The Farpool_Exodus

by Philip Bosshardt

“First off, the Coethi are thought to be a race of sentient semi-robotic aliens whose main weapon against our forces is something we Umans called a starball. It is directed against the sun or star of a targeted Uman planetary system. The only known defense is our Time Twister. When a starball enters or is pulled into the twist field of a Twister, it is flung out of local space-time into the farthest reaches of the Universe.

  Umans and Coethi are contending for influence and territory in a region of the Milky Way known as the Galactic Halo.

  The main-sequence star Sigma-Albeth B, your own sun, is near the center of a key sector of the Halo. It has four planets, one of them this place, a place we call Storm. You call it Seome, I believe. Seome is an ideal site to build and operate our Time Twister to defend this sector, known to us as Halo-Alpha. The sector is above the plane of the galactic Orion Arm, in which most of Uman space is located, including the home solar system.

  The Coethi originated in the Perseus Arm and view the Halo sectors as convenient ways to expand their territory and influence into the Orion and other arms in this quadrant of the galaxy. But we Umans are in their way.

  The Coethi are a distributed intelligence. They are a swarm of nanoscale robotic elements several light years in extent, drifting through space.

  The basic element of the Coethi is a nanobot. An autonomous, nanoscale assembler/disassembler of incredible sophistication and complexity.

  Nobody knows how the Coethi came to be, not even the Coethi themselves. As an organized superorganism of bots several light-years in extent, they have existed for a substantial fraction of the age of the Universe. Best guess by our T2 intelligence experts is 4-5 billion years old.

  The Coethi are a true superswarm of vast proportions. In size and extent and connection density, it exceeds the complexity of all the human minds that have ever lived on Earth combined. It’s a thinking sentience, whose true environment is interstellar space.

  There is an archive of knowledge within the Coethi, a sort of computational cloud or main memory, which retains all information ever created or experienced by the swarm.

  Within this Archive is information indicating that the Coethi originated on an actual homeworld, somewhere in the M75 cluster in Sagittarius. Our intelligence data show that their homeworld was destroyed by a nearby supernova and the surviving elements were dispersed into space in a sort of interstellar diaspora. As humans reckon universe time, this happened at least 4-6 billion years ago, at a time when the Universe was approximately 7 billion years after the Big Bang.

  There is no known head or leadership group or body. The main part is something T2 calls the Central Entity.

  Nanobotic elements of the Coethi engage in some specialization to ensure that the swarm survives and the Central Entity is maintained. Bots can specialize in such tasks as logical processing, communication, maintenance, archiving and memory, internal transport, navigation, world-seeding, orientation, etc.

  Part of the Coethi swarm is organized as a vast logic array or processor, capable of quantum computation on a stupendous scale. Effectively, this could be considered the Central Entity. T2 calls it a sort of galactic scale CPU. But the truth is that the Coethi are a true collective entity whose behavior evolves from relatively simple rules applied to a vast congregation. Most sentience and observable behavior emanating from the Coethi is emergent from the complexity and scale of the nanobotic connections.

  It’s not too farfetched to consider the Coethi as a sort of galactic brain, although it certainly doesn’t encompass the entire Milky Way galaxy. At least not yet.

  But the Coethi have an Imperative of Life which compels them to grow and expand the swarm. Ultimately, they want to unite all world-based instances of swarm life which they have seeded into a giant, galaxy-spanning swarm or hive mind (like a neural network or computational cloud). To the Coethi, this is the Imperative of Life itself. The Imperative of Life is that life absorbs chaos from the Universe and adds or builds structure or order. Life is anti-entropic.

  In order to get their heads around the idea of the Coethi, some descriptors our T2 scientists have used have been: galactic brain, interstellar neural network, computational cloud, galactic internet, and universal web. The basic organizing principle or topology of the Coethi is unknown and can only be speculated about.

  The general physical dimensions of the Coethi swarm have been estimated to vary anywhere from a few billion kilometers in breadth to several light years. Cosmologists say that very few organized structures in the Universe are that big. Astronomers point to some nebula, gas and dust clouds, even black holes as objects of that dimension or larger. There are some cosmologists who question whether the Coethi swarm is truly alive in a traditional sense. Even biologists say the proven existence of the Coethi stretches the definition of life and sentience nearly to the breaking point.

  The Coethi can manipulate quantum states of the subscale fine structure of space itself to communicate and affect matter at great distances. As one scientist says, “If the Universe were a great quilt, the Coethi can yank on a fiber at one end and untie a knot at the other.” Their ability to use quantum entanglement as a means of manipulation is eons ahead of Umans’ ability to understand, let alone emulate.

  The Coethi launch a starball weapon by amassing vast, concentrated quantities of what Uman scientists call fusium. They concentrate the fusium and focus it using part of the main swarm, then launch the starball at a target star or sun.

  The starball affects the balance between outward pressure of fusion in the star’s core and its gravity. Basically, the starball slows down or inhibits the fusion reactions so that gravity slowly wins out. The star collapses and may, if massive enough, go supernova.

  When the echopod recording had come to an end, Chase added a few words.

  “The Seomish came through the Farpool, what you call a wormhole or gateway, not long ago. They landed near Bermuda. They had to come because their own sun was dying, threatening to go supernova, likely because of Coethi attack….”

  Likteek paused in his ceaseless roaming about the pool and poked his head above the water, his beak and forepaddles animated for all to see. The echopods tried to keep up the translation, but the scientist’s whistles and grunts came thick and fast.

  “Shkreeah…we think…the m’jeete…the Coethi…came with us. Some were…zzzhhh…embedded…attached to our ships…to our people.”

  “This is what the Ponkti may have discovered in the South China Sea,” Chase added. “If this disturbance is the Coethi, then we’ve got a real problem. A big problem.”

  You didn’t need an echopod to translate the wave of skepticism flowing about the pavilion. Nobody wanted to take this seriously.

  An American scientist from California was openly dubious. “Time-traveling bugs from space…you’ve got to be kidding.”

  But the Chinese delegate was more thoughtful, for he had seen some of the reports from Admiral Hu’s operation against the Ponkti base. “Perhaps we should investigate this phenomenon further. An exploratory mission—”

  Chase listened to mutterings from below the water, Likteek and Yaktok denouncing the treachery of the Tailless and was glad the echopods didn’t pick up any of that. Somehow some way, a new alliance between the Seomish and the humans would have to be hammered out. But how? After Keenomsh’pont and the South China Sea and Vladivostok, neither side trusted the other.

  How the hell did I get into this? Chase wondered. Whenever the Croc Boys had a fight, usually over girls or somebody’s messed-up idea of lyrics for a new song, the best way to hash out their difficulties had been over a few beers at Croc’s Corner, a little dive on Coral Road just outside Scotland Beach city limits.

  Maybe there was a way….

  Chase looked down at the interior of the kip’t. The more he thought about it, the more the idea made sense. Who didn’t like exhilarating rides…it was part of every child’s DNA.

  Well, these clowns are sure acting like kids…maybe…if I put it the
right way….

  He waved to get Dr. Satsuyama’s attention; an ominous clamor had settled over the delegates as he did this.

  “Sir…sir…can I speak? I’ve got an idea….”

  Apo Island

  Luzon, the Philippines

  August 28, 2115

  1245 hours

  For Dr. Hector del Compo, the trip up the Yemanha River came at a particularly bad time. Work was piling up at the Ministry, his eldest daughter was set to be married in less than two weeks, and the Deputy Minister had just rejected his choice to head up the public health lab, the dolt. So when UN BioShield advised the Ministry of some kind of ‘disturbance’ in the vicinity of Apo Island, “unusually high nanobotic activity” was the way the report had phrased it, del Compo gritted his teeth and organized a quick expedition to see what BioShield had detected. Maybe it would be a distraction from all the politics back at the Ministry. After all, it wasn’t every day you got a message from BioShield that some kind of mass casualties had occurred way upriver in the black heart of la selva, the rain forest that covered the western two thirds of Apo Island.

  “Esta aqui?” came a voice from the back of the boat. It was Montoya, sergeant of the Guardia Nacional detail that was accompanying the scientists from the Ministry upriver. “The village is nearby, no?”

  Del Compo watched the coffee-colored waters of the Yemanha River slide by. The two-boat fleet had chugged nearly four kilometers upriver from Afalamos, heading for the last known encampment of Xotetli Indians, a place called Apomosa, the locus of the ‘disturbance’ according to BioShield. The sun was high in the sky—it was just after noon locally—but the light had fallen off in the dense canopy of wiry pandanus and tapang trees, now forming a cathedral arch over the sluggish river.

  “Just around the bend, Sergeant,” Del Compo called out. “Let’s maneuver closer to shore.”

  Montoya waved acknowledgement, then barked, “Watch for logs and shoals! De reche…steer toward the shore!”

  The two boats slowed and shifted course, their props thrumming and churning water as the helmsmen turned them to starboard. The prow of the lead boat nosed around the curve of the shoreline, through swarms of buzzing insects and the first crude thatch lean-to’s of the Xotetli village came into view, perched on a shelf of cleared ground. Smoke issued from a smoldering fire in the center of the circle of huts.

  Montoya snapped off more orders and the boats were poled to the river banks, their engines turned off. The Guardia detail climbed out and quickly secured a perimeter around the village, nosing briefly into the forest, poking bayonets and mag weapons into the huts, looking for anyone.

  One soldier, Corporal Quinones, gave a shout.

  “Aqui…aqui! Pronto!...” The corporal waved the others over.

  Del Compo scrambled over the makeshift gangway and clawed his way up the bank. The village of Apomosa was little more than a collection of crude thatch huts and log lean-to’s, gathered in a circle around a firepit that was still smoldering.

  Even as del Compo and his fellow scientists approached, they could see the legs of prostrate humans, sticking out of the huts.

  Texeira bent to examine the nearest body. Quinones shone a flashlight on the face of the Xotetli Indian….it appeared to be a young male, otherwise healthy and uninjured, but indisputably dead. He had died with his eyes open. The young male was covered with painted tattoos and his lips and nose were pierced with tiny bone ornaments.

  “What happened?” asked del Compo, noting at least four other males lying nearby.

  “I’m not sure, but—“Texeira turned the body over, looking for lividity and other signs of external trauma. “No open wounds…poison, maybe.” They both knew the Xotetli fashioned curare for their darts and arrows from the leaves and stems of chondrodendron vines.

  “Gonzalez!” del Compo called back to the boat. “Bring the equipment…we need to do an autopsy.”

  Gonzalez waved back, then hoisted up a crate and lugged it on shore, carrying the crate up to the village.

  As the scientists set up, Montoya and his detail did a quick reconnaissance of the village and surrounding jungle. He came back after a few minutes, his face grim and pale.

  “Profesor…the whole village…they’re all dead—“

  “What?’

  Montoya unholstered his own pulser and pointed it toward the huts opposite the firepit. “Come…see for yourself—“

  Del Compo went with Montoya around the village, where the rest of the Guardia detail…Herrera, Uruguin, Fuentes and Goncalves…were systematically probing every hut and bush, turning up bodies by the dozen, slumped, sprawled and folded in every conceivable position.

  Del Compo bent to examine an older man, maybe the curaca, or chief. He was adorned with a complex cape of vines and strips of tree bark. His face was hidden behind a mask of feathers—when del Compo peeled the mask back, he saw a middle-aged face staring up at him, eyes open. His lips and cheeks were noticeably blue.

  The exam was interrupted by the sound of a heavy thud. Del Compo and Montoya both turned, and saw two of the soldiers had dropped to their knees, and were having trouble breathing…both were heaving deeply, gasping for air.

  Del Compo got up and went to Herrera and Uruguin. “What is it? What’s wrong—what is it?”

  Uruguin was young, his eyes wide. His hands fluttered about his chest. “I don’t know…I can’t breathe…my lungs…no air…” He gurgled and throttled, then pitched onto his side, his mouth working up and down like a fish out of water.

  Del Compo bent down to examine the soldier’s face. It was turning pale, somehow he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. He started to probe around the soldier’s mouth, but stopped, feeling light-headed himself. Startled, he stood up abruptly.

  “Texeira—“

  The chemist had already uncrated the autopsy-bot and had set it to work on the dead man by the firepit. The bot attached itself to the man’s chest and neck with programmed efficiency and extended forceps and probes as it deftly sliced into the corpse.

  “Texeira…the air…it’s bad! There may be an underground leak, toxic gases venting—“

  Texeira nodded, quickly reading results from the bot. “Asphyxiation, senor Profesor…I thought so…blue lips and cheeks. The CO2 level’s way too high in his bloodstream...if this thing is right, it reads better than twenty kilopascals.”

  Del Compo was now coughing as he came over. Others too…Montoya was already tending to Uruguin, even as two more Guardia soldiers collapsed.

  “Hypercapnia…there’s too much carbon dioxide around here,” del Compo croaked.

  “That’s…that’s not all,” said Gonzalez from the shoreline. He was struggling with more instruments, taking measurements from the riverbank. He swayed dizzily, then clung to a vine of strangler fig for support. “The air…she’s crazy…look at this! Not just the carbon dioxide is loco…it’s everything. Chlorine…fluorine…methane…this isn’t normal air, profesor! It’s crazy—“

  “Poisoned--” Del Compo breathed out. His own lungs were on fire. “Something’s in the air…we’ve got to get out of here!”

  Montoya signaled for the detail to return to the boats. The soldiers stumbled, coughing, clawing at their faces and chests, as they fell down the riverbanks and into the boats.

  Del Compo sucked, coughed and wheezed as he helped Gonzalez get his gear back aboard. Montoya helped his own men and the boats were started up, their engines chugging against the water. Moments later, the craft eased out against the current, heading further upriver. Against Sergeant Montoya’s wishes, del Compo wanted to track the boundaries of this ‘bubble’ of bad air.

  “If I’m right,” he wheezed, panting for breath, “it’s some kind of rogue nanobotic action, altering the air right here.”

  “Or maybe toxic gases,” suggested Texeira. His face was still pale and beaded with sweat and he sat heavily in the stern, still gasping for breath. “---venting from an underground reservoir.”

 
The fresh breezes helped and by the time the detail had rounded the next bend, the worst of the toxic air seemed to have fallen behind. Del Compo and Gonzalez studied their instruments, increasingly uneasy at what they were finding.

  “A zone of death,” Gonzalez said. “All around Apomosa…maybe that’s what killed the Xotetli.”

  Del Compo nodded, studying the low hanging clouds that were scudding over the tree tops. “A protected tribe…gone. Maybe it was loggers…or ranchers.” There had been incidents before.

  “Or worse,” added Texeira, mopping his forehead with a wet handkerchief.

  Gonzalez tuned the detectors. “It doesn’t make any sense. Look, profesor…at the riverbank, the air quality is poor…even the basic percentages are all wrong. See—?” he pointed to several displays on the instrument face. “Ozone levels practically at zero, partial pressure of oxygen falling, CO2 rising…”

  The small fleet rounded the bend and Montoya shouted aft. Del Compo followed his pointing arm.

  On the riverbank, were more Xotetli, apparently dead, draped over fallen tree stumps and sprawled at the foot of trees. Ten or more bodies. Animals too. The decaying carcass of a sloth lay half buried in the muck.

  “…but here in the middle of the river…the air improves.” Del Compo saw he was right. The instruments reflected it…oxygen and nitrogen levels approaching normal, the further they got from the banks.

  Del Compo signaled to Montoya. “Pull up to that grotto!” he yelled over the wind noise. A dank cavern of limestone overhung the river ahead of them and to the left, covered with boughs of moss and fallen branches of screw pine. To Gonzalez: “Watch the instruments as we approach.”

  The boats eased landward, bouncing through a small hydraulic foaming around a tree stump and nosed toward the cavern. Bats screeched inside, fluttering the air, with the drone of a thousand wings.

  Del Compo felt light-headed as they bumped against the limestone outcropping. The instruments didn’t lie…even as he watched, the oxygen levels had begun falling off. Carbon dioxide had already risen well beyond fifteen kilopascals, high enough to impair judgment. Trace constituents were all wrong, like some kind of pall of pollution had fallen over the grotto…it was crazy.