Defender Hyperswarm

by Tim Waggoner

  Kyoto felt dizzy yet again, and this time when the sensation passed, the two separate memories, hers and Mudo’s, had merged. The man that stood before them now was a blend of both of their fathers—half-Asian, half-European, medium height, longer hair, kindly smile, glasses—and his dark gray suit was a combination of a prison guard’s uniform and a transport pilot’s. The surroundings had merged as well. They now stood in a larger room, with plasteel walls, dim light globes, and scattered pillows, blankets, and toys. There was only one door, with a single access panel set into its surface.

  “There!” The Prana sounded pleased. “Order is much preferable to disorder, don’t you think?” Without waiting for a response, the Prana walked over to a pile of toys and picked up the holopad Kyoto remembered so well. How many hours had she spent squinting at its screen, trying to decipher the fuzzy letters it generated? It was a wonder she hadn’t ruined her eyesight.

  The Prana said no words, made no gestures, but suddenly a rocking chair appeared, and he sat. He activated the holopad and blurry letters appeared.

  “Gather ‘round, children. We have a story to tell you.”

  Kyoto, Mudo, and Hastimukah looked at one another, unsure what to do.

  “Go ahead,” Memory said. “The Prana have a somewhat symbolic way of communicating.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Kyoto said, then shrugged. Oh, well. When in the Daimonion… She grabbed a pillow and blanket, sat cross-legged on the former and wrapped herself in the latter. Mudo and Hastimukah did the same, and the Prana smiled.

  “Very good. Let us begin.” The Prana looked at the holopad and began to read aloud.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  “Once upon a time,” the Prana began, “there was a place called Elsewhere. And in this Elsewhere was a species that called itself the Many. The Many thrived throughout the galaxies of Elsewhere, growing, multiplying, but most of all, feeding wherever they pleased, without regard to anything but the sating of their own immediate hungers. Elsewhere was an infinitely vast place, but even infinity has its limitations, and one day the Many realized they had ravaged the galaxies until nothing was left to sustain them. And so, with no other option available, they turned on one another.”

  “Millennia passed, but eventually the Many became Few, and the Few ultimately became One. The One was completely alone in all the vast reaches of Elsewhere, and though it was the strongest of all the Many, still it could not survive without sustenance of some kind. The One grew increasingly weak as its body began to feed upon itself, and just as it seemed that the One might finally die, a doorway to another plane of existence opened in the fabric of space. Even in its weakened state, the One still possessed enough presence of mind to realize this doorway might lead to its salvation. Marshaling the last of its strength, the One plunged through the doorway just before it closed, sealing off the passage to Elsewhere forever.”

  “The One found itself in a strange new realm, a place of shadows and darkness. It drifted for some time, near death but not dying, for there was a new type of energy in this place that sustained it. How long the One drifted is impossible to say, but eventually it began to adapt to its new home, its body absorbing the energies the realm generated until the One grew strong once more. Strong enough to reproduce. And thus did the One become the Prime Mother.”

  “The Realm of Shadows was cold, lifeless, and barren, but to the Prime Mother, it was beautiful. Here she would raise her brood and teach them to be strong, teach them to survive. But she would also teach them not to be foolish, as the Many of Elsewhere had been. Her children, who came to be known as the Manti, would always work together in harmony. Never would they turn on one another as the Many had done. To ensure this, the Prime Mother removed the capacity for individual thought in her children, who were many and varied in form. She then created a very special child, one that was capable of thinking for all the others, one who would be not only the repository of the Manti’s collected knowledge, but who would also serve as their guiding conscience. The Prime Mother called this child Prana, and she created sibilings for Prana—all of whom were called Prana as well, for they were One, just as the Prime Mother had once been.”

  “As the Manti increased in number over time, the Prime Mother grew tired of drifting aimlessly with her children through shadows. She recalled the worlds that had existed in Elsewhere, and she decided the Manti needed a home of their own. But nothing like planets existed in the Realm of Shadows, and the Manti had nothing with which to create a home. The Prime Mother turned to the Prana for help, and the Prana told her the only material the Manti had to work with was themselves. Seeing the truth in this, the Prime Mother asked half of her children—including half of the Prana—to volunteer to sacrifice themselves so that their siblings might have a home. The children she asked sacrificed themselves willingly and joyfully, and their genetic material became the raw substance from which the Manti built a great structure between Shadows called the Weave, and there did they make their home.”

  “Much time passed, and while the Manti were at first happy living in the Weave, they began to grow restless. Despite the Prime Mother’s best efforts, she had never been able to completely keep the aggressive tendencies of her former people out of her children’s genetic makeup. Worse yet, the Manti—including the Prime Mother—had become increasingly accustomed to the Realm of Shadows, and its energies no longer sustained them as they once had. Eventually, the Prime Mother grew too weak to bear any new children.

  “Then the terrible day came when the unthinkable finally occurred. A Manti turned against a sibling and devoured it. The Prime Mother destroyed the killer, but she knew it would not be the last. Just as her former people had eventually proved to be their own destruction, so too would the Manti prove to be theirs—unless something could be done.”

  “The Prime Mother put the problem to the Prana, and they attacked it with every iota of intelligence they possessed. Before long, they came up with an idea, one inspired by the Prime Mother’s experiences. If she had come to the Realm of Shadows from Elsewhere, might not there be other Elsewheres beyond the realm? And other doorways to those places just waiting to be discovered?”

  “The Prana developed a plan and presented it to the Prime Mother: the Manti would begin a grand and glorious quest. They would separate and search throughout the Realm of Shadows for doors to other Elsewheres, and if none could be found, they would look for weak areas in the fabric of the realm that whith some effort might be broken through to make doors. Once a way to another universe was discovered, the Manti would begin to explore it. And if they found this universe to be inhabited, they would have something to feed on besides one another. The Prime Mother was well pleased with the Prana’s plan, and she commanded all her children to search the length and breadth of the realm for such a doorway.”

  “The quest bore fruit far faster than the Prime Mother had dared hope. A number of doorways were discovered, along with many more weak areas that the Manti quickly made into more doors. Thus the Manti found a way into your Elsewhere.”

  “It was a young universe, but one teeming with life. The Manti fed, and fed well, and they harvested genetic material to bring home to the Prime Mother, who would not, indeed, could not, abandon the Weave. The Prime Mother fed and was able to begin producing children once more, and with the new genetic material, the Weave could be expanded and improved upon. Once again, the Manti were strong and content.”

  “Still, the Prime Mother remembered well the lesson she’d learned from her previous life, and she made certain her children restrained themselves, taking only what they needed to survive and no more. With one exception. When a species evolved to the point where it began to intrude into the Realm of Shadows, thus posing a potential threat to the Manti, the Prime Mother ordered that the entire race should be harvested to the point of extinction. She saw this as a regrettable but necessary step if she was to safeguard the survival of her children.”

  “There
was, however, one problem. Unlike her other children, the Prana could think for themselves, and they were troubled by the Prime Mother’s policy of genocide. They had long been disturbed by the Manti’s inability to distiguish between sentient and nonsentient lifeforms when they gathered genetic material, but they saw genocide as not only morally wrong but potentially dangerous to the Manti themselves. By becoming genocidal monsters to the races they preyed upon, the Manti would inspire fear and hatred, and create enemies of technologically sophisticated species. Enemies that one day might visit genocide upon the Manti.”

  “The Prana went to the Prime Mother and told her of their concerns, but she did not share their worries. She thought the Prana had grown too softhearted and that their concept of morality was the true threat to the Manti. She was tempted to destroy them all then and there, but she still needed the Prana to guide her other children, especially when they traveled beyond the realm. So instead of killing the Prana, the Prime Mother commanded them to travel far from the Weave and create their own home, the Daimonion, where they would remain until such time as she had need for them. And since she was the Prime Mother, the Prana had no choice but to obey.”

  “So now here we remain, quite literally lost in thought, while our siblings use your universe as nothing more than a breeding ground for their livestock— you.

  The Prana turned off the holopad and looked up at Kyoto, Mudo, and Hastimukah.

  “Well? What did you think of my tale?” he asked.

  The three of them said nothing for a long time. It was Mudo who finally spoke first.

  “I hated it. Who wants to find out that the ultimate meaning of life is to be Manti food?”

  Kyoto was surprised that Mudo seemed to be accepting the Prana’s story at face value. That didn’t seem at all like the skeptical, cynical scientist she knew. But then Hastimukah didn’t appear inclined to challenge the Prana’s tale, and for that matter, she realized, neither was she. She supposed it was possible, even likely, that the Prana had tampered with their minds to make them believe their story, but for no good reason, she didn’t think so. Something in her, perhaps a racial memory buried deep within the DNA, seemed to recognize the truth of the Prana’s fable.

  “The Residuum has learned much about the Manti over the years,” Hastimukah said. “But there remains a great deal more we do not know. Your story answers many of our questions.”

  “But surely telling us the history of the Manti wasn’t the reason you brought us to the Daimonion,” Kyoto said. “You must having something else in mind.”

  The Prana smiled. “Why? Because you believe that since we are Manti, we must therefore by evil and duplicitous?”

  Kyoto felt her cheeks redden. That’s exactly what she’d been thinking. “It seems to me that you are taking a risk by bringing us here. If the Prime Mother found out—”

  “She would be most displeased,” the Prana finished. “This is true. But what we do, we do not only for the benefit of the Prime Mother, but all Manti.” The Prana set the holopad on the floor and rose from the rocking chair. “Come. There is something I’d like to show you.”

  The Prana walked toward the door and pressed his hand to the access control panel. A soft buzz sounded as the comp verified his identity, and then the door opened. The Prana walked through without waiting for the others to follow.

  “Awfully confident, isn’t he?” Mudo said.

  “The Prana have control of our minds,” Hastimukah said. “Why shouldn’t he be confident?”

  The three of them rose to their feet and followed after their host. They found themselves in a corridor that looked much like any other in the Solar Colonies, whether in Phobos Prison or Rhea’s refugee camps: narrow, low ceiling, plasteel construction, light globes set on dim to conserve energy. Though the Prana had left the room only moments before them, there was no sign of him.

  “Now what?” Kyoto said.

  “No doors here,” Mudo observed. “I suggest we walk. We’re bound to find a door sooner or later.”

  With no better ideas to offer, Kyoto and Hastimukah accompanied Mudo down the corridor. As they walked, Kyoto found her sense of time becoming distorted. She felt as if she were running, walking, and standing still, all at the same time. In terms of the distance she covered, she felt as though she was already at her destination at the same time she was moving steadily away from it. She wondered if the others felt that was, too, but before she could ask, Mudo said, “Of course we do. Time is mostly a matter of perception, and the Daimonion, being a mental landscape, is all perception. Just try to ignore it.”

  Kyoto nodded, and then she heard a faint echo of her voice asking, “Do either of you feel kind of strange?” Words that she had never spoken and now never would.

  Sometime, somehow, they reached the end of the corridor, and there, as Mudo had predicted, was a door. This one had three access panels, and together Kyoto, Mudo, and Hastimukah each pressed one. The door buzzed, opened, and they walked inside.

  “My god,” Kyoto whispered. She stopped and stared, unable to believe her eyes.

  They stood inside a vast dome, kilometers wide. The ceiling generated a holographic blue sky complete with cotton-white clouds. Paved walkways wound between fenced-off areas, each containing its own miniature habitat: desert scrub, arctic plain, African grassland, tropical rain forest.

  “It’s Sawari Zoo,” Kyoto said. “But General Adams said it was destroyed in the Manti attack.”

  “It was,” Mudo said. “This is a re-creation made by the Prana from our memories. A simulation of a simulation, as it were. Though a less-than-perfect one, it would seem.”

  At first, Kyoto didn’t understand what Mudo meant, but then she looked more closely at the nearest exhibit. Slick, brown-furred creatures swam in a pool of blue water, playing a spirited game of chase. She took them to be otters, but then she noticed their clawed feet, scaly tales, and reptilian heads.

  “Otter-gators?” she said aloud.

  “The Prana are merging our memories again,” Mudo said. “I was fond of the alligators as a boy, as I surmise you were of otters.”

  Kyoto nodded. “How odd.”

  Mudo shrugged. “The Prana are aliens, remember? They probably consider this a reasonable conflation of our individual memories.”

  Kyoto looked around. “Still no sign of the Storyteller.”

  “Let’s keep walking,” Hastimukah said. “He will no doubt appear when he’s ready.”

  The three companions continued through the virtual zoo, past giraffe-walruses, eagle-rhinos, porcupine-elephants, and other equally strange amalgams.

  “The real zoo,” Hastimukah began, “the one on Europa contained animals similar to these?”

  “More or less,” Kyoto said. “But they were all holographic simulations. Almost all of Old Earth’s animal life is extinct now. We had preserved tissue samples at Sawari Zoo so that we might clone new animals some day, but from what General Adams said, a third of the samples were destroyed along with the zoo.”

  Hastimukah looked around in wonderment. “There are hundreds of races in the Residuum, and not a single one thought to save such samples of their world’s animal life. And to my knowledge, none has created a place of remembrance like this. It would be considered too frivolous and not necessary for survival.”

  “That all depends on what you want to survive,” Kyoto said. “For the body, a place like Sawari Zoo is unnecessary. But for the soul?”

  Hastimukah smiled at Kyoto. “I believe you have a touch of poet in you Commander.”

  “An extremely light touch,” Mudo said, but his smile took the sting from his words.

  “Now, here’s a curious beast,” Hastimukah said. He stopped and pointed to an exhibit. Behind a fence was a tiled floor, in the center of which rested a small stone pylon. On top of the pylon was a quivering, tentacled creature that looked something like a bioluminescent jellyfish out of water. Its light purple body was translucent, and inside was a smooth orb the size of
a human fist.

  “I’m not sure what that is,” Kyoto said. “Doc?”

  Mudo shook his head. “The closest comparison I can think of is a jellyfish, but I don’t recall ever seeing one at the Sawari Zoo – especially one outside of water.”

  “That is the symphysis.”

  They turned around to see that the Prana had joined them once more.

  “I never heard of that animal,” Kyoto said. “Is it another hybrid creature?”

  “It’s not an animal at all,” Mudo said. “Symphysis is an anatomy term that refers to the coalescence of similar parts or organs. In simpler terms, it’s a joining or uniting.”

  “Very good, Doctor,” the Prana said. “You are looking at the Prana’s greatest achievement. It is a living construct of pure thought, designed with but a single purpose: to enter the mind of the Prime Mother and restore her mental equilibrium.” The Prana paused. “And we want you to deliver it to her.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  General Adams, wearing a GSA vacc suit, stood next to Kryllian’s command chair. When Adams had first boarded the Eye of Dardanus, the Residuum aliens had offered to temporarily join a nanocolony to his body that would make the modifications necessary for him to breathe and adjust to the ship’s atmospheric pressure and gravity. Adams had politely declined, though he believed the Residuum’s nanotech could do what the aliens claimed. He had seen dozens of different species during the walk from the shuttle bay to the bridge, and none of them needed special life-support equipment. But he was opposed on principle to the idea of sharing his body with a bunch of microscopic machines. Once they were inside him, how knows what changes they would make? Perhaps they’d do something to his mind that would allow Kryllian to control him. He couldn’t afford to take that chance.