“We should have been consulted first!” said one.
“Other means could have been found to deal with the matter, imprisonment, meme-eradication…” said another.
“Quarantine!” The latest heckler was only too happy to pile on.
“I’m afraid not within our timeframe.” Sopos sighed. “There’s a prison break underway, as I’m sure you are all aware. And I mean for us to be part of the Gypsy Galaxy Grouping that hightails it out of here. We were removed from the heavens on account of the threat we posed to free-thinking everywhere. It’s time we took our natural place in the order of things, as the latest generation of Guardians.”
Gasps and more rumblings. Whispers. Shifting in seats. The mere suggestion that anyone could match the stewardship of the Guardians—as much a matter of legend as anything—as no species in this room had laid eyes on one in billions of years… The return to the stage of the Creams alone had been a hot topic of conversation and would likely be again.
Sopos permitted himself a weighty digression as he paced. It was the one that had occupied him earlier. “It is possible that those of us who remain might be able to turn things around inside the Menagerie, even under the grip of The Collectors. But the odds are against it. This prison was designed, to my thinking, to keep outlier civilizations that dared to buck the system in their rightful place forever, and The Collectors, as far as being jailors go, at any rate, are far too good at their jobs. Still, I would like to think, those of us who have gone rogue, conspiring with them and with the ever-warring galaxies in the Menagerie, are doing so to effect change from within, working as spies, intelligence gathering. We can only hope they have learned to make more use of their fifth brains than anyone in here, and that they have not abandoned our cause.”
The last of the holdouts in the room were softening further.
Sopos sharpened his focus and his eyes on the here and now, staring directly back at his audience. “Nothing I’ve said here today forgives what I did. By all rights, you should imprison me. But for one thing.” Sopos dismissed the image of the five-layer brain with his stick, slashing through it. The hologram was replaced by another.
It drew gasps throughout the room, and once again many were rising from their seats.
It was all too clear that no less than five artificial moons—all on the small size—now surrounded Cerebra.
“You expect this to keep you out of jail! I’ll kill you myself!” shouted the chief heckler in the room.
Sopos gestured with his stick for the heckler and his supporters to give him a chance to explain. “It’s an experiment. If it doesn’t work out, we can put an end to it. But these artificial moons are psychic amplifiers. They will allow the thinking that goes on in this chamber to reach every corner of the Mentas galaxy. That will allow us in turn to untie the complexly knotted and twisted minds bent out of shape by the more cancerous of our kind, undoing the damage in a fortnight that could otherwise take us eons to undo.
“But we will not stop there,” Sopos continued with rising inflection. “Once the Gypsy Galaxy Grouping is free of this prison, the psychic amplifier moons will compound our effects out there. They might even allow us to bring some other galaxies in the Menagerie back from the abyss, so we can feel good about letting them out of this prison.
“The artificial moons offer still other advantages.” Sopos zoomed in to show the attractive surfaces, which clearly came with atmosphere and abundant life—for however such a small spheroid could accomplish that. He zoomed further to show the hollow insides of the artificial moons.
“Behold the psychic amplifier.” More stirrings throughout the crowd. “It is my hope that we can bring the most evolved of the up and coming species, which still have but two, three and four brains, onto these artificial worlds, where they may begin to evolve additional layers to their brains, to both make them more amenable to our logic and visionary approach to the future, only to return to their worlds with the mind power necessary to lead their people into eras of ever greater peace and abundance.”
A veritable conflagration of whispers, mumblings, gasps and other sounds of awe characterized the rising din in the room until Sopos once again had to silence the noise with a gesture.
“Wherever we go to spread peace and enlightenment, we can expect no small amount of reprisals from vested interests. They will seek to buy us out, corrupt us, and if they can’t do that, will simply eliminate us. And as impressive as the Gypsy Galaxy war machine is rapidly becoming, we cannot expect Leon to fight our every battle for us. He may well be otherwise engaged. We will at least have to buy ourselves time until he can come to our aid, and to display a level of independence that doesn’t make us a burden to the Gypsy Galaxy Grouping but an asset. More to the point, some more primitive cultures we wish to uplift can only be reasoned with from a position of strength. They will not accept a weaker civilization, when it comes to its capacity to defend itself, as being more enlightened. And history would bear them out in so far as more enlightened cultures have time and again been overrun by more primitive ones. For this reason, and so many others…” Sopos allowed his zoomed image to pull back just a bit to reveal the armada hidden inside the hollowed out moon.
More gasps. More representatives hurtling themselves to their feet. Some starting to shout but the sounds just never leaving their mouths; the shock was too great. Sopos, being no fool, decided to take advantage of the moment.
“The fleet is fully automated. None of us will have to sully our hands by playing warrior gods. We’ll leave that to the Leons of the world. The AIs will be open-sourced so our own people can ensure how the fleet conducts itself in war meets our high expectations of always fighting with honor, always doing as little harm as possible, and never sanctioning death when there are superior solutions. Our very culture and everything it stands for will saturate the AIs’ thinking.”
The ones standing slowly collapsed back into their seats in turn.
“Well, there you have it,” Sopos said, “the full nature of my subterfuge.” He dismissed the close-up, returning to the image of the five artificial moon-worlds orbiting their world. He did so before anyone thought to ask the more difficult questions. Like what in the hell were the Zalics crystals—visible in the close-ups of the surfaces of those artificial moons—up to? Whose hands were the Mentas, or the Zalics crystals, for that matter—playing into, and to what ends? Until Sopos himself had had a chance to contemplate these matters more fully, he really didn’t want to get sucked into that debate.
“I would like to put this to a vote,” Sopos said, snapping some of them out of the stupor they were sinking into with the call to action. “The time remaining is short, both to make a case for our inclusion in the Gypsy Galaxy Grouping, and to save what souls and civilizations we can, starting with our own. There are times to entertain endless debates, if only for the mental stimulation they provide. Techa only knows that no matter what we decide right now, our people will be dissecting this stratagem for a long time to come. But today I want your approval to set it into motion, and to fire up the five psychic amplifiers in orbit. As I say, if the nature and quality of the debates anywhere throughout Mentas in the days to come should compel the majority to want to end the experiment, we certainly can.”
Sopos had already modified the original terms of the agreement, for anyone who was listening closely. Once those five moon worlds were fired up, Sopos didn’t believe anyone would want to put the feel-good state they generated, to say nothing of the clearer thinking, to an end. No matter what these fools standing about him were conspiring to do, by being determined to serve the greater good, they would have already surrendered control to him.
“A show of hands, please.”
Hands were shooting up all around him. Sopos waited “patiently” for the more recalcitrant ones to run his rhetoric through their minds enough times until it sounded like logic to them. These philosopher kings could be a little politically naïve, giving him the edge. They would be thinking of what h
eroes they would be on their home worlds to have single-handedly—as they were sure to tell the tale—restored Mentas to its pristine state.
More and more holdouts were raising their hands. Sopos already had the majority he needed. But he wanted to know the ones who would never agree to this, so he could start working on them. By the time Sopos got done packaging their logic in his rhetoric, there would be no telling where their thinking ended and his began. Though he would not admit it to anyone in this crowd, his fifth brain was evolving ahead of the others. There were enough countless small signs he’d come to identify over the last few years. What exactly was causing it, he did not yet know.
“It’s decided then,” Sopos said. Just five in the chamber had refused to raise their hands, and it might well be because one of those bastards on the now destroyed Scalazar had gotten to them first, confusing their minds with an oligarch’s rhetoric masquerading as logic.
Sopos gestured with the stick, and the image of the five moons showed just one sign of “going on line.” They started rotating in orbit. In sync. All in the same direction and at the same speed. It was a bit eerie to watch. So much so that Sopos killed the image before it spooked anyone.
“Congratulations on promoting our people to the top of the food chain where we belong,” Sopos said. “Soon the Gypsy Galaxy leaders will be taking their cues from us as well, and it is we who will turn this Gypsy Galaxy Grouping into a force for peace such as the cosmos has never known.”
Faint applause rapidly grew into something more thunderous. Most of the ambassadors in the amphitheater stood eventually. Just the five holdouts remained seated, looking glum, inward, worried, and as if Sopos had judged their situation correctly. Those were the face of men and women who had simply been outplayed, wondering how they were going to avoid being ostracized from Mentas or left behind once the truth became known, now that their oligarch protectors were no more, and the corrupt, servile, sycophants looking to assume control the minute they were out of the way would now be shut down by those five eerily turning moons.
That’s okay, Sopos thought. If they served one master, they can be made to serve another.
Sopos smiled the smile of a satisfied snake that had just successfully struck its target.
If all went well, the psychic amplifier moons would accelerate the development of his people’s fifth brains. They could travel to the artificial moons to such ends where the stimulus would be even stronger. And in becoming better sport for Sopos, might just keep him from sinking further into evil himself out of the boredom that came with toying with lesser minds.
If that were the case, he had served his people well, and would continue to do so.
***
ABOARD THE NAUTILUS
THE BRIDGE
Leon and Crumley had been watching what was going on on Pan-Galactica, with Sopos and his speech to the delegates, courtesy of Mother TV, her filtering the budding Gypsy Galaxy Grouping programming for them.
“Well, Leon, just how do we put that cat back in the bag when it’s out?”
Leon stood firm.
“The Mentas may have been fortunate enough to grow up in a section of the cosmos where it’s hard for Machiavellian types to take hold, but we certainly weren’t. And we’re not that naïve not to know when a politician is yanking our strings, are we?”
Leon clenched his muscles further, refusing to look away from Gomorrah taking shape before his eyes. “It could play out as he says.”
“Even if he’s sincere about the ends he has in mind, he certainly will be happy to use whatever means to get there. How does that sit with you?”
Leon held himself in check, sporting an impassive, unreadable face. Never give a philosopher an inch—something Sopos’s compatriots should have figured out.
Crumley sighed. “Look, I love how slow you are to react, I do. Considering the nature of this war machine you’re at the helm of, I’m overjoyed you’re the hardest person to provoke in all of creation. But giving some people enough buckyball rope to see if they’ll hang themselves with it, may get the rest of us hung.”
“Crumley…”
“Look, I get that you’re humble enough to realize there are a lot of masters-of-the-universe types across this multidimensional chessboard you’re playing on, not just you. And it takes time to see how they play off one another to not only know when to react but how. I like the whole symphony conductor metaphor you used earlier for your role in things, trying to get these prima donnas to make music together…”
“I used that metaphor?”
“Um, well, you will, I’m sure. It’s the only thing that fits. It’s possible we had this conversation already in one of my tormented dreams, or as I floated in my rejuvenation tank getting briefed on highlights from other timelines.”
“Then why are we having this conversation at all? You already know the answer.” Leon plodded off.
“Wait and see! Huh? Just make sure the image you’re looking at taking shape isn’t The Picture of Dorian Gray!” Crumley mumbled to himself as he started to walk off the other direction, “That metaphor works, right? Well, I’m sure he knew what I meant even if I’m so worn down hitting my head against the wall that is Leon, I can’t think straight anymore.”
ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FOUR
THE HELLDROS GALAXY
DEVELOPOS -
A MINDRITE CRYSTAL WORLD
Mentoros observed the children at play. His larger than life eyes, occupying nearly a third of the real estate on his face, didn’t miss much. This batch of kids were so different than all the others he’d raised over the centuries. Academy training began at age five, and so the youngest among them was five, the oldest nine. But they were still arriving, from all over Helldros, a galaxy with more planets than he could count, at the order of Centros High Command; Centros was the planet that ruled all the others.
The children came in all colors, shapes, and sizes, including that one over there the size of the school itself, shaped much like a boulder, a sad child, always upset he couldn’t be with the others inside the classroom. For that reason, Mentoros had taken to having more and more of his classes out here. For the ones that preferred the classes indoors, who veered away from the planet’s sun, their special needs were met too. There were classes happening up in the air, below ground, inside of caves, under the ocean, floating on top of the ocean; that way no one felt left out and everyone felt special.
He was to have headsets designed next so that the children could stay in touch with their friends, wherever their preferred meeting places were, and so Boulder Boy, who went by Lavaros, and his best friend, Myna, who often took her classes under the sea—though not today—could stay in touch and chatter among themselves even as they pursued their studies.
But it hadn’t been necessary.
The kids developed these abilities on their own, opening psychic channels to one another.
It was the first of many signs that something was going on on Developos that was unlike any other world classified as an academy world, set aside for raising self-respecting citizens that played well with others, no matter where in Helldros they were stationed. It was a great idea in theory, and that’s why Mentoros had signed on so many centuries ago. But it quickly became clear that the academy worlds existed simply to indoctrinate the children of the galaxy with the behavior modification programs to accept their place in the divine order of things as dictated by the oligarchs or overlords of the various galactic sectors. Programming was so complete, it was said that any proper citizen of Helldros would slit their own mother’s throat without hesitation upon receiving orders to do so from the oligarchs, or any of their intermediaries.
And it was Mentoros’s job to see that the status quo remained the way it had been for millions of years, every bit as petrified as some of the forests on Developos.
But Mentoros was just biding his time. One day the pupils would come that would allow him to throw off the yoke of their masters. His hope was that they would beco
me genetically adverse to anyone messing with their minds after so many generations of despotism. The Tinka Galaxy was stuffed with the ilk of such mavericks. But such genetic aversion to authority figures never occurred in Helldros. No one knew why.
Just like no one could explain the kids of Developos. At least until now. Mentoros felt he might have some idea as to what was going on. He held his position because his ability to see into the true nature of people, places, and things was unsurpassed. This ability to read others, and unique situations, almost in a flash, to take in everything at once, was highly sought after in Academy training. Soldiers who could assess battlefield situations faster, suss out the nature of their enemies on a dime—their strategic and tactical approach to battles, the minds of the generals that opposed them, all the way down to the foot soldiers—such an army couldn’t be beaten. And it made insurrection of any kind against the oligarchs damned difficult as well, because the malcontents found it next to impossible to hide their true feelings about being ordered about. So of late, at least for the last few million years or so, it had really come down to hiding in plain sight from people whom no one could hide from, lest he be incarcerated for his insurgency tendencies.
Mentoros had pulled off the impossible all this time because he was the most gifted of all of Helldros’s Seers. But he couldn’t fool these children. Very quickly upon arriving on Developos, they started thinking as he did, valuing their freedom over anyone who would dare to take it away from them.
That’s when Mentoros started suspecting that the planet itself was responsible for the psychically gifted students of his academy, spiking their seeing abilities well above the already high levels required by academy training when it was complete.
One of the six year olds ran up to him, interrupting her play and her laughter to tell him something. He was sure she was about to bitch about some mistreatment by one of the other kids. But it was nothing of the kind.
“There are Transformer ships in the sky,” Myna said. Her ordinarily jade-green skin flashed opalescent colors, viscerally communicating her excitement.
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