“So when the Qualeewoohs turned to the problem of war, they took a pragmatic approach. Instead of trying to search endlessly for new sources of food and water, instead of trying to defend themselves from the inevitable depredations of others—their technology focused on self-control.”
“You mean to limiting their numbers?” Gallen asked.
“No,” Felph said. “That was but a small part of their program. I mean that they turned toward social and genetic manipulation. That they practiced genetic manipulation is obvious. We’ve found fossilized plants from the tangle and compared their DNA to that in current samples. The dew trees, which serve as the platform for all other life here on Ruin, show a common pattern of genetic manipulation across twenty-three separate species. The Qualeewoohs inserted the instructions for a common root and hibernation system through all those species. It is only because of these genetic manipulations that any life at all still thrives on this planet.
“But even more importantly than their manipulations of the flora and fauna, they developed a genetic upgrade which they spread among their own kind. They inserted a gene into their thirty-second chromosome that makes it terrifying, utterly intolerable, for one Qualeewooh to be near another adult of the same sex. The very sight of an adult Qualeewooh of the same sex sends both individuals into flight. “
Gallen considered. The Qualeewoohs had not been territorial, but by assuring that any two Qualeewoohs of the same sex who saw each other would immediately flee, you created a tremendous buffer zone between territories. Yet something more happened. You dismantled society. The Qualeewoohs who had developed the technology he’d seen here had been flock animals, nesting together. Social, communicative. But they’d doomed their descendants to become solitary hunters, living in exile.
To Gallen the implications seemed horrifying.
Felph looked up at him, a gleam in his dark blue eyes, and stroked his beard. “Mankind chose to tolerate violence, to seek eternal expansion in the hopes of outrunning his own overpopulation. But the Qualeewoohs, in spite of the fact that they are raptors, could not live with such a choice. For them, the only purpose civilization ever served was to find the root of their own violent nature, then destroy it. Better to end civilization, they decided, than to live with the madness.”
Tallea said, “How sad. Think of all they lost!”
But Orick simply shook his head. “How noble. Think of all they gained!”
“Indeed!” Felph said. “You see it. The Qualeewoohs are utterly unlike us in so many ways. With mankind, our whole system of values is incongruous, illogical. But the Qualeewoohs’ society works for them—in many ways far better than ours ever worked for us.
“That is why I’ve stayed here for so long. I’ve studied their social relations, considered the implications in our own society, weighing them against the dronon threat.”
Gallen found Felph’s tone very disturbing, incongruous. Half an hour ago, he’d talked casually about how humans slaughtered modern Qualeewoohs. Now he spoke reverently of their respect for life. Gallen recognized that Felph’s respect for the Qualeewoohs was directed toward “the ancestors,” the Qualeewooh gods, as he’d called them earlier.
Modern Qualeewoohs, in spite of the fact that they were kindly philosophers, in spite of the fact that they glued spirit masks to their faces in order always to be guided by their ancestors, were somehow not worthy of Felph’s respect. He saw them as creatures, not creators.
His position annoyed Gallen. Felph seemed to have an almost schizophrenic attitude about the creatures.
“What conclusions have you reached?” Maggie asked, and there was an edge to her voice, a threat. She, too, was perturbed by Felph’s attitudes.
Gallen recognized the source of Maggie’s concern. Felph’s genetic experiments, the way he treated the people above, the way he enslaved his own children—all suggested Felph was involved in something sinister. Could he be an aberlain, Gallen wondered—altering the human genome to fit his own whims, seeking to modify his own children as the Qualeewoohs had done? Gallen glanced at Felph’s beautiful, silent children. His slaves.
“Conclusions? None, for certain,” Felph said. “I suspect the Qualeewoohs’ solution was at once noble and desperate beyond anything I could condone. They doomed their descendants to lives of isolation. They doomed their species to eventual extinction. And they lost too much in their quest for peace—the opportunity for social discourse that we as humans take for granted.
“Still, I could almost congratulate them for the devil’s bargain they made, if not for the dronon. In time, the Qualeewoohs’ shortsightedness will condemn this world. The Qualeewoohs never anticipated alien invaders, either human or dronon. This world, with its dull red sun, is a perfect habitat for the dronon. When the Lords of the Swarms discover this place, as they surely will, the Qualeewoohs won’t be able to defend themselves.”
“Perhaps that won’t happen for a long time,” Gallen said.
“One could only hope,” Felph replied. “Unfortunately, what seems long to us is actually a short time on a cosmic scale. Five hundred years, a thousand? The Qualeewoohs don’t have that long.”
Gallen said, “Don’t you think mankind can find an answer to the problem?”
“No,” Felph answered. “What answer could we come up with? The dronon have had plenty of time to duplicate most of our higher technology in the past eighty years. A full-fledged war is almost too horrific for either species to consider, not when entire worlds would burn to ash.
“Mankind, I think, would gladly strike up negotiations for treaties with the dronon, but the dronon psyche does not allow for such things. They seek dominion above all, while mankind putters about, trying to find peaceful solutions to the problem.
“I hear—I hear,” Felph continued, “that some humans back in the Milky Way have finally won the title Lords of the Sixth Swarm. But what will they do with it?”
“I couldn’t say,” Gallen answered, stifling the urge to laugh at the irony. What would Felph think if he knew that at this very moment he was entertaining the Lords of the Sixth Swarm?
“I’ll tell you what they should do,” Felph said emphatically. “They should go to each dronon queen in each hive of the Sixth Swarm and sterilize them. Then let it be known to the lords of the other swarms that if they challenge mankind again, and mankind wins, this will happen to their swarms. That’s what we should do! With the extinction of their swarms as a threat, the dronon would never dare challenge us again.”
Maggie said, “But, if you destroyed the Sixth Swarm, you would be committing genocide against dronon on hundreds of worlds.”
“Not genocide—” Felph argued, “sterilization. Those living on such worlds could continue to live out their natural life spans.”
Orick shook his head. “I don’t think that will happen. I don’t see how we could do it.”
“Certainly the Tharrin will never do it,” Felph said. “But I suspect that many of our human leaders throughout history might have done it. Unfortunately, we’ve given over our free agency to a pack of sniveling aliens who haven’t got the fortitude to do what needs to be done.”
“The Tharrin aren’t aliens,” Orick said.
“Of course they are—aliens of our own creation.” Felph considered for a moment. “What we need is a new kind of civilization, with leaders strong enough to meet the challenge imposed by nonhuman sentiments.”
This is what Gallen had been waiting for. Felph hadn’t admitted to being an aberlain. On most worlds throughout the universe, the work of aberlains was strictly illegal. Only on Tremorithin did mankind work assiduously to create new subspecies of humans to populate new worlds.
Maggie said, “And is this the work you’ve chosen for yourself, to create this new society?”
“Of course,” Felph said. “Someone must rise to the challenge.”
“Isn’t it illegal to engage in genetic manipulations on humans?”
“Ruin doesn’t belong to the Un
ity of Planets, so of course none of their laws apply. We’re sovereign here.”
“What of your local laws?” Gallen asked.
Felph seemed astonished by the question. “I really haven’t made up any, yet.” He studied their faces, saw their surprise. “You see, Ruin’s constitution was written several hundred years ago by me and two colleagues. As a jest; we decided to form a monarchy. With only three of us on the planet at the time, it seemed a simple solution to any political problems. We drew straws, and I won. As an independent world recognized by the Unity, anyone who wants to settle here must swear to obey the laws of our constitution—and accept me as sovereign. As a result, I’ve retained my title of `Lord Felph.’ “
“What of the people who live on your world? Don’t any of them object?” Gallen asked in astonishment.
“Object? Why would they object?” Felph asked. “People only object to government when it makes demands of them. I make no laws, levy no taxes. With the excess supplies I generate, I feed and clothe anyone who wants. No, no one objects to my reign. How could they?”
In the moment of silence that followed, Gallen furrowed his brow, then said. “Lord Felph, you’ve supported your view that the ancient Qualeewoohs created the Waters of Strength, and you’ve argued persuasively that they had at least some fairly high levels of technology. But one concern nags me. What makes you think the Waters of Strength still exist?”
Felph shot Gallen a knowing smile. “There are those who have tasted it. They bear witness.”
“But you said no one has reached it!” Orick blurted.
“No human,” Felph corrected. “There are creatures, animals in the tangle, with curious traits.”
“Such as?” Gallen asked.
“They are nearly immortal,” Felph said. “Oh, you can slay them, but they regenerate in a few hours. They attack as dumb animals do, with cunning, but lacking foresight. Come into the tangle with me, Gallen, on a small excursion, and I’ll show you what you’re faced with.”
This seemed so improbable that even Gallen dared not speak for a moment. “Predators?” Gallen asked. “These are the predators you want me to fight?”
“I did not say it would be easy,” Lord Felph answered. “It might take you a few trips. But you, or one of your clones, could make it.”
Gallen shook his head thoughtfully. This would take some consideration.
Maggie said, “I understand that you want to hire me for something?”
“Possibly,” Felph said. “At the very least, I would like to download the memory crystals from your mantle, particularly with emphasis on nanotech modifications to human life-forms. I can pay well, say a thousand credits per gig of nonduplicatory information?”
Maggie said, “I won’t give you information as an aberlain unless you are forthright with me. I won’t do anything immoral. I must know exactly what you are creating.” She glanced up at the beautiful children that hovered around Felph, mute witnesses to the conversation. Felph was controlling them through their Guides, forcing them to keep silent during this entire evening. It was an eerie, ghastly thing to behold.
Felph folded his hands together, put them up to his chin, and gazed at Maggie. “Indeed, I suppose you must know, mustn’t you?”
He cleared his throat. “You saw the people of Ruin, tonight, didn’t you? Scholars, eccentrics, poachers—they are all much alike, ragged creatures who live only to fill their bellies, procreate, entertain themselves. And occasionally scratch where it itches.
“The universe is filled with such people. They do nothing of import, think nothing of import, say nothing remarkable. They are of no more consequence than the beasts of the field. They take up space on a planet, nothing more. Their whole lives are wasted.”
“They’re important in the eyes of God,” Orick said. “No one is a waste. Christ said that God sees even the falling of a sparrow, and we are far more important than a sparrow!”
“You are a Christ worshiper?” Felph asked.
“Aye,” Orick said.
“If man is more important than the sparrows, then why does your God promise us a hell? I’ll tell you”—Felph gazed fiercely at Orick—“your God’s hell is nothing more than a dumping ground for human waste. That is why your Scriptures tell us that it will be so full. Few will make the grade. It has always been so, in any theology.
“You’ve seen the filthy people of my world? Once every generation, some young child will come to me, asking to learn, asking for a way off this world. I have teaching machines here, free for the asking. There are ways to improve one’s self. I take such children as servants, have them work a few years, then arrange for their transport off this rock, if that is what they want. But so few make the grade, so few want to be anything more than human waste.”
Orick was becoming furious at Felph’s words. “I can’t believe that!” he roared.
“Alas, I wish it were not so,” Felph grunted. “We fear the dronon. We fear that they will enslave us. But what value is our freedom, I beg to know, if we do nothing with it? What value are our lives if they pass by, as unremarked as a breeze?”
“A good life is its own reward,” Orick said.
Felph peered out at him from bushy eyebrows, his eyes amused and glittering. “I would say that any life—good or bad—is its own reward. A gluttonous life may seem fine and pleasant to a glutton, but I doubt that your Christ would say that such a life is a good, or that it is a reward.”
“A sinless life leads to greater reward,” Orick said.
“Then by all means, let us all lead sinless lives,” Felph said. “But if I understand aright, it is not enough just to avoid sin. One must openly wage a war for good—wield the vibro-blade of chastity, et cetera?”
“The sword of truth,” Orick corrected. “Whatever. You get the idea.”
Felph’s argument with Orick had run its course. Maggie said, “So, you are trying to create people who are not part of the dirty masses? How, exactly, do you plan to do this?”
“The answer is simple,” Felph said. “I’ve created children who crave.”
“Crave what?” Gallen asked.
“You seem angry with me,” Felph said. “Why?”
Gallen said, “I don’t believe we should meddle with our children in this way.”
Felph pointed accusingly at Maggie’s belly, at the swell of a child in her womb. “Isn’t that meddling? Aren’t you taking this life lightly? If you give birth naturally, you have no idea what will be born, what you are giving life to. Would you not want your own children to crave to be something more than—than some twenty meters of gut with attached gonads?”
“Of course,” Gallen said. “We all want our children to excel. But I don’t experiment on the unborn! I prefer to have my children naturally.”
“Experiment? Why damn you, you ignorant ass!” Felph shouted. “What is that thing in Maggie’s belly but an experiment! You merely hope for the best. You create it, you let it grow, you nurture it. But it is nothing more than an experiment concocted by two foolish children who have no grasp of the responsibilities they’re accepting. Giving birth naturally is no great virtue. Dogs do the same! Nature does not care one whit for your child. It doesn’t mind if your son is born a monstrosity with two heads and no heart. It takes no pity when your child whines in the night from hunger, or when it shivers from cold. It does not hope and dream and work for your child. Nature is so … arbitrary. Damn you, to trust your child into the benevolent care of an uncaring nature, then to berate me with such a tone!” Felph clenched his fists and glared at Gallen, his head shaking from side to side in his rage.
Instead of becoming more angry at Felph’s arguments, Gallen actually grinned. Perhaps it was Felph’s courage, his stubbornness. In the past several years, Gallen had gained such a reputation as a bodyguard—and then as a Lord Protector of entire worlds—that no one outside of Orick dared berate him. Yet here this old man, someone Gallen could knock over as easily as if he were a cornstalk, was shouting
at Gallen like a maniac.
“Forgive me,” Gallen said, with a nod of deference. “I’d never considered genetic engineering as an obligation, rather than a choice. Still, I worry at what you are doing to your own children.”
“They crave,” Felph said, “as I told you!”
“But what do they crave?” Orick asked. Of them all, the bear seemed most horrified by Felph. Maggie seemed to be reserving judgment. Gallen now found himself favorably disposed toward Felph. The little bear Tallea had been quiet, nonjudgmental. As a refugee from Tremonthin, she had seen thousands of subspecies of mankind. The idea of engineering one’s offspring perhaps did not seem so horrific to her.
Felph told Orick, “My children crave everything: glory, honor, power, knowledge, carnality. They seethe with it, more than you will ever imagine! So I have, given them what they need to attain the heights they desire—strength, cunning, beauty!”
“A new race of leaders? That is what you want?” Maggie asked, suspicious.
“Precisely! We will no longer be led by alien Tharrin,” Felph exulted. “I’m creating new leaders, with all the attributes that mankind revels in!”
Orick growled, “With all of mankind’s weaknesses? You say they crave honor and power? Won’t this lead to jealousies and corruption? You want to rid us of the compassionate Tharrin and put these in their place?”
“We are at war! We are at war!” Felph shouted.
Gallen was disappointed by this. Felph was just another crackpot out to create a race of supermen. It seemed that everywhere he went, someone was trying to define what mankind ought to become. Perhaps it was merely the age he lived in. With the dronon threatening the very existence of mankind, every aberlain in the galaxy was concocting some scheme to overcome the threat. As a species, mankind would have to grow or die.
“I don’t think that either my wife or I will work for you, sir,” Gallen said, finally. He turned away, began walking toward the stairs that led up out of the darkened cavern. He expected the others to follow. Orick hurried after him, and Tallea followed.
Lords of the Seventh Swarm Page 8
