by David Ryker
I groaned and leaned forward. “Can we stop talking in riddles, please?”
Glaavus studied me for a moment and then went on, a little more directly. “Thousands of years ago, before the two factions — the Free and the Federation — were divided, they were one.”
“Yeah, right,” Mac cut in. “We all know our Federation history — you don’t need to school us on that. The Federation wanted to create an alliance of planets. Galactic rules, regulations, order, peace. The Free didn’t like the sound of that — not enough room to exploit planets, take advantage of the freedom of the universe, and to do exactly what they wanted.”
Glaavus smiled minutely — out of politeness more than anything. “You know a history. If you’d learned it in a Free classroom, then no doubt you would have had a different version, likely just as propagandized.”
Alice fired Mac a quick glance and he shut up. “Go on,” she said, gesturing for Glaavus to continue.
“The race that began the Federation are no more. All of these years of fighting have extinguished them for good. The last died centuries ago, on this very planet. And their loss is both a tragedy and a blessing to this universe. Their name has been long since lost — and if you’ve heard of them at all, you may know them by the name ancients, though I don’t believe the Federation include them at all in their teachings. It is easier to let them fade into memory, and then disappear altogether. They were an intelligent people — far more so than you, and even us. It is a sad thing, and difficult to comprehend, but it was their own kind that did it — exterminated them. ”
“They killed off their own race?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. “Why the hell would they do that?”
“Because of what they knew, and the danger it held.” Glaavus spoke carefully. This was a conversation that he’d never had, but had obviously thought a lot about. “Their planet, now all but destroyed, is a natural source of Iskcara, the element that connects the universe. But what is now used as hyperdrive and reactor fuel, was once used for much more. They had discovered how to harness its full potential, and with it came great prosperity. But, where some saw knowledge and wisdom, others saw weapons, and war. For many, many years, the race was prosperous, and they used the Isckara to visit distant planets, harnessing its strange properties to open gateways that allowed them to travel unimaginable distances in the blink of an eye. They shared their knowledge and spread peace across the universe, finding other planets, other races, and teaching them. But, like all things, that age of prosperity came to an end, and, in secret, some of them began using it to wage war. Some planets did not want to be contacted, did not want to share in their knowledge. And while many of their race accepted that, some did not. They felt that refusing was an affront, an insult, so they began using their advanced technology to seize control of these civilizations. The Iskcara was the source of their power: their ability to travel individually, and with precision, their ultimate weapon—”
“Ultimate weapon?” Mac shook his head. “We’ve got wormhole tech — can transport destroyers, carriers — can bring an entire armada to whoever’s doorstep we want,” he said, snapping his fingers, “like that. So how can worming just one person to the other end of the universe be a more powerful—”
“Because,” Alice cut in, “armadas, and armies, and wars are messy. If you can get one person in somewhere quietly, you could do a lot more damage a lot quicker, if you’re careful about it, without spilling much blood. If any.”
“Miss Kepler is correct,” Glaavus said, seemingly almost impressed. “To enter the bedchamber of a king, or emperor, or political leader in the dead of night and press a knife to their throat — to demand their allegiance through threat. To never have anyone out of reach, ever — that inspires fear, and fear is a better weapon than any armada.” He spat the last word like just saying it was uncivilized. “These dissidents were clever — they knew where and how to strike. So, in secret, they did. And those planets that did not relent before began to bend to the will of the ancients. And their network grew. The Federation of planets was born, comprised of the willing and the unwilling. And from there, it became self-perpetuating. When planets are cooperating under duress, the balance of power becomes fragile. Those who had sought to use force and fear as their weapons became fearful themselves, of mutiny, or destabilization. Of losing what they’d built, and of losing their power. Intelligent they were, and long-living, yes, but immortal they were not. More and more planets needed to be colonized and ruled to ensure their safety, the threat of total destruction for those who rebelled growing with each new addition to their Federation, each as oppressed as the last. None could stand up to them. None except themselves.”
“Then those who wanted peace, and to share the prosperity found out what was happening?” The wheels in my head were turning now. Mac’s version was what I’d known. They only covered a basic history back on Genesis, and it was wildly different from what Glaavus was saying, though I didn’t think he was lying. He’d have no reason to.
“Yes, in so many words. Those who had set out with a noble cause were heartbroken to find out that their technology was being abused. When they were isolated on their own planet, there was no need to chase power, there was no greed. But, as their reach expanded, so did their capacity for evil. They knew that those who had abused their power would not go quietly, and once they knew that they’d been exposed, there would be war. And so, there was. A shadow war was waged for millennia. Those who sought oppression and power branded those who sought peace as traitors, as betrayers. They raised armies, built machines of destruction, and began chasing down their enemies. Those who sought peace pleaded with the Federation, with the planets under their rule, to defect. To run. To escape the oppression. To be… Free.”
“Shit,” Mac mumbled.
“They did not want war,” Glaavus continued, “but they knew that war would follow them wherever they ran, and that nowhere was out of reach for the Federation. They knew that the only way to bring their destruction to an end was to eradicate them, and the thing from which they drew their power. The Iskcara. They began hunting the ancients; their own kind. They hit out at each other, killing the figure-heads one by one, destroying the technology, their archives, the wisdom that had allowed them to stretch their fingers to the ends of the universe. Things became cruel, and obfuscated, clandestine. Each had spies in the orders of the other, and it became a game of secrets. Because, despite the power that came with their ability to travel without inhibition — to appear and slit a throat and then vanish just as quickly — there was one obvious drawback. One thing that was able to block the use, and the power of the Iskcara.”
“Knowledge,” Alice said flatly. “If they didn’t know where to travel to, then they couldn’t kill anyone.”
Glaavus’ face twisted into a half smile. “Correct again.” He stared into the projection of the stars above the table. “They all took to hiding, and the Federation continued to grow. As did the Free, helmed by the last of the ancients who knew the depths of the power of the Iskcara. But, the longer that time went on, the longer the Federation would have to search for the Free, to infiltrate their ranks, to teach the ways to more ancients and to become more powerful.” He hung his head and muttered something none of us heard. I caught a snippet of him reckoning with himself about telling us, but he went on anyway. “They did something drastic, fearing that the Federation would oppress and enslave the universe — they destroyed their own planet. They felt that the loss was justified, that their race was too much for the universe to bear, that their eradication would be for the greater good, despite the horror of it all. They needed something powerful to lay waste to the whole planet before the Federation could react, and using their knowledge of Iskcara, they succeeded.
“They created a solar storm so violent that it destroyed the surface, nearly obliterating the entire atmosphere. The oceans evaporated, and all life simply… died. The effect was total, and the flares from the sun reacted with the Iskcar
a deposits, with their workshops, with everything. The element was threaded through every level of their culture and civilization, and it was their ultimate doom. Many, many millions perished, and with them went everything that the ancients had ever accomplished — along with the knowledge of Iskcara. But the destruction was not their only goal, and they succeeded too in angering the Federation, who had just witnessed the destruction of their planet at the hands of their own kin. A fierce war broke out, the likes of which the universe had not seen before. The ancients were drawn into battle on both sides, and did not relent until all were dead. The Free were intent on sacrificing themselves and focused their attention on the remaining Federation ancients. They finally won out in their campaign, and when the last of the Federation ancients had been killed, they undertook a pact so selfless that we can only look back and wonder if it was even worth it.”
“So what did they do?” Mac asked.
“They killed themselves.” The words came out of my mouth without thinking.
“Yes, they did.” Glaavus looked at me for a while and then took to pacing around the room.
“To prevent the technology from ever being re-developed?” Everett asked this time, following Glaavus with her eyes. He was ruminating.
“Indeed. They knew that some of their race had been corrupted, and they could not be wholly sure that it would never happen again. They knew that no other race was capable of comprehending the ways in which Iskcara could be used, so they knew that without knowledge of any other major source of the element, now that their planet was destroyed, and without their presence in the universe, the technology would be lost to the ages, and that is exactly what they wanted. There were debates as to whether they should assume control of the Federation, or whether they should disband it altogether, but in the end, they decided that their very presence was too much of a risk, and that attempting to affect the Federation would do more harm than good, and would risk a repeat of events. So they took their own lives, to protect everyone, Federation and Free, from the same fate they had suffered.”
“Jesus,” Alice muttered.
“Well, it didn’t fucking work, did it,” Mac sighed, throwing his hands up. “Because we just saw that the technology isn’t lost — it’s firmly in the hands of the fucking Free rebels!”
“Yes. Despite the ancients disappearing, their legacy and their feud lived on. The Federation continued in the way that they knew best, and so did the Free. The former pushed, and the latter pushed back. The ancients deemed that their further involvement would cause more harm, but one cannot help but wonder whether there is more they could have done before taking it upon themselves to wiping their race from the universe once and for all.”
Everett sighed and spoke this time. “But it’s not just that simple, is it, because the Federation aren’t all bad, and I’m sure neither are the Free. There’s a lot of war, or strife, sure, but the Federation prevents more than it causes. I’ve been to a lot of planets, and the ones under Federation protection — rule — are a lot more stable than those without. We’ve put an end to more planetary invasions than we’ve started, and we’ve saved a lot more lives than we’ve taken.”
“Yes,” was Glaavus’ response. “There is no such thing as absolute evil, or absolute good. However, we face now an era that may see us return to the times of utter oppression. We have heard rumors that the Free rebellion were investigating the ancients and were working toward recovering lost Iskcara technology, but we did not think that they’d managed it. It appears now they have. And they will continue to use it, and they will no doubt strike at the heart of the Federation, and another war will ensue, and billions — trillions even, will die. The Federation will not go quietly, and they will hit back.”
“So why haven’t the Free used it?” Mac interjected. “You know, just zap into the bedrooms of the Federation brass, and…” He made his hand into a gun. “Pop. Get rid of them all.”
“Weren’t you listening?” Alice snapped scornfully. “They would have already if they knew where to strike. They’ve probably been biding their time, looking for the information — planning and putting together a plan of attack so they can do it all at once.” She shook her head.
Glaavus smirked, amused by our human squabbling. “That was our conclusion as well. But now that the Free’s secret weapon has been exposed, I’m sure their plans will change, their schedules expedited.”
“Do the Federation know?” Everett asked. “Did they, I mean — about the Free’s ability to travel?”
“We aren’t sure. They were likely aware of the rumors, as we were — but your team confirmed them.”
I exhaled. “This is hurting my brain.”
“You are only human,” Glaavus replied.
I shrugged it off. “No — I… Never mind. So, how do you know all this? I’m still seeing a lot of blanks here — the ancients are dead. Their technology with them. Their histories are totally wiped out; either withheld, or not known by the Federation — at least not en masse. But you know, and you said that the last ancient died here on Aelock — but you said that they all killed themselves, too. So which is it? Either you’re lying, or you’re not telling us the whole story.”
Alice jumped in. “And you seem to know an awful lot about the Federation and the Free and what they’re both up to. So spill the beans, what the hell is going on here — it’s all smoke and mirrors as far as I can see, so you’d better start talking.” She was on the offensive as well now. If this guy was expecting us to save the fucking universe, then we needed to know exactly what we were walking into. “Last I checked,” she went on, “Aelock was a planet full of exiled and runaway androids, hanging on to the edge of the fucking universe — totally outside of the Federation and the Free and all the pettiness of the biologs.”
Glaavus remained quiet, thinking about his words. “That is all common knowledge… because we wish it to be. The reality of things is quite different. And once more, I am about to share with you truths that have remained hidden for eons.”
“Just spill the beans already,” Mac grunted. We were all losing patience.
“Aelock is in an agreement with the Federation. We provide a service to them they cannot otherwise attain, and for that, we are given indemnity, protection, and most importantly, peace. We give them what they need, and they leave us alone. This isn’t something that is known to anyone outside of the Grand Council — even to those who live on Aelock, to our own citizens. They came here to escape the Federation, and yet…”
“You’re in bed with them,” Alice sighed. “Just like everyone else.”
“A means to an end,” Glaavus said sternly.
“Isn’t it always.” Alice tsked.
“That’s how you’ve got access to their feeds and to all this information, then?” Everett said, her voice cynical.
Glaavus was silent for a moment. “We may be in agreement with them, but we’re only safe while we serve a purpose. We’ve seen them turn on others, and if they intend to do the same to us, we want to know about it. We keep close tabs on their operations, especially when they’re on our doorstep.”
Everett tutted and shook her head. It was more of an knife in the gut to her than it was to the rest of us, it seemed. Glaavus and his Grand Council were working with the Federation, but it seemed there was no trust there. So, whether the Federation knew or not, they were tapped into everything they did. If anything, I couldn’t blame them.
“So what is this ‘service’ they can’t get elsewhere?” Alice interjected, her arms folded into a tight knot.
Glaavus measured his words and stopped pacing, holding his hands behind his back. “We provide to them minds to aid in their endeavors.”
Alice laughed. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding — the AIs?”
Glaavus hardened at the cavalier definition. “You thought the Federation capable of such intelligent design themselves?” He nearly scoffed. “No. We create them here, and they take delivery of them, put them into bo
dies made for war, and march them into death as though they have no value at all.” The words were dripping with condemnation. “Their ships and weapons and machines — your mech — are our creation also, the designs provided as a part of our initial treaty, nearly a thousand years ago. Though it was not much of a negotiation. Submit or be obliterated.” He sat now, resting his head in his hands. “They asked first, and when we refused, they told us that the risk of us helping their opposition was too great, and that unless we reconsidered, we would be wiped out — in our entirety. And with our people to consider, all those lives…”
“You talk about it like you were there,” Alice said, narrowing her eyes.
“That’s because I was.” He shook his head. “Had they known at the time that we were harboring the last living ancient — that it was her doing in the first place — our very creation… They would have asked for much, much more.”
“Wait a second,” Everett came in now, screwing her face up. “You’re saying that the ancient you had here — she created you?”
“Our first mind, yes. The first artificial mind — though that word means more to you than to us. Our thoughts are no less real than yours.”
My head was spinning. “You were created by the ancients? Don’t take this the wrong way, Glaavus… But why?”
“The Mother was familiar with the histories of her people, but not with the technology needed to harness the true power of Iskcara. Her parents were of the generation that did, and never taught her about it. She was born before the embargo was placed on procreation, too, a child in the middle of everything. They took their own lives, but she did not see the point in doing so, not knowing the thing that had caused so much death. But she understood the danger of her intelligence, and exiled herself here, to Aelock, which meant ‘home’ in her language. Her people had so much good to give, that self-destruction did not seem like the right thing to do, especially not without passing on the things she did know.