I used the larger of the two caves as a safe storage space for some of my most important work. The smaller I selected to become my secret workshop. I had need of one. I needed a secure and secret place that I could house the ungainly collection of ancient artifacts I’d come to know as Forseti.
Lilastien and Ruderal had carefully disassembled the contraption in Sevendor, and I’d carried it in the wagon my father and I drove across country. The only portion of it we’d left connected was the dark square that drank in sunlight to fill Forseti’s capacities along the way. Then I’d become busy with Vanador, and then there was a war to prepare for. But I had not forgotten about the voice from the ancients. I just did not want to proceed until I was certain of security.
The smaller cave proved the perfect secret laboratory for investigating the massive new trove of tekka I’d acquired from the Royal Household’s treasury. All but the largest pieces fit within the place, and Forseti found it an acceptable environment to continue our discussions.
Very few people were even aware of the cave. Lilastien and Ruderal were the only regular visitors. I introduced Gareth to the construct soon after it was installed, over the summer, as well as Taren, but I tried to keep knowledge of the ancient entity a secret. Not only from my human opponents, but from the Nemovorti I faced, too. Forseti was an advantage I did not understand, yet. Until I did, I wanted only those whom I could trust to have access to the thing.
Ruderal was a frequent visitor, as he had helped bring the ancient construct of our ancestors back to wakefulness after more than seven hundred years of dormancy. Ruderal seemed to have an excellent rapport with the machine. I think part of that was his natural curiosity, and part was the fact that Forseti didn’t have an enneagram to betray his words. Most of their conversations concerned Ruderal’s observations about his world. I think the lad found the experience intriguing. I know Forseti did – it saw Ruderal as a valuable window into the contemporary world.
Gareth was also welcome to consult Forseti, and did so frequently. The thaumaturge was a keen student of history and had hundreds of questions about the ancient past. Instead of ducking in for an hour or so, like Ruderal did, Gareth would appear with a sheaf of blank parchment and an inkpot and work for half a day or more . . . or until Forseti began to lose its vigor and needed rest. Gareth wanted to know every secret from the ancients that the machine possessed. Their long-ranging conversations led to a number of inspired ideas from the young wizard, and some even became policy in Vanador.
Lilastien was the third regular visitor. The Sorceress of Sortha Wood wanted to converse with Forseti about the past, but in a far more nostalgic way. I occasionally found the old Alkan deep in conversation about people and places long dead and drowned, elements of the culture of the ancients that only the two of them were familiar with.
My own visits to the ancient construct were irregular, at first, and often concerned weightier matters than culture, either modern or ancient. Only rarely did it relate to innovations in engineering gleaned from ancient history. My concerns revolved around the role of the Forsaken in our history, and why Forseti thought them of the utmost importance. Since the resurrected machine first told me about the remnants of the original colony, trapped aboard the vessel that brought humanity to Callidore, I had been mulling its words over in my mind . . . and not speaking of it to any but Lilastien.
It was a fascinating experience to converse with one of our ancestors’ mysterious servants, and Forseti seemed eager to participate. When the device came back to life in the recesses of the cave that summer, it required a simple update about the time and change in location before resuming its curious discussions about our world – “the Colony”, in Forseti’s terms. It was almost always willing to answer questions we had, but the answers weren’t nearly as satisfying as we thought they’d be.
I had a storm of concerns about Forseti’s insistence. The friendly, oddly-accented voice that emitted from the construct told a tragic story, and a compelling one. But I had no real assurance that I could trust it.
I admit, I was still feeling sensitive about how the Alka Alon had used me – and humanity, in general – for its own ends. Even the distant Sea Folk saw humanity as a means to an end. While Forseti seemed sincere in our discussions, and took great pains to explain things I didn’t understand about the past, it was clear to me that the machine’s loyalties and priorities were to institutions and people long dead and crumbled.
It was fascinating, discussing the past with something that had witnessed it. Something that had intimate, detailed knowledge about the mighty civilization that had crossed the airless Void between stars to come to Callidore almost a thousand years ago. The insights and revelations Forseti gave me about mysteries from our past were incredible, though its knowledge abruptly ceased before the first magi arose on Perwyn. In a way, Forseti gave me my own window on the raw, uncontaminated culture that had achieved so much without knowledge of magic.
I suppose we were equally fascinating to the machine. We were, after all, the distant descendants of the original colonists, and it saw our very existence as a validation of its mission. Forseti told me more than once that, regardless of its current poor state, the survival and continued security of the colony was a qualified success, and continued to be its primary task.
Of course there was quite a bit Forseti told me that I didn’t understand at all. Part of that was the limitations of our language and its ability to describe things that no longer existed. We ended up lapsing into various dialects of Ancient Perwynese, but honestly, I still only understood but a tithe of what it said.
Still, you can figure out a lot by context and inference. Though Forseti’s lectures on early colonial settlement were filled with words and concepts that simply did not apply to our culture anymore, human nature and society has not changed that much in seven hundred years. A lot of the technical language was still a mystery, but I figured out much simply by listening and absorbing.
The basic elements of the story began to emerge after a month of sporadic discussions in the cave. Our ancestors had come here on the New Horizon, a magnificent ship that sailed the Void with an entire civilization aboard. The colonists had been put into a deep sleep which kept them in a kind of stasis, allowing them to slumber for centuries while they crossed the unimaginable distance between worlds.
Not just a few colonists, either. Forseti told of how the great vessel carried a quarter of a million human beings in its holds. While most of them had awakened during the early days of the colony, the process had not released them all before politics and fate intervened. The vessel and its remaining colonists were sent far, far from this world, left to sail eternally in the sky . . . and we did not know why. Those colonists had been forsaken. They were the Forsaken. Forgotten and abandoned, forever out of reach and doomed to sleep eternally among the stars.
The thing was, Forseti was not convinced that the Forsaken were beyond rescue. Even though human civilization had long ago lost our mastery of the skies, the machine was utterly determined to find some means of recalling the vessel from its exile and saving its passengers from certain doom. No matter how impossible that seemed to me.
We discussed the prospect in early autumn, as summer was ending and the first harvests were coming in from the field. After relating the crop yields to it – Foresti seemed genuinely interested in the nature and number of our agricultural progress – I returned to the question of the Forsaken. After my talk with Lilastien, I had a few new questions. Starting with whether or not it was even a realistic hope.
The possibility of surviving colonists is actually high, though it diminishes with every year, the machine assured me. Depending on where the New Horizon was sent, as many as three quarters of the suspended population may have survived.
“But we don’t know where it was sent,” I pointed out.
No. But it is possible that records exist from that time that will indicate where it was sent.
“Maybe,” I con
ceded. “But that was centuries ago. And we have no idea where they might be hidden.”
That should not deter the search. The original colonial settlement encompassed lands outside of the present Five Duchies, it reminded me. There were installations and research outposts scattered all over the planet. Even small colonies. If some of those survived intact, it is possible that they would have information helpful to that search.
“I don’t know about other places, but most of the oldest settlements are in Merwyn,” I informed the machine. “The eastern mainland.”
That region was beginning to be settled when I went dormant, Forseti agreed. The settlements of Mundisburg, New Hanover, Neauanfang, and Calex were in the process of being developed.
“Yes, I believe they’re all still there,” I agreed. “Though they’re known as Munsber, Newhanoer, and Nuan, now. Calex Province is still called that, though. They’re all in the great central valley, if I recall my geography correctly. But if you’re looking for ancient records there, you’re going to be disappointed. My ancestors, the Narasi barbarians, had a fetish for burning any documents they found. They were superstitious about that sort of thing.”
The records we require will not be stored on paper, Forseti countered. I am hopeful that one or more other analytical units survived and can be brought on-line. Perhaps other ancient artefacts exist with the data we require.
“I don’t mind spending more coin on antiquities,” I admitted. “But it would be nice to know what I’m looking for.”
Ideally, equipment that would allow me a better interaction with the world, Forseti proposed. My current interactive devices are severely limited without better peripheral support.
“So I should just keep buying old junk until we get lucky? That doesn’t sound very promising.”
I believe if you can travel to one of the marginal outposts listed in my records that some vestigial data or equipment may have survived. The original colonial effort was designed with rugged use and long-term endurance in mind. Redundant systems were employed to ensure the viability of maintaining colonial civilization, even in case of disaster.
“Our ancestors were worried about disaster?” I asked, amused. The sinking of Perwyn, the original colony site – and where the bulk of ancient human civilization had been located – was considered one of the all-time biggest bonehead moves my ancestors made.
They were assured of it, Forseti agreed. Part of my purpose was to anticipate such disasters to the colonial biome or social fabric and take steps to prevent them. Undertaking such a profound enterprise as colonizing an alien world suggests failure as a likely outcome.
“I thought that Callidore was similar to our original world?”
It is remarkably similar, Forseti conceded. But the differences between them were always likely to produce a catastrophic event or condition that could threaten the colony. That is why the colonists were introduced to Callidore gradually. Colonial doctrine dictated that a reserve of core competencies were preserved aboard the New Horizon until the colony proved viable.
“When will the colony be considered viable?”
Doctrine established that colonial viability would be comfortably established at the five-century mark. Twenty-five standard human generations.
“I think we’ve made that goal,” I answered, dryly.
I concur. The biome seems firmly established in the main colonial territory. Human viability within the territory is less in doubt at this stage in development.
“Less in doubt? How is it in doubt?” I asked, curious.
The presence of intelligent alien species and civilizations inherently compromise long-term colonial viability, Forseti explained. The original colonial doctrine established that such a presence could reduce long-term survival by as much as thirty percent. But the original doctrine also only accounted for one alien species on the colony world. When the New Horizon initially established contact with the Alon, the colony was established on that basis; thirty percent was seen as an acceptable risk.
“But Callidore has more than one alien species,” I guessed, “and that messed up your calculations.”
Exactly. By the time it was discovered that the Alon were also colonists and that the Vundel civilization was the native race, the colony was already underway. The additional threat implied by a second alien civilization was difficult to calculate. By the time the others were discovered, original projections for viability were abandoned. No plan involving two alien civilizations was available. By the time of my dormancy, there were seven distinct species identified and four others seen as potentially alien. That possibility was beyond the capacity of my fellow models to project.
“Seven? There are seven races on Callidore?” I asked, incredulous.
Four of them are aquatic species, Forseti explained. That made them particularly difficult to identify due to the restrictions the Vundel imposed on our explorations. The three terrestrial species have a multitude of racial variations and subspecies, as well, complicating viability calculations further.
“So how did we contend with so many . . . new neighbors?” I asked, trying to imagine the perspective of my ancestors.
The colony established relations with as many as possible. Unfortunately, there were strong variations of political and social identification even within the various subspecies that complicated those relations. Once the settlement area was proposed and accepted by the Alon, and the initial terraforming regime began, most of the preliminary colonial efforts were consolidated there. The Alon were considered the closest to humanity, both biologically and culturally, so they were cultivated as our patrons among the existing native species.
“It sounds even more chaotic than our ancient epics suggest,” I sighed. “Why weren’t our ancestors concerned with the Alka Alon manipulating us, though? In retrospect it seems obvious that they would. I would think that a foresighted bunch like the ancients would have been prepared for such a thing.”
They were aware of the possibility, Forseti admitted. But there was little that could be done about it. Compared to the indifference or even enmity of the other races toward humanity, working with the Alka Alon seemed the best compromise to ensure the colony’s survival. It was understood that this carried some danger, and some steps were taken to guarantee human independence from our patrons. But history suggests that those preparations ultimately failed.
“That depends on how you define failure,” I countered. “On the whole, I think the Alka Alon have had a positive effect on the colony’s survival. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t also our largest rivals, here. Or that they are above blatantly manipulating us for their own purposes.”
There were suspicions of the motives of some Alon factions in the early colonial period, admitted Forseti. The Alon of this region seemed most welcoming of the various territorial divisions. It was decided that their low status among the others contributed to that. Only a small party of radicals objected, from what we could tell. The colonial defense agencies were actively monitoring the situation.
“They’re still around,” I said, sourly. “And still trying to dislodge humanity from our lands. They’re behind my current struggles, in fact. So, do you think that the Forsaken could give us some assistance in that?” I asked, hopefully.
That will be entirely dependent upon the status of the colonial remnants and the equipment remaining, it proposed. It would also be dependent on the nature of the enemy faction. But it is likely that some beneficial equipment or personnel could be employed. The question is moot without additional data. In order to secure that data, it is vital that additional peripheral hardware be procured. Without a better interface, my assistance toward that goal is limited.
I sighed. “All right, all right, I understand. We’ll get you some eyes, or a nose, or something. Perhaps some hands. Lilastien says such things are possible, if they still exist in this world. But it will take some time,” I informed him. “Right now, I’m getting my country prepared for a war. I’m in
exile. And I’m dealing with my own issues with ‘alien races.’ Unfortunately, you’re a low priority at the moment, my friend.”
Considering how much colonial history I have to catch up on, I will do my best to use the time wisely. Gareth, the local civic administrator, has been particularly helpful in his discussions. Though Lilastien has done more to improve my vocabulary in the local dialect, thanks to her contextual knowledge of human civilization. From what they have both informed me, your development efforts in this province have been highly effective over a relatively short period. Considering the lack of industrial resources, that is commendable.
“Was that a compliment, Forseti?” I chuckled.
It was an observation, Minalan, he corrected. But it was an observation with a determined purpose: I have decided that you qualify as a successful local colonial administrator. That determination allows me to permit discussions and inquiries on larger colonial affairs.
“So, how is that useful?”
That category also allows me to disclose confidential, but not secret, data involving colonial affairs. While that is a small distinction, it permits me to access potentially helpful information.
Helpful to whom? I wondered. But I wasn’t going to argue with the machine. Forseti and I had a congenial relationship, I suppose, but I could not help feel there was much the artefact was concealing. Perhaps this “determination” would reveal some of its secrets.
“Well, that would be lovely,” I agreed. “But will it lead to finding the Forsaken?”
I am in the process of formulating a plan to do so, but it requires much more interaction and data collection before I can even recommend a specific course of action. Please continue the sessions with me, as well as your subordinates. Every conference contributes to my understanding of colonial development. I am hopeful that there will be some clue toward a workable solution in one of our discussions. I will keep you informed of my determinations.”
Thaumaturge Page 64