The Dark Imbalance

by Sean Williams

  The mystery of the origins of Humanity is one known to all, although appreciated by few. Any individual fortunate enough to resolve this mystery would not so much earn himself or herself a footnote in some dusty xenoarchaeological journal, as guarantee themselves a place among the greats of science. For that person will not only return to us the sense of place, of identity, that has been denied us these long centuries, but will also thereby enable us—to return to our original metaphor—to know where we, as a species, are going. Not in the sense that evolution, social or physical, has a “destination” or a “purpose” in “mind,” but in the sense that changes we do see occurring could finally be measured against a single fixed reference point—the elusive “Alpha Point” (as some scholars refer to it). Without this point, it is inevitable that any observations we make will be corrupted by our own subjective viewpoints, and any objectives we aspire toward will be difficult to achieve.

  Some argue that we aren’t flying blind at all, that the question of Humanity’s origins has already been answered. Such people usually, in my experience, possess barely enough knowledge on the subject to have formed an opinion but a profound insufficiency to prove that opinion to anyone’s satisfaction but their own. Exponents of the Out-of-Sol theory spring immediately to mind, along with their archrivals, the Multiple-Genesis-ites. Where they all fall down is in the assumption that we can know such things, that the evidence exists and has been misinterpreted or deliberately suppressed. The truth is in fact that information, once set loose in the massive information flows of the galaxy, is very difficult to contain—especially if it is of such revolutionary nature, and even more especially if it is completely verifiable. Were such evidence to exist, more people would know about it in an hour than will ever hear this speech in my lifetime.

  In short, conclusive evidence simply does not exist.

  So let’s look at what we do know...

  Roughly five hundred thousand years ago, probably slightly longer, at least four Primordial Castes colonized a large number of systems in a migration we would today call an “outsweep.” This region of space contains several hundred stars, including Sol, and is commonly referred to in old records as the Exordium Worlds; we suspect all were visited around the same time, making it difficult to isolate one as a definite home system. Of course, this difficulty might reflect the limitations inherent in our only available method of dating this expansion. In the absence of actual ruins of any kind, only the remnants of the anchor-point network established at this time gives us any kind of date at all, and even that is uncertain after so long.

  To explain why this is uncertain, I always fall back on an old fishing metaphor. I imagine myself casting a line into a pond. On the end of my line is a sinker. As the sinker falls into the water, it creates a disturbance. Ripples spread out from the disturbance with decreasing magnitude until all trace of the disturbance is gone. But the line remains, and it too may create disturbances. My hand may vibrate, or I might tug the rod to attract a fish.

  Now, if the line is the crack in space that allows us to break through to hyperspace, and the sinker is the shock that created the hole in the first place, and the surface of the pond is space itself, then the ripples are the echoes not only of the anchor point’s creation but of its continued use. Although these ripples in space do not propagate the same way as ripples in water—tending to radiate in the temporal dimensions rather than those of space, forming localized distortions often and misleadingly referred to as standing waves—they are frequently used as navigational aides, or to find an anchor that has disappeared from charts. Xenoarchaeologists can use these ripples too, since their amplitude decreases at a known rate. One can tell at a glance whether an anchor point is a thousand years old, or ten thousand, or if it was created yesterday. That much is very simple.

  The difficulty arises when an anchor point is more than three hundred thousand years old, or has not been used regularly for half that time. The amplitude of the ripples may decrease to the point where they are indistinguishable from the background fluctuations of the universe. While we can still detect ripples from the ancient anchors among the Exordium Worlds, we are unable to tell whether the decrease has come about because of age or disuse. If the former, they might be eight hundred thousand years or more old; if the latter, they might be as young as four hundred and fifty thousand. All we can say with any certainty is that each and every one of the anchors in this area was created around the same time—suggesting that hyperspace technology was only developed after the region was colonized.

  We do not know where this technology came from or who developed it, but we know roughly when it occurred. Four hundred and twenty thousand years ago, Humanity suddenly boiled out of the Exordium Worlds in an outsweep known as the Second Expansion. This surge is much easier to account for. Lines of datable anchor points expand radially from the region, riding on the back of faster-than-light technology and forming the skeletal remains of vast trade routes that literally spanned the galaxy. Humanity, initially in the form of the four known Primordial Castes, spread like ink through water from planet to planet, star to star, jumping across gulfs previously unimaginable and daring even to send probes out of the galaxy itself—probes that have not as yet reached any of their destinations. What they will see, you and I will probably never know. Only the High Caste—the first members of which Transcended during this time—have that possibility open to them.

  Some records paint this Second Expansion as a time of great conflict for Humanity. Some researchers suggest that there might have been one single, mighty war, or there might have been innumerable smaller conflicts. Certainly it was a time of tremendous change, during which Humanity began the speciation that has led to such diversity and richness today. Legends were founded and, almost as quickly, forgotten. We will never know exactly what happened in those times, and for that very reason we will never tire of asking the questions.

  Inevitably, as the Second Expansion slowed, the centers of power shifted away from the Exordium Worlds to the core. The ancient shipping routes shifted too, until they settled into the familiar pattern we now call the Great Lanes. This almost certainly happened around three hundred thousand years ago—although, oddly enough, we cannot independently verify precisely when. The Lanes have been used almost continuously since their creation, and have been frequently re-created, so their ripples show few signs of natural aging. That hasn’t stopped people trying to date them, of course, but the results are inconsistent and anomalous. One research group actually dated a pivotal Middle Reach anchor point to be in excess of nine hundred thousand years old—a conclusion which is patently not tenable, inasmuch as it is far older than Humanity itself.

  But this is a small mystery, usually raised to trigger the what-if instinct in all of us. The fact remains that the vast proportion of evidence is in favor of the story as I have told it: that Humanity expanded outward from a single system only slowly at first, then much more rapidly when it discovered anchor point technology—changing as it went. And so we continue to change today, even though expansion halted long ago, with the colonization of the entire galaxy. The only new territories we can dream about are those across the intergalactic gulfs or within our own minds. Many observers note that since the most advanced of Humans always seem to choose the latter path, perhaps that says something about the long-term possibilities for physical expansion. Others point out that High Humans may indeed have found a way to cross the gulfs, but have either not yet returned or choose simply to keep their discoveries a secret.

  Whichever way one looks at it, the question remains: Humanity has most likely not reached the end-point of its evolution, and where that end-point might be depends very much on its beginning. Has Humanity always been so changeable, or so insular at its higher reaches? Is the present ratio of High Humans to mundanes, which has been constant for hundreds of thousands of years, one we can assume indefinitely? Or are we just going through a phase—one that might change with little or no warning,
plunging the galaxy into chaos once more?

  Certainly, attempting to plot trends in the behavior of Humans throughout the last four hundred thousand years has been a thankless task. Castes tend to develop in isolation, usually from a Low form that has itself devolved some time in the past, occasionally with the help of a benefactor’s biotechnology. Newly vitalized, the Caste then undergoes a period of expansion, sometimes fragmenting as it goes, leaving pockets of itself behind that might in turn one day also expand, depending on the Caste’s ambition or its Batelin Limit. At the same time, many other Castes are behaving similarly, and these expansive types may meet and overlap, or meet and clash, or meet and rebound, depending on their compatibility. The possibilities for trade and conflict are endless, as attested to by the prevalence of the Commerce Artel throughout all reaches of the galaxy.

  Other Castes are no longer expansive, having reached the peak of their development, and preparing—whether they know it or not—to change into something new. Lots of Castes advance, devolve, then rise again thinking they’re the first to do so; legends and ancient folk tales tell of angels and the like, all metaphors for former glory days that goad them on, upward again. Some Castes disappear, of course, destroyed by war or technological suicide or absorbed by neighbors. Others never devolve, just go on to greatness, Transcending at the peak of their rise to become immortals of a type we can barely comprehend—secretive and elusive, and capable of understanding beyond our wildest imaginings.

  Those who don’t devolve, disappear, or Transcend, achieve homeostasis in the mundane and remain that way indefinitely. Only the names of their empires change, rising and falling like the vibrations in a cosmic string. The Pristines are most notable among these types. The ancient remnants of Primordial Humanity are reluctant to change, but tolerate it in others—for perhaps that is the way it must be, since to grow, one must change. But to change is to risk devolution, and that risk is a great one.

  Just one Caste in ten thousand Transcends. The rest devolve or disappear. One school of thought says that the handful of Castes that achieve homeostasis, apart from the Pristine, might only be delaying inevitable decline. But we cannot be certain of this without greater knowledge of our origins. Perhaps Humanity has always been like this, and will never change.

  Here we return to our original question: how can we know where we will end up if we don’t know where we began? For an example of how the answer to this might have very real ramifications for all of us, one has only to ask: why has the ratio of High to mundane Humans been so constant? It might very well be a natural state for our race, as most people assume—but it might not be just as easily. And if not, it can tip either way, in favor of either the High Caste or the mundanes. We know that the ratio changed from no High Humans at all to a relatively fixed proportion in the early days of the galaxy, suggesting that Human nature did favor the High Caste at one point. If that trend had continued, we would not exist today: the galaxy would be populated only by the members of the High Caste, everyone else having devolved or Transcended at a rate too great for mundane stocks to replenish themselves. Clearly this has not happened—but why not? What shifted the balance away from the High Caste?

  The most obvious possibility is that there is a natural rate of accretion of which we were not previously aware. The effects of a High Caste death-rate would only become visible after the initial members began to age, and there are indeed High Caste deaths on record. But these are exceedingly rare, and it is generally doubted that they would even brake the initial expansion of the High Caste, let alone halt it entirely. So what else is going on? Perhaps High Humans don’t need to die before they need to be replaced: perhaps being old and insular is enough. After all, we are only aware of active High Humans; there may be many more who choose not to communicate with anyone, or who have entered a state of prolonged hibernation, or have undergone transformation to another plane of being we cannot imagine.

  Whatever the truth, this issue raises a disturbing possibility: that the High Caste maintains the ratio artificially, by either limiting its numbers somehow or maintaining an artificially high rate of mundane replenishment. The latter, of course, might simply be to restock its own numbers—for if High Caste expansion continued unchecked and there were no mundanes left, where would future members come from? Or it might be to give them something to watch, just as some mundane and Low Castes keep inferior species as pets.

  Is this our ultimate fate, then, to amuse, or to act as breeding stock for new High Humans? We will never know until we learn the truth about our origins. And to do that, we need more data.

  This is where you come in. As alumni from institutions all over the galaxy taking the bold leap of faith into the rarefied air of xenoarchaeology, your job is to probe deep into these questions and to expose the truth. Or if not the truth, then a fragment of it. Or if not even a fragment of the truth, then another question for someone else to answer. This process is ongoing, and will outlast me just as it has outlasted two hundred thirty-seven Provosts before me. It will probably outlast you, too, and the ones who follow you. Perhaps future xenoarchaeologists will look back on our work with an indulgent smile for our ignorance—or perhaps they will regard our work as cornerstones in the great edifice of understanding under constant construction. I cannot say which will be the case, just as my predecessors did not know. All I can say is that these questions are worth asking, even if we can never answer them. Not knowing where we came from does not stop us from moving on—and that is perhaps the most important thing about our race that has brought us to where we are today, wherever that is. We are not inclined to stay still.

  Once, millions of years in the past, a small, barely bipedal creature rose up on its hind legs and squinted at the stars above. Well, we own those stars now, and we’re still moving. Only time will tell where we will ultimately end up....

  GLOSSARY

  A-14 Higher Collaboration Network: an amalgamation of core-based High Caste members whose intentions include attempting to establish an objective frame of reference with respect to Humanity’s occupation of the galaxy. The Objective Reference Calendar is one result of this work.

  A-P cannon: a weapon that fires accelerated particles of various types. Common on spacefaring warships.

  Absenger, Burne: chief liaison officer, COE Armada.

  adytum: Skehan Heterodox term for the control room of a consistory vessel.

  Alpha Aurigae: an ancient system, the precise location of which is presently unknown.

  Alpha Point: a name for the single point in time and space from which some xenoarchaeologists surmise Humanity evolved.

  Ana Vereine, IND: the first of a new class of warships—the Marauder—manufactured by the Dato Bloc as part of the Andermahr Experiment. Its design incorporates a captain surgically interfaced with the ship. Once part of the Ethnarch’s Military Presidium, it is now an independent vessel registered to Morgan Roche.

  anchor drive: the usual means of crossing interstellar space, but by no means the only one (see slow-jump). Indeed, the anchor method has undergone several radical redesigns over time; current technology is rated at 49th-generation.

  anchor points: regions of “weakened” space from which translation to and from hyperspace is both easier and less energy-expensive; jumps from anchor points are therefore of a greater range than from “normal” space and usually terminate in another anchor point. They are typically located near inhabited systems (but far enough away to avoid distortion by background gravitational effects) or in locations in deep space which are considered strategically important. There are approximately ten thousand million anchor points currently in existence—one for roughly every ten stars, scattered across the galaxy.

  Andermahr Experiment: a covert project specializing in cybernetic interfaces designed to allow mind and machine to merge. Founded by Ataman Ana Vereine, who desired captains that were as much a part of their ships as was the anchor drive—an integral, reliable system rather than a flesh and blood
afterthought. Continued in secret until the Ataman Theocracy emerged from the COE as the Dato Bloc. Culminated in the DBMP Ana Vereine, the first Marauder-class warship, with Uri Kajic its captain.

  Ansourian, Alta: only child of Atul Ansourian.

  Ansourian, Atul: adviser and self-styled eminence grise to the administer of Perdue Habitat, Inderdeep Jans.

  Apostle: a Hum vessel in the service of the Disciples of Evergence.

  Aquareii: a High Human renowned for being the most powerful member of the Interventionist faction.

  Armada: see COE Armada.

  Ascensio: the homeworld of Morgan Roche.

  Asha: the single, warlike deity of the main Kesh religion.

  Ataman Theocracy: a tightly knit empire that existed as an independent entity until its absorption into the COE after the Second Ataman War in ‘442 EN. After several centuries, it eventually seceded as the Dato Bloc (‘837 EN).

  AVS-38 & AVS-44: two of the Ana Vereine’s large contingent of scutters.

  Basigo: a Caste not native to the COE region.

  Batelin Limit: the ceiling above which the complexity of a nation exceeds the biological capabilities of the individuals inhabiting it. In the case of the Pristine Caste, the value of the Batelin Limit is approximately three and a half thousand systems.