The children shook their heads, some violently.
“Listen to me! See! For the sake of life—see!”
Alenna threw her eyes to Trevor and asked, “What do you mean, for the sake of life?”
Trevor’s anger morphed into anguish. Sadness. Pity.
He strode slowly to Alenna, knelt, and touched a hand to her cheek.
“We—you—and I—all of us—we are the living. We are life. Voggoth is—Voggoth is death. He was never like us. He did not evolve into an immortal entity, he has always been that way. It’s his prison! He is the same now as he was at his creation. Static and dead. No evolution. No reproduction. No purpose. No challenge.”
The Duass meekly answered, “He is immortal. We can—we can become immortal, too.”
The Witiko insisted, “If only we can understand ourselves. If we can find out what makes us different—who is strongest and why.”
“Immortal,” Trevor explained, “is not better. It is our very mortality that makes us special and unique. It is our mortality that makes us strive to improve ourselves. It is what makes us want more for our children; for our next generation. Yes, you are evolved and great, but you stand on the shoulders of all of us who came first. All the steps in the process. All the stages of life. You owe it to those who came before you to cherish that life given to you. To champion life, and protect it.”
The Hivvan said, “Voggoth is a being of immense power. He can manipulate life itself.”
“Is that true? Can Voggoth do that? Or is it you letting him manipulate life. Power, is never taken, it is given. What has Voggoth been able to do without you? I suggest, nothing. He could not start this war, he could only make you start it. He cannot evolve you into beings as powerful as he, but if you let him he can change you; make you into warped, lifeless reflections of yourself. He has no life. He cannot create, he can only destroy. Because of that he envies you, to the point that he wants you destroyed.”
“Voggoth is supreme,” came the voice of the Geryon.
“No, Voggoth only has what you give him. He thrives on your arrogance and pride, on your vanity. He feeds you lies and manipulates you. He awes you with his age and makes you covet what he has even though he truly has nothing at all. He is evil. Evil itself, in every way. He enjoys inflicting suffering on the living out of his envy for that life. He is shallow and empty but projects an image of power. Yet it is all an illusion.”
The Centurian objected, “Evil? We are beyond such absolutes. There is no evil, only facts and science. Only truth that waits to be discovered.”
“You are wrong,” Trevor told them. “Evil exists, as surely as good does. I know, I have seen both.”
He glanced into Alenna’s eyes and held his hands low and palms out, still pleading.
“He has convinced you of your differences. Told you that your ‘life patterns’ are distinct. He has made you wonder if one of your ways is better than the other.”
The Witiko agreed, “Yes. To grow to our full potential we must discover why we are so different and which way is best. Throughout the universes even the most basic living creatures compete for survival. From civilizations to microbes, those entities that are superior eventually win such competition.”
The Duass added, “This challenge eliminates any variables giving each race the same point of origin in an identical environment. This challenge is structured perfectly.”
“No! Your entire premise is wrong!”
The children all spoke at once, creating a chorus of indistinguishable words that translated only as anger and contempt for such a brash suggestion from a puny being.
“You are wrong!” Trevor shouted above the chorus, silencing it. “He has convinced you that strength is to be found in war? War is easy! War is a mindless struggle that reduces us to our most basic, primitive instincts. You will find no answers in how we fight, only in why we fight. I fight for survival.”
The Centurian told Trevor, “It is not your fault. You simply cannot see the big picture. You cannot comprehend.”
“I do see the big picture. I see the truth that eludes you even now—even as it stares you in the face!”
The children grew silent yet again. Trevor burned red in frustration.
“You gave me the genetic memories of my race so that I could fight like humanity’s best soldiers and fly like mankind’s pilots and have the skills needed to rally a resistance.”
“Yes,” Alenna concurred. “It seemed a reasonable balance to the surprise and force of the initial onslaught.”
Trevor’s eyes burned into the little girl’s as he asked, “Why can I fly one of the Centurian shuttles then? Why did I understand the Witiko slave device? How come your father knew how to operate a Geryon battleship? I will wager that each recipient of the genetic memories can tell similar stories.”
The Hivvan tried to reason, “We believe the answer may lay in the manner in which the memories were collected.”
The Duass did the same, “It is possible that during their creation the memories were cross-contaminated.”
Trevor dismissed their excuses.
“No. There was no error of collection, only of time. The gift of memories you gave me contains memories from the Centurians and the Witiko because those memories come—they come from the same source.”
Eyes widened. Heads shook.
Alenna spoke in a confused tone, “What do you—what do you suggest? I do not see your meaning.”
Trevor’s fatherly voice explained, “We are not all different races but the same. We have the same genetic structure—all derived from the same basic materials, scattered around the universe.”
The Witiko refused to listen, “Your suggestion is preposterous. The differences in our life patterns is evident.”
The Geryon agreed, “Our social structures and technologies; our physical attributes all point to demonstratively different life forms. I suspect your suggestion to be a jest.”
Trevor forcefully reiterated, “If we are so different, how is it that one planet—Earth—can be perfect for all races? Because we are created from some original source in your original universe and even now that source—call it nature, call it the universe, call it God if you must—but whatever the source, it has built in protections for its children; protections against Voggoth. Protections like the canines for me; and the instincts of my people’s greatest warriors.”
Trevor put his hand first on the shoulder of the Duass, then on the shoulder of the Hivvan. He told them, “You say you evolved beyond merely the physical, then why can you not see beyond it? Because we look different you assume we must be different. Where is the evolved intellect in such short-sightedness? It serves only Voggoth’s interest for you to be so blind.”
The two alien children shrugged off his grip, stepped away, and glared; the suggestion of a common bond disgusted them.
“No. Our patterns are unique.”
“We see existence differently. We have different philosophies.”
“Witness the armies assaulting your planet. The differences are plain to see.”
Trevor shook his head, “The similarities are plain to see. Weapons and tactics; organizational structures. But you have to see past how you look and act. Our DNA may be different but only by the smallest degree. It all comes from an original source.”
The Witiko said, “Pointless speculation. Guesses. Myths. Do not look to him for answers.”
“No. I do not know. But I know that you won’t find those answers at each other’s throats. For the love of God, see this before it is too late! See the trap you have fallen into! See that the enemy is not each other!”
“There is no trap,” The Hivvan corrected. “Only a challenge of our construction. Everything is of our design.”
“A trap! A trap you built for yourselves set by Voggoth! Look at the your so-called challenge. See how you created it. See how well you isolated and contained each race! Eight battles for survival, perfectly crafted so that no one theater wou
ld depend on another!”
“Perfectly created,” the Centurian agreed. “Sterile environments allowing each race to be judged independently, so that one result would not depend on another. Until this contamination.”
Trevor cried, “Perfectly created so as to ensure there would be no winner!”
“Liar!”
“Eight different Earths built to ensure eight failures!”
“Quiet!”
“The strongest will survive!”
Trevor roared, “The Red Hands fell but who grew stronger? Voggoth!”
“You cannot understand!”
“Your reasoning is flawed!”
“It is not so simple!”
“Open your eyes! See! How old is Voggoth? How old?”
Trevor grabbed the Duass by both shoulders and nearly shook the child. The boy could not answer. Instead, a voice from across the circle—the voice of Alenna—replied, “He predates all of our races. He may predate the creation of the universes themselves.”
Trevor pulled away from the Duass and leaned over into the eyes of the Hivvan.
“And where does Voggoth live? What animals come from his environment?”
The Hivvan staggered and stumbled, “He comes from the place between the universes. He—he has followers of physical form, animals and organized alike. They worship his greatness. They participate in the challenge with a token force on his behalf.”
Trevor swung about and took two big steps to the Witiko. He grabbed the child’s hands.
“And where did they come from? If he has evolved beyond the physical universe why does he have followers who take physical form? Why are they not put to this same test? Why do they have nothing to lose? Why? Why!”
“They are not life,” came the answer. “They are immortal, like Voggoth.”
Trevor growled, “They are dead. They are his puppets. He cannot evolve and give birth, but through them he extends his armies. He extends his power. He broke your precious rules and brought his forces across time and put them here, in the field, to face what remains of my people. But you say nothing, because he will wipe my people out and that will be one less enemy for you to face; one less participant in this ‘challenge’. But when he finishes here—then it will be your worlds, one by one, that he will overwhelm.”
The Centurian risked Trevor’s wrath as he suggested, “Voggoth’s actions may be the direct result of the contamination here. It is a counter balance to—”
Trevor jumped to the alien, forcing him into silence.
“He has created and unleashed a massive army of war machines. Machines grown from materials of the physical universe—stand-ins to do his dirty work and far more than a token force. How does it serve the challenge if it is Voggoth—and not your armies—that destroy my people? How is that a judge of mankind’s strength?”
“Your defeat is imminent,” the Geryon said in a shaky voice that suggested his own lack of surety. “It was decided in the beginning to sterilize those who lose.”
“That’s not what Voggoth wants! He does not want the losers to be destroyed. If he did, then why didn’t the rules of your challenge allow each race to use their most advanced technologies? Why have you used your collective powers to suppress my people’s nuclear weapons? Why didn’t one of the attacking species use their knowledge to splinter my world with an asteroid or fry my people with mass carnage? Your armies on my world—they all have these weapons at home, don’t they? But they can’t use them!”
The Hivvan tried to explain, “It is a matter of balance.”
Trevor yelled again, “Fools! Voggoth does not want us all destroyed, he wants us beaten and weakened. He wants the survivors for himself!”
The assembled children exchanged a series of glances.
Trevor told them, “Yes, I know what happened to the Feranites. You spoke of sterilizing them, but when the time came of their defeat Voggoth had another suggestion, didn’t he? It sounded oh-so-merciful to you then. But it is what he has planned for all of you.”
“No.”
Trevor remembered The Order at its basic level: “On my Earth, his token force used implants to consume and control living human bodies, warping them into his slaves. Making them into lifeless creatures bent to his rule. Voggoth has not been a silent, passive observer or a token participant. He has been manipulating and guiding this entire war, on all the Earths.”
“You are incorrect.”
“That would contradict what I was promised.”
“You were promised?”
Stone recalled, “It was Voggoth who orchestrated my abduction to another Earth in an attempt to engineer the downfall of my species on this planet and, at the same time, to try and finish off the Chaktaw on their Earth. He gave the humans from Sirius access to the Nyx’s abilities to steal me away.”
He thought of Nina and that first year. He told them, “And it was Voggoth who, in the very beginning, tried to sabotage the survival of humanity by implanting one of my followers and using her to betray me. This was an attempt to lure my race’s survivors to an early and fast transition to The Order’s ranks. How did that serve the challenge? How did that prove or disprove mankind’s worthiness in comparison to other races? It did not. It only attempted to hurry humanity’s ultimate conversion to one of Voggoth’s legions.”
“This suggestion is outrageous.”
“Outrageous?” Trevor nearly cried out. “What has been outrageous has been your complicity in the breaking of these rules! I am certain that some of you standing here know exactly what Voggoth is doing on my Earth, but you don’t protest because he has whispered in your ear that he wants you to win the challenge. He wants you to be the last race standing. And he hasn’t said that to only one of you. He’s probably said it to all of you!”
“Voggoth’s interaction on each of the subject worlds has been limited.”
Trevor continued, “And I’ll bet he told it to the Feranites, too. By the time they were double-crossed, it was too late for them. None of you listened then, because with the Feranites gone, you were one step closer to victory.”
“The human does not know this to be true.”
But Trevor did know it to be true. He recalled the words Anita Nehru had shared from her tomb deep within Red Rock. The final piece; the last truth. The ultimate truth. What she had discovered in that lair of horrors. The answer to the Fermi paradox.
“I ask again—how old is Voggoth? How old are the universes? Why are they so empty?”
“Voggoth,” Alenna repeated the answer provided previously, “is older than the universes. He predates our existence by uncounted millennia. His consciousness existed long before the first sparks of our life. We are the first to come since. Despite our age, we are still young.”
They stared at Trevor. He told them, “No. You are not the first. You are only the most recent. The next—the next victims. Look at the minions of Voggoth—look at the Mutants and the Wraiths. See what waits for you. See what became of all life before you!”
Silence. No reply.
“The universes are empty because the arrogant fools of races long past fell for the same trick. I wonder what words he whispered in their ears that convinced them to hand over their souls? I suspect those words sounded very much like what you’ve heard. It is the only way he reproduces. The only way his power expands. And you—you evolved superior beings—you have taken the bait again. It is not good enough to be so strong and so smart. You have to be the strongest and the smartest. Along the way you have handed your lives over to the darkness.”
Still, no replies.
“It may be too late. Voggoth has grown too powerful. While he himself is not allowed in the physical universe, he has built an army that mimics organic life. It grows. It devours. It infects with parasites, taking over my people and multiplying. Combined with his soulless armies, he is on the march here. Look close and you will see that his ‘token’ force is massive and nearly unstoppable. He will wipe us out and you will stand by
and let him do it because we will be one less participant in your challenge. Even now what remains of your forces on my Earth converge to join Voggoth’s army to strike the last blow on humanity. And when he has destroyed my people he will move on to the next Earth, his ranks expanded with some warped version of mankind, circumventing the gates you control by using the Nyx directly—a back door he will exploit against us all. And soon he will no longer need your help to destroy one another. Soon what little reach he has into your universes will be enough. Then, just as he seems ready to do here, he will take over your bodies and swallow your souls!”
“Enough!”
“There is no reason to discuss the matter with one who cannot understand!”
“Fantasies and stories to save his people, nothing more.”
“We are superior. We can see through these fabrications.”
“We must leave! We must take the human surrogate and complete the reunification. No more time should be wasted in senseless discussion.”
Alenna stepped forward.
“Our time here is over. We must consider the effects of this contamination.”
The Duass spoke, “The interaction between your son and Voggoth changed everything. The reunification of our physical bodies and greater essence was reserved only for the victorious race.”
Trevor mumbled, “It is still not too late for you all to be victorious. The strong survive together. Division only serves Voggoth.”
But Trevor had barely the strength to mumble, nothing more. All of it had poured from his body. Exhaustion overtook not only his person but his mind.
The row of children retreated. Alenna hovered for a moment longer. She found Trevor’s eyes, smiled in sympathy for his plight, then followed the rest as they faded into the white light.
The children of the races departed.
Trevor turned his attention to JB.
His son staggered to his feet, having regained some control. The glimmer of light surrounding the area began to contract, forming a ring around the boy.
“I have to leave now.”
Trevor stepped closer but was held at bay by a field of power, like electricity—but not quite—around his son.
Beyond Armageddon V: Fusion Page 44
