A Sneak Peak at Infestation: Civil War
The following is a sneak preview of Infestation – Taylor Neeran Chronicles #5.
A Long, Long Time Ago
“A long, long time ago…” Ralph began.
“We’re not children, Ralph,” Taylor interrupted.
“Ah, of course,” he laughed, a deep, reedy sound. “I keep forgetting you’re nearly sixty Xathen years old, and all ‘grown up’. Fine, then, I’ll get right to it.”
Taylor suppressed a smile. “Thanks, Fatook.”
“Hey,” he said crossly. “No need for that kind of language.”
“Will you please tell the story, Ralph?” asked Kalend with an exaggerated sigh. “You think you two would have tired of that kind of bickering. You do it every time Ralph tells a story.”
“You shouldn’t speak to your elders like that,” chuckled Ralph.
Kalend crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “Sorry.”
Taylor smiled. “Please continue, Ralph.”
“My pleasure. Now, you will recall that the Xathen explored the galaxy since we first arose, four billion Xathen Standard years ago.”
“Yes,” nodded Kalend.
“And in all that time, through all of that exploration, while life was found to be abundant, the search for another higher intelligence continually came up empty.”
“Uh-huh,” yawned Kalend. “And the Xathen decided to create intelligent races on their own, based on Xathen DNA introduced into other species.”
“Select portions of Xathen DNA, yes, when they had isolated the seat of intelligence, the coding sequences that made self-awareness possible.”
“The experimental zone, where Mother was born, and her family – except for Grandfather Strayer, of course.”
“Humph,” grumbled Ralph. “Who is telling this story, young man?”
Kalend fell silent, and Ralph continued.
“Flynar was a member of the resistance, a junior operative at the time, tasked with monitoring an outlying system on the far side of the Sagittarius Arm, as you call it now.”
Kalend sat up straighter. “Wait, which resistance – your side, or the other one?”
“I don’t tend to take sides, young man, at least not in public. You live longer that way. But to answer your question, he was on the other side of the civil war to those that claimed victory and developed the Experimental Zone that you see today.”
Kalend whistled. “The enemy.”
Ralph cleared his throat. “Xathen are Xathen, young man, equal under the eyes of the Grand Designer, as many would believe we originated from.”
“The Experimental Zone histories are rife with stories covering millennia of blatant racism and associated violence. As they were based on a Xathen template, I find it hard to believe that the Xathen themselves were so pure of thought, and tolerant.”
Ralph laughed. “True, young man, very true. The species of the Experimental Zone are all young, and still finding their way in this galaxy. The Xathen themselves were much like the species you see, for the first few million years. Disputes were common – over land, air and water resources, until we escaped our gravity well. There were slight differences in physical appearance, based on the conditions of the area of the home planet on which we first arose. Yes, there would have been some form of ‘them-vs-us’, based on such minor matters of appearance such as tone of skin, slant of eye, or whether your digits were webbed or not.”
“So the Xathen were no better than the Experimental species,” Kalend nodded.
Ralph coughed. “That is my conjecture, not documented history. Of course, history tends to be… edited, over time, tied up, prettied and repackaged. If you ask the average Xathen on the street, anywhere in the galaxy, they would likely tell you that the Xathen have always been tolerant. However, I asked questions – far too many questions for the taste of some, and that is partly why I spent so many centuries talking to the Ascended. I wanted to know the truth of what had happened, for this event or that, and even accounting for the exaggeration of tales in the telling, I found the information I gathered to contain more nuggets of truth than not, many of which differed from the official records and the stories we told our children.”
“So what changed?” asked Taylor, adjusting her position against the curve of Ralph’s trunk. “What made the Xathen more tolerant of each other?”
“Ah,” smiled Ralph. “Again, that is not in the histories, other than to say that the Xathen are a long-lived species, and that we have matured beyond such base instincts and responses. But in my opinion, it coincided with the development of Picogens and the first alternative body-forms.”
Taylor frowned. “You would think that if they had been intolerant to differences in skin tone, or other minor features, that a new body form would be rejected, even reviled, right?”
Ralph sighed. “It is very likely that may have taken place. Again, that is only conjecture. All I know for sure is that the advent of the development of the Picogens that are so prevalent today, in all Xathen, ushered in both extended lifespans and the possibility of self-modification to reshape yourself and your DNA with it.”
“So they began to experiment.”
“Quite. Not all body forms were viable, of course, and many early Xathen would have perished due to unsuccessful self-experimentation. Over a few millennia, they would come to discover a hundred or so sustainable body-forms that suited different environments, with nearly eighty of those body-forms still in common use today.”
“So random experimentation could still be fatal?” asked Taylor.
“Yes, of course. But seldom is that done – less than once in a thousand years do you hear of a failed body-form conversion due to extreme experimentation. Most Xathen, feeling brave as they do, converting for the first time, are actually following tried-and-true templates that were narrowed down through trial and error billions of years ago.”
“Is that why Xathen feel that all Xathen are equal? Because any Xathen could take on any viable body-form at any time?” asked Kalend.
“That is a large part of it, to be sure. But another aspect is what most Xathen would call ‘species maturity’, but I say is a simple value proposition. There is nothing to be gained by denigrating others based on inherited or designed characteristics; that is just who that person is. What their values are, and how they present themselves in society are much more important than any physical aspect.”
“Then I don’t understand,” Kalend shook his head.
“What don’t you understand, boy?” asked Ralph.
“Why was there a civil war? If Xathen had become so egalitarian and tolerant of each other, what was there to fight over?”
“Ah,” said Ralph. “As I said before, body-form had become irrelevant. But values, ideas, what one stood for – well, that was worth fighting over.”
Kalend shook his head. “Then the Xathen should have had a long history of fighting, but that’s not what happened, is it?”
“No. With the rapid expansion of the Xathen across the galaxy, there was plenty of room for all to move and breathe. There was no longer any need to fight over scarce resources. But even then, each system was still connected and governed by the fledgling Xathen Galactic Committee, composed of members representing the whole of Xathen society. Yes, there were differences in schools of thought – they still exist today. But for the most part, they were worked through, or had mutual agreement to disagree, and life went on that way, for another billion years or so.”
“And then something changed,” Taylor nodded. “What was it?”
“The end of exploration. The Xathen had finally mapped every system in the galaxy – all of the inhabitable ones, and many others besides, though some areas of the galactic core were simply too hazardous to explore, so they worked around the edges and then left the centre region alone. But for all intents and purposes, the galaxy had been catalogued, defined, mapped out and understood. When the very last system was signed off as complete by the survey crews, something very significant happened in Xathen society.”
“They hadn’t found any other signs of intelligent life.” asked Kalend.
“Correct. With that finally, ultimately confirmed, after watching millions of systems develop over a billion years or more, no other intelligence had arisen in the galaxy. They had a last kernel of hope — with some trepidation about what would actually happen if they did find another intelligent life-form — but that kernel of hope died, and was replaced with despair. The galaxy itself is vast, but contained, and in the eyes of most Xathen, tamed. For a species of explorers, what do you do when there is nothing left to explore, no hope of new discovery, and worst of all, to have what you suspected finally confirmed?”
“That you were all alone in the universe.”
“Exactly. Well, at least in this galaxy. We can only imagine what it was like — but Flynar was there. He didn’t live through all of it, of course — the period that followed that final survey report was a lingering death spiral that lasted ten thousand years. He was born near the end of that time, just before the great war.”
“When the Experimental Zone was created.”
“That came later. The first experiments had begun, of course, mostly in secret. But they didn’t remain secret for long. After billions of years of relative peace and tolerance, that unforgivable act was the spark for all that came after.”
“Trying to create an intelligent species, separate from the Xathen.”
“Playing as gods, they were. And to many, that was an unforgivable transgression. Schools of religious thought around the Grand Designer had waxed and waned over millennia, and at some point it seemed that it had almost faded away into nothing. But that spark, that trigger – with Xathen taking on the role of Creator, lit a fire that raged across the galaxy. Not based on body-form, but on values, of ideology, with one essential imperative. Thou Shalt Not Interfere with the Grand Designer’s Creations.”
“But surely there had been experiments on species before, to understand them, dissect them, analyse them. Even cross-breeding of feed animals would fall under that principle, would it not?”
“Such things were minor, and accepted. If we worked with what was provided, and combined them in natural ways, that was acceptable, even encouraged. Body-form modification had become common, but that, too, was increasingly rejected by followers of the Grand Designer. It was tolerated in others as a personal choice, as Xathen were still Xathen. However, designing an entirely new species was something very much un-natural, meddling directly in the coding of DNA to create something new. It was unforgivable, an abomination.”
“They thought the others were creating monsters.”
“If you like. A few feared that the result could be a species superior to the Xathen themselves, and we could be wiped out. That would have been containable, most believed, but the primary concern was the affront to the intention of the Grand Designer. They rationalised that if we were the only higher intelligence in the galaxy, there must be a reason behind it. A few extremists decried this as proof that we were being punished – that we were doomed to die alone as a single species for some unnamed ancient transgression. But regardless of the particular spin placed on it, the actions of a few scientists polarised the galaxy, and religious fervour and conversion rose like a tidal wave across the stars.”
“And the war began.”
“Yes,” said Ralph. “A bloody, drawn-out terrible war. Flynar’s role was a lonely one, but very important.”
“What was he supposed to do?”
“Look for signs of secret genetic tampering.”
“And did he find any?”
Ralph sighed. “He believed so. He was assigned to observe an outpost on the fourth planet around a star, watching from a hiding place deep under the surface of its moon. He became suspicious of the incoming and outgoing traffic, and an increase in coded communications.”
Taylor took a breath, then slowly let it out. “So what did he do?”
Ralph remained silent for nearly a minute before responding. “He… acted. He did what he had been assigned to do.”
“What was that?” asked Kalend.
“Sterilisation.”
Repercussions
“What do you mean, sterilisation?” Kalend leaned forward, staring up at Ralph’s brown eyes.
“Complete annihilation of the system by hyper-singularity missile.”
“That takes years,” said Taylor. “Plenty of time to do any evacuations.”
“Yes, but…” Ralph began, then fell silent.
“Ralph?” prompted Heather. “Are you okay, dear?”
Ralph issued a dry, rasping cough. “I’m sorry. It’s just… it was very difficult for Flynar to tell me this part. It’s why he remained behind, instead of leaving with the rest.”
Taylor patted his roots. “You can tell us, it was a billion years ago. I’m sure it’s—”
“Instantaneous extinction of an entire world and all of its species.”
“—what?” Taylor gasped. “How?”
“Flynar, he… was sent with two weapons. Two only. One hyper-singularity missile was intended for the sun itself, to ensure they system would not be revisited in the long term. But the second… It was installed in secret under the regolith on the tidally-locked side of the moon facing the planet.”
“What happened?”
“Flynar sent the first missile into the sun, as ordered, should he suspect genetic interference on the planet below. To ensure that any experiments would not make it out of the system, the other missile had a different directive, and unique design. Flynar prepared it as instructed, boarded his concealed foldship and retreated to the far side of the moon before activating it remotely.”
“What did the second missile do?”
“The… the research base was directly beneath the moon when Flynar triggered the device. They didn’t stand a chance.”
“What did Flynar do?” Kalend demanded.
“The heart of four suns poured out from the moon onto the unsuspecting planet below. The base itself was obliterated in seconds, but the solar deluge continued until the moon had completed its orbit around the planet. Ten full revolutions of the world below, just to make sure there was no chance of survival, not even a single microbe. Nothing was left but a molten husk.”
“Oh my God,” Taylor gasped.
“Flynar remained loyal to his cause, but in his heart, he felt unpure, unworthy to seek the Grand Designer with his compatriots. He remained behind, and he refused to do a mission like that ever again.”
“But he was successful, right?” prompted Kalend.
“Right,” Ralph barked out a laugh. “Successful. He destroyed an agricultural station working on a new strain of high-yield grain. Trillions of life-forms and an entire system died because he had an itchy trigger finger over mutated grass.”
“Oh, my God,” Taylor wiped her eyes.
“Scenes like that played out all over the galaxy. There were retaliations, of course, and entire systems home to billions of Xathen were rendered uninhabitable. Most escaped, but not all — the ‘sunflare-moon’ method was brutal and effective for scouring worlds, but finally abandoned as ‘too extreme’.”
“I would consider destroying any system as too extreme, Ralph,” Taylor shook her head.
“Says the Star-Killer herself.”
“Most of them survived.”
“Worlds relocated by your own artificial progeny and his cohort,” Ralph sighed, the sound of rustling leaves. “But you did evacuate quite a few before then with the aid of the Commonwealth, a valiant effort of restitution that will long be remembered. Flynar was forever changed by his actions, but his opportunity for restitution never came. Consider yourself lucky in that regard. He died and Ascended as the Butcher of Torpol.”
“I’m sorry,” Taylor wiped her eyes. “It must have been terrible.”
“War is pain and suffering. Following the loss of trillions of lives, the Purists made preparations to leave the galaxy. Both sides were well-equipped with instruments of destruction, and had they continued, the galaxy itself would have become completely devoid of inhabitable systems. Both sides knew this, and the Purists finally realised that they couldn’t entirely root out the scourge of artificial creationism. They also knew they couldn’t stay and bear witness to what they deemed an atrocity against the Grand Designer. So they gathered together an armada of ships near the galaxy’s rim, and departed.”
“I thought they were driven out, and those that remained were victorious,” said Kalend.
Ralph laughed. “History is written by those left behind, and re-written many times over to suit the mores and fancies of later generations. You’ll find that our history indicates that the Purists killed more systems, while we acted in self-defence… but in reality, war is far uglier and more muddy than you would like to believe. You can be sure that we were responsible for as many atrocities, if not more, you just won’t read about it in history class.”
“According to Flynar,” said Taylor.
“Yes. Both sides were as bad as each other, Taylor, they were simply divided by a single ideal. And it is, in part, fear of another such extreme outcome that the Xathen of today are particularly tolerant. No one wants to experience such an event again. We get along with the milder excitement of political intrigues and the occasional surprises from the Hybrids, and that’s enough.”
“Thanks,” Taylor smiled wryly.
“Speaking of weapons of mass destruction — what is Farmanath up to these days, Taylor?”
“I—” Taylor blinked. “I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him in over a year.”
“Best to keep your friends close, and Independent Computational Entities encased in destructor moons closer, don’t you think?”
“I’ll give him a call,” said Taylor.
“Another good reason to stretch your legs and go on a little trip, dear,” said Heather. “He is your family, after all.”
Taylor stood up and rubbed bits of dirt off of her robe. “Him and his four hundred and ninety-eight siblings, you mean.”
Ralph coughed. “Let’s hope they keep considering you to be ‘Mother’, for all of our sakes. We couldn’t survive a war facing the ICE’s, particularly when arming up could be a sign of pending aggression against them, or the Commonwealth. They still see themselves as peace-keepers, for now.”
“Understood,” Taylor nodded. “I’ll have a chat after I visit Mayfor.”
“There’s no time like the present,” said Ralph. “Don’t put it off too long.”
“I’ll call him soon. Promise me you’ll let me know as soon as Char wakes up.”
“We promise,” said Heather. “You’ve got at least two weeks, more likely three before you can have a proper visit. Now go spend some time with the living, won’t you? You’ll become like Ralph was soon enough if you don’t.”
Taylor gently kissed Char’s cheek. “I miss you already, my love.”
Kalend came up beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready to go, Mother? I can pilot the flyer.”
Taylor wiped away a tear, then nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Ralph, Heather – thank you both.”
“Our pleasure, dear,” sang Heather.
“Good luck with Farmanath,” said Ralph.
Taylor waved at the two trees, then followed her son down the path that led to a small, permanent clearing set aside for the flyer. Noosa silently followed behind them, eyes flicking left and right as they walked along.
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