[OC] The Vestige (3)

Thanks so much for the wonderful comments on the last chapters, I hope you like this new one! As always, feedback is very welcome if there's anything you'd like more or less of.

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

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Seven bright dots of light, deceptively small for their brightness, danced together across the diffuse ether of the galactic disc. They were old, not only in terms of the physical stars themselves, but their artificial constellation. Spinning together in perfect, mathematical symmetry, in a pattern set down by their movers hundreds of millions of years ago, they had seen stars explode as they sailed past, and returned again to see new stars forming from the fertile nebulae left behind.

Inside their circles, drawing a curved line that connected the dots of the constellation’s lagrange points was a vanishingly thin, unfathomably vast topopolis. The Hub, as its occupants and visitors called it, had been built to seat members of every conceivable life form within the galaxy within its innumerable arcologies.

It had been the seat of thousands of galactic unions, the arena of countless wars and political contests, it had hosted the rise of empires that thought they would stand forever, and survived them as they collapsed from their own inertia. Scattered among the stars around it were peoples without number, who each in turn had discovered it, forgotten it, raised it into myth and even religion, and sometimes even progressed to find it once more, meeting their lost kin as they arrived a second time. For all of them it represented the zenith of their voyage of discovery, and that was its curse. They had stagnated under the weight of its absolute abundance, and though it made real their dreams, it snuffed out their vision.

Now, faced not with an enemy that had that such vision, but one that didn’t need it, the Hub had become a retreat for anyone who managed to flee from the Czan’s relentless advance. It now served as a habitat for tens of thousands of cultures, often several generations of a single people, all of whom were scrambling for position throughout the Hub in order to be able to use its resources to help their own, usually in the form of using the limited fleet of replicant ships to aid or evacuate their own systems. The strife wasn’t contained to conflicts with sensible incentives, however, there was also the racial and cultural friction, religious clashes, ideological disputes, political posturing and just sheer, childish obstinacy. Traits like faith, conviction and determination were prime drivers of any interstellar civilization, but in a cultural tumbler like the Hub what may be a unifying force in a relatively homogenous society became mere seeds of discord.

Zen was watching the human stare at a number of screens that were flashing through aggregated reports at an astounding pace. He was reading up on humans, while Gax was back in the captain’s seat happily tapping away at the vast array of displays projected around him. The ship had made it clothes, which the human referred to as pyjamas, and which were clearly several sizes too large. They had quickly accepted that it was in charge, yet it wore no uniform, and refused to sit in the captain’s seat, saying something about Gax’ having messed with its groove, which neither of them really understood. Instead, it was currently laying sideways over the chair by one of the consoles, its head hanging off one of the armrests so it could follow the information the ship was feeding. Apparently, it did not matter to the human that the information was upside down.

Zen was grateful, though, because its affectations mirrored his the rest of the time - it shifted, fidgeted and got up to pace in agitation only to slouch back into its seat in a constant, restless cycle of concentration and frustration as it went through the information the ship was feeding it. He found that stressful, because it would shoulder into all his good spots whenever it felt like moving.

“Alright,” Zen finally broke the silence that had been hanging over them the whole day. “A knight.”

“Nope, not military, and not medieval,” the human replied without looking up, clearly amused. “Try again.”

Flustered, Zen paged through his book some more, trying to find something that matched their new captain. He had been trying to guess what kind of human they had gotten a hold of, but it had been refusing to tell them, and instead had him going through human history and trying to guess.

“Ok, this one, a seneschal.”

“What? No! Hell no! Not a politician, and again, not medieval.” The human actually turned its head to flash him an indignant expression this time. To be fair, he was a bit relieved. While he needed someone who could wage war, human politicians seemed to be entirely too enthusiastic about it.

“Ok I’m all out of ideas. I’ve gone through this entire book, and you say no every time. What is it?”

“I’m not one thing. None of us are,” Sliding into a cross-legged perch on the chair, it turned and leaned over the back to stare at him. “That’s what humans do, what makes us, us.”

“Right,” Said Zen, nodding slowly. “I don’t get it.”

“Change, Zen.” It shook its head, but with a smile that for once it was not directed at him. “You’re so preoccupied with boxes, thinking there’s a place for everything, you don’t stop to think that maybe I’m not a what. Maybe I’m a who. And maybe you are too.”

“We are approaching the Hub, captain,” Gax cut in. “What do you wish to do?”

“Finally.” It slipped backward off the seat and stood. “Prepare a hail.”

“Captain,” Zen didn’t think he’d ever get used to hearing Gax’ deep voice sound so nervous. “Hail whom?”

“All channels.” It said, smiling. “Everyone.”

“There is no way-” Gax began, and was immediately interrupted by the ship’s computer.

“Preparing an all-channels hail will take thirty-three minutes, captain. I have prepared more suitable clothes for you and your crew in your chambers.”

A short half hour later, all three of them were poised on the command deck, with the human in front and Zen and Gax on its left and right shoulder, respectively. It had cleaned up very well, having not only donned something that could have been a military uniform, but making both of them put on something similar. Zen’s hearts were beating, so when the captain spoke up he almost jumped off the platform.

“I take it back, Zen.”

“Take what back?” Zen was already fidgeting with his new colours, all four hands nervously feeling along the hems and seams.

“Looks like I’m both military and political, now. Let’s hope I don’t have to get medieval.” It gave him a half smile and laid on one of his hands to lower it, which caused him to lower the rest as well. Then it turned to the large holographic screen in front of them.

On it was a mosaic that was quickly turning into a pixelated mess as the ship connected to displays and devices all across the Hub. When it eventually stabilized, it looked like nothing so much as static noise, showing none of the gravity it represented. It was a line between them and a million, million people spread out across the fantastic expanse of the topopolis. Zen could feel his hearts trying to crawl out of his throat, and found himself hoping they didn’t have the brains to team up in case they might actually have a shot at succeeding.

“Hello,” said the human in a steady voice, even as its mouth formed a sad smile. “My name is Malia, and I’m here to make amends.”

“You don’t know me, but you do know my work. Before any of you had found your way to the stars, maybe before any of you had thought to look up at all, my people found your galaxy, teetering right on the edge of our neighbour, the Andromeda.

“We built our Hub, and we waited for you to find your way. We held your hands as you took your first, stumbling steps among the stars, and once they had steadied, we offered you a place in our Great Work. The Red Cluster, our galactic machine meant to face down time itself.

“It seems your ancestors must have declined our offer. I can understand why. You wanted to explore, to invent, to carve out your own destiny among the stars. So humanity departed, and left you the Hub, and for that I am sorry.

“I’m sorry because it caused you to stop. In its long halls you found all the answers you wanted, all the space you needed, everything you desired. It has been the great attractor around which your future fell into orbit, and that’s our fault.

“Now you have new visitors, the Czan, and your stagnation has left you hopelessly unprepared to face them. Not because you don’t have the technology, but because you are trapped inside a box we built you, and you are no longer able to think outside it.

“There is no future where you stay where you are. The Czan will see to that. So you stand before a crossroads, and you must choose. It’s a choice that is too important to fall to your leaders, your pundits, priests or heads of state. So, over the next month, my ship will ask each and every one of you.

“There are only two options: Mankind’s offer still stands. Join us, then together we will burn the Czan from your heavens, and we will ride the stars themselves to the Great Work. If, however, you still want forge your own path, then all I can do is open the box.”

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