, the service door dilated and Captain Naye-Ninneya stepped proudly into the room, followed by two massive warrior-lizards incongruously herding six little balls of dirty fluff. The dog-children. Dirty and soiled, with their tails tucked between their legs, they cowered and trembled.

  Drydel’s eyes flashed with interest—but his blood-lust faded quickly as the stink of the animals reached his delicate nostrils. The Lady Zillabar sniffed and reacted even more strongly. She felt a terrible roaring in her head. Her expression paled, then hardened into frozen anger. She advanced on Captain Naye-Ninneya. Behind her, the Dragon Lord came rising to his full height, towering over everyone in the room.

  The Lady looked at her gifts in astonishment. She moved from one to the other, letting the full range of her horror show on her features. The displeasure on her face sent icicles slicing up Naye-Ninneya’s spine. At last, she turned her eyes to the Dragons holding the leashes, and finally to their Captain.