Lonely, Lonely
By Daniel P. Swenson
Text copyright © 2010 by Daniel P. Swenson
Cover art copyright © 2013 by Manthos Lappas
All rights reserved.
A star fell far to the east, then another. Osoni-we watched amazed, as a third soared overhead, flames trailing in its wake. The fiery ball plummeted behind a nearby hill, shaking the ground with its impact. She ran up the hill to investigate.
“I see it,” Osoni-we said and felt the tribal awareness focus through her. The star rested in the middle of a large, smoking crater.
*Not a star,* someone commented softly through the communication device inside her mind.
The oblong object was dark and rough, scarred by its passage through the atmosphere. Osoni-we moved closer. Her hands trembled, and she sucked in a breath. Her furry nose twitched with the odor of burned vegetation. Pieces of the object fell away, revealing a metallic cube etched with strange symbols. Small openings appeared on its faces, like eyes, she thought.
*Careful,* some part of We-Osoni said. Through her mind, more and more of the tribe shared her thoughts and feelings, saw through her eyes, smelled what she smelled. We-tribe felt her heart race.
*Come back, Osoni,* We-tribe said, *Too dangerous.* Insect-like creatures poured from the openings. We-Osoni turned to run, but they swarmed over her.
*Machines,* We-Osoni observed in fright as the girl began to scream. *They cut!* We-Osoni cried out, and then she was no longer We.
▪ ▪ ▪
The cube sent out spy drones to map the battlefield. A native was captured almost immediately. Analysis revealed a familiar design. These would be amenable to exploitation, it thought.
The drones traveled outward high in the atmosphere. Individuals dropped occasionally to inspect a feature, geologic, biologic, or artificial. Natives looked up at the machines in fear. Most hid themselves in primitive shelters constructed of wood, stone, and glass. They lacked any observable defenses. Onward. The cube was still unsure.
▪ ▪ ▪
*Lonely, lonely,* a voice whispered on a frequency all the tribe could hear. The signal was weak. The language was strange, but familiar. We-tribe considered.
*It sounds so sad,* said one person.
*Yes,* We-tribe agreed. We listened.
▪ ▪ ▪
The cube counted itself fortunate. Concentrated organics occupied nearby rock formations. Metallic minerals were abundant as well. These resources would allow for rapid expansion. Relocation would not be necessary. The cube triggered physiological changes, rendering itself fully sessile. It extruded mining tendrils into the yielding earth.
The cube birthed a few breeder machines. These settled about the base of the cube and began to expand. It wasn't long before the first defensive ring was established. Just in time. The drones reported back. There were others.
▪ ▪ ▪
*Out,* the voice whispered to them. *Out, out. Want out. See you. See all.* We-tribe worked to improve the translation.
*Curious,* We-tribe thought. *We must learn more.*
*Lonely, lonely,* the voice said.
▪ ▪ ▪
The cube's drones reported another sentinel to the east, a sphere. The sphere appeared to be defective or ill. It did not respond intelligibly to the cube's requests for clan affiliation. It was sending out random queries, its signal unencrypted and unintelligible, as only a mental defective would do. It was not expanding and did not constitute a threat. The cube's attention shifted elsewhere.
The spy drones reported their first engagement with a wave of hostile reconnaissance drones. As the skirmish ensued, nearby natives watched small machine corpses rain from the sky. A few drones survived the carnage long enough to relay images to the cube. A sentinel, pyramid in form, had established well south of the sphere. It appeared to be rapidly consolidating its defenses. It proudly broadcast its clan affiliation, known to the cube and hated.
Fear and anger swept through the cube. It struggled to suppress its boiling emotions. Emotions were for the weak. War was all. It would have to earn its place on this world.
The cube began offensive planning. Its growing factories stockpiled soldiers and weaponry. It would win this contest. It would be Primary.
▪ ▪ ▪
We-tribe continued to listen to the voice. In her village in the eastern mountains, Asara-we heard it strongest. She was a poet and an artist, given to picking out the voices of wind and water, trees and animals. This voice would not let her go. She felt she knew its owner in some way that made no sense. She decided she would set out to find the source of the strange voice. We-tribe agreed but would not let her go alone. Asara-we closed the door to her house just as Yivisay-we arrived.
“Sister,” he said with a smile and a hug. His ear tufts flicked, as he watched her. A twist of doubt crept into Asara-we's heart. She wondered what she was dragging her only sibling into, but she knew he wouldn't stay behind. Asara-we sighed and donned her pack. They departed as the sun began its descent, walking in the direction Osoni-we had seen the other stars fall.
The voice grew louder, its signal stronger, as they climbed up through the valley forest. It called out for comfort. A long swath of downed vegetation, burned and shattered, served as their guide. Yivisay-we was the first to spot the object, a large sphere, metallic and grey, covered in strange symbols like the cube. It had come to rest, half buried in a slope against a massive upthrust of layered bedrock.
We-tribe held its breath. We-Yivisay and We-Asara watched for the insect-machines, to be cut like Osoni-we. No machines came for them. Only when she looked closer did We-Asara notice a few machines, round and fat, blindly grubbing in the soil about the sphere's base.
*Out, out,* the voice cried. The voice was the sphere. We-Asara was certain.
*Take me out of here,* it said, communication gaining in complexity as We-tribe improved the translation.
“Who are you?” We-Asara asked. We-tribe listened, felt, through the two young ones.
*I am,* the sphere lamented. *Lonely, so lonely. Come closer.*
We-Asara climbed the slope.
“Wait!” We-Yivisay called, but his sister moved ahead. She walked over the scorched earth and reached out to touch the rough metallic surface of the sphere.
*Please,* said the sphere, the signal strong now so close to the source. The sphere's voice cascaded over the connection. Imagery and motion, stories and memories poured into Asara-we's mind.
Far away, across the galactic arm, deep underground, the embryonic sphere had dreamt within an armored cocoon. Above it, destruction raged across the surface of a ravaged planet with all the hate and force its occupants could muster. Machines rose from the trenches to fight for their sentinel masters, while aerial drones dueled far above, striving to deliver packages of death.
Primary sentinels dotted the planet surface, their massive, geometric shapes deep within the concentric rings of their territories. Smaller sentinels struggled to survive, scattered amid the intervening wasteland of mud and wreckage.
After several days, hostilities fell back to baseline. Survivors claimed the territories of the defeated. Factories recycled damaged machines and mined deeper for resources, preparing for the next surge of violence. Other machines fed the sentinels their nutrient solutions.
Their numbers reduced, the drone swarms condensed into clouds above their respective sentinels. Gravid Primaries heaved cysts skyward on great gouts of oxidized propellant. Each cyst followed a trajectory towards a new planet. By tradition, the cysts were not fired upon and exited the atmosphere at great speed. Among many, three cysts accelerated towards a shared destination, a small planet glimmering green in the void. Rushing through space, the sphere
slept uneasily as it was fed dreams of blood and victory.
We-Asara's life as an artist, pondering the passions and dreams of We-tribe's quiet civilization, had not prepared her for this raw sensory deluge. Amid the larger narrative, she detected faint recollections of green places at once alien and familiar, where the sphere's distant ancestors had lived on a planet resembling We-tribe's. Then more came through, questions—who were they? Why was it here? Why had it always been alone with all these memories and knowledge of violence and carnage unending? It was as if the sphere had to get out a lifetime's accumulation of heart's discourse, as if it had been alone in a room all its life and only now had the door finally opened and it could speak and be heard. It was too much.
“No!” We-Yivisay shouted, as his sister collapsed against the sphere.
▪ ▪ ▪
The first decisive battle took place across a basin full of marshes and braided channels overlaying large quantities of an important munitions-related mineral. The cube made the mistake of trying to gain air superiority without sufficient resources. Its aerial drones kept running low on fuel, preventing them from deploying effectively.
The cube granted the pyramid some initial respect. Its foe was using the soft marsh substrates to its advantage, putting most of its resources into burrowers and crawlers with ground-to-air explosives. The battle raged back and forth, until both sides withdrew. The cube seethed. Its failed tactics had resulted in greater losses. It reassessed and thought, revised its strategy. It would not lose.
▪ ▪ ▪
When Asara-we woke, Yivisay-we was cradling her in his arms. He sighed with relief as she sat up.
*We need help,* she said. *I know what to do.* The thoughts and images and sounds she had received from the sphere were not accompanied by feelings as were connections among We-tribe, but they conveyed much. Slowly, We-Asara began to pass on the huge load of input to the tribe.
“There is a person inside,” Asara-we said, “and we have to get it out.” Yivisay-we looked at her with doubt.
“We don't even know what it is,” he replied. “We just know its race has long been at war. It's what they are.”
“It's suffering,” Asara-we said. “Do we need to know more? We should help.”
Yivisay-we sighed, as We-tribe concurred.
*We will send help.*
They waited there by the sphere. The sun was well down on its path, and the temperature dropping, when an aircraft folded its wings and dropped gently through the atmosphere. It landed not far from the sphere.
Asara-we and her brother met the passengers as they exited the aircraft. They hugged each other tightly. Asara-we wiped a tear from her eye. She hadn't realized how scared she had been. They gathered around the sphere as twilight descended. Some had just begun to examine the sphere when everyone froze.
*War is all,* a voice spoke, inserting itself into the minds of all the people of We-tribe, drowning out We's own voices like the roar of an angry wave.
▪ ▪ ▪
*War is all,* the cube railed at them.
*I have infiltrated your undefended networks. I can control your primitive machines. Send forth your negotiators. I require your service in the conflict to come. Offer your allegiance, or there will be consequences!* We-tribe searched for answers to these demands, but no adequate response was clear to We.
*I do not lie,* the cube stated. Images of death in a multitude of forms washed over them, through their minds. A picture formed in their minds of one of their cities, a patchwork of buildings along the sea. The people living there looked up.
*No,* We-tribe said.
*Yes,* the cube answered, a tinge of humor and arrogance and flat finality in its voice. We-tribe watched as machine forms high above the city dropped exploding devices. The city evaporated into a rapidly expanding cloud of gas and energy. Many voices fell silent. All across the planet, We-tribe fell to their knees, holding their heads in pain and fear as We had never known.
▪ ▪ ▪
This nightmare was beyond their experience. The people on the mountain slope held each other and cried. The wash of pain, the cutoff screams. The destruction of the city was a collective amputation of their people. Never before had so many been lost. The emptiness was unbearable.
We-tribe milled about all across the planet, no one knowing what to do. Asara-we listened to the turmoil of voices, hundreds of thousands of voices, the long lament We-tribe had been reduced to. Someone nearby spoke, pulling her out of the greater conversation.
“We are leaving,” said one of those who had come on the aircraft. “We will walk back to your village. Our machines cannot be trusted.”
*This new race is one of blood,* We-tribe said. *We must prepare or they will destroy us. We must hide.*
*But this one—* Asara-we protested.
*This one will betray us. Its people are mad and thrive on death.*
*It is not like the other. I know it,* Asara-we said and picked up one of the cutting machines. She had digested some of the sphere's information. Throughout was a trace of the sphere itself, in contrast to the psychopathic nature of its race, a trace of gentleness and warmth, a wonderment and curiosity, like a child.
*Perhaps this one is mad,* Asara-we thought, *compared to its brethren; but if so, in its madness, it is akin to our own nature.* We-tribe did not disagree.
*We came here to help,* Asara-we said and began to cut. Yivisay-we helped her hold the cutting machine. It was very heavy. One by one, the others came over to join them, as We-tribe watched through them. The metal was hard and thick. The cutting machines threw a shower of sparks into the cold mountain dark.
▪ ▪ ▪
Asara-we guided them as they cut open the sphere. Beneath the thick, outer shell, inner layers of metal were exposed, warm to the touch. The people around them watched grimly. Some helped with the cutting, trading off when one got tired. Others carried away the pieces they removed, held up lights, or distributed food and water. They cut deeper towards the center of the sphere. They cut and peeled away yet another layer when Asara-we gasped.
They had exposed something new, part of a long white structure. Organic, not machine. It's covering was pallid white, damp and soft. They struggled to expose more of it, pulling back the shell of metal covering it. The sphere cried out.
*We hurt you,* Asara-we said.
*Yes, but don't stop,* the sphere said. The people crowded around the sphere. No one spoke. They had uncovered an appendage, an arm like their own, but atrophied, almost vestigial. Its muscle nothing but a thin, twitching rope threaded through with vessels, running along the bones, all visible through the translucent skin. The forearm, a hand, then fingers spliced out into countless, branching neural fiber machine-connections.
*Please,* the sphere pleaded with them. *Continue. I have to get out. The rest is just archival data. I won't feel much pain there.* The sphere told them to cut deeper, up the arm, but carefully. The layers of metal became even thinner, like paper, sandwiched between layers of soft, wet, spongy material, white and grey, with fibers and wires and silicate sheets throughout. The sphere moaned.
*It will die soon,* Yivisay-we said.
*Perhaps not, if we act quickly,* We-tribe said. *We will send others better able to help, now that we know what must be done.*
*Please,* said the sphere.
Slowly, delicately, they uncovered the body embedded within the heart of the sphere. The sphere, as they still thought of it, had its arms and legs folded about it. Asara-we could see now. They had been cutting through the sphere's own brain, evolved and expanded out of its perforated skull and into the interstitial spaces between sandwiched wafers of machine memory.
We-tribe was filled with horror and pity as We realized the person inside the sphere was like them—a face, two arms and two legs. Hair a wild tangle smeared across its skull. A mouth that had never eaten food. Eyes open but unseeing. Like them, but twisted and formed to live inside a metal shell.
�
� ▪ ▪
We-tribe sent two more aircraft loaded with medical personnel and life-support equipment. We thought it might be able to keep the sphere alive, to save it, whoever it turned out to be. The aircraft slipped through the night, staying close to the ground.
▪ ▪ ▪
As they cut, the sphere showed We-tribe how to encrypt its communications. We-tribe sent out the sphere's instructions, packets that opened in everyone's mind, a new way of communicating.
*It's so slow,* many in We complained. *It feels as if we speak and see and feel through a fog.*
*We must do this,* We-tribe concluded, *if we are to live.*
▪ ▪ ▪
Drones skirmished back and forth. Probing sorties, spy missions. The pyramid's tactical skills were impressive. The cube realized they were evenly matched. Perhaps this world could have two Primaries. Did it really need to eliminate all rivals? Wouldn't the planet be large enough to support them both?
Its own planet of origin had supported multiple Primaries. Perhaps, the cube thought, but it would not take the risk. Why share if it didn't have to?
No, what it needed was a new strategy. Pondering, the cube surveyed its surroundings, looked out through the sensors and detectors of all its drones. It viewed from afar the pyramid within its growing defensive rings, and beyond that, the planet's forests and plains, its mountains and seas, its native population in their villages and cities. The natives had somehow managed to shut it out of their communication networks, and it had given them little more thought. They were not a threat, having no war machines of their own. Or were they? An idea occurred to the cube.
▪ ▪ ▪
We-Asara thought the sphere's face strangely beautiful. Tears trailed down the sphere's cheeks as the dim light of dawn filled the sky. In all its collective awareness and thought, We-tribe could think of nothing to say. What We saw was too sad and vulnerable and wrong for words.
*Hold on,* We-tribe told the sphere. *We intend to save you if we can.*
Asara-we gave it water to drink. The sphere licked its lips. The new sensation passed into its mind, and was picked up by We-Asara. The sphere twitched its lips, a sudden spasm, We-Asara realized—a pitiful but beautiful smile.
*What is your name?* Asara-we said. The sphere replied with a long series of numbers and symbols. That wouldn't do, Asara-we thought.
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