Moving Earth

by Dean C. Moore

  His signal would cut through space-time without delay by simulcasting the broadcast to each ship attending the UWC via as many micro-wormholes as was necessary, all connecting the minds of his subjects to him.

  The broadcast would not last long. The Vibra had already worked themselves into a fevered state before Blaxus started toying with their minds.

  No doubt The Collectors’ successors, bred off their blood lines, could do a lot more. They might not have to wait for a planet to discover their signals and reach out to them. They might be able to scan for the most primitive of life forms on the most distant worlds, who as a rule were likely to be more vicious and more warring until they evolved the layers of mind necessary to intercede in such primitive impulses. From there, the nextgen Collectors might well be able to evolve the civilizations to promote their capacity for evil and to make war, or keep them from evolving to a more peaceful state, seemingly forever. If The Collectors’ successors’ satellite antennae could find more peaceful civilizations, and those nextgen Collectors were more immune to the toxic effects of the positive chi flowing through those worlds, they might even be able to transmit the knowledge necessary to re-engineer the planet, so whatever chi was flowing through the world influencing the minds of the populace could be dampened down by monoliths stationed at the planet’s nodes to muddy the energies where the Ley lines intersected.

  There was a time when The Collectors, too, could broadcast their signal anywhere in the cosmos, but the Lagrange point for The Menagerie put an end to that, containing their influence to the prison itself.

  Of course, the craters of the moon they occupied presently had also been turned into satellite antennas by his people over the course of millions of years. And like The Collectors themselves, they were attuned to spotting broadcasts from hostile races. With the aid of technology constructed with the raw materials of the moon, these craters were all collecting what negative energy they could to sustain The Collectors who were now too weak to do much of this work on their own. But the smart-moon makeover was little more than a Band-Aid placed over a cancer grown beyond any chance of containment, save one.

  Blaxus sighed as he once again reined in his mind, attending to his purpose, waiting impatiently to end the broadcast before it ended him.

  ***

  THE UNITED WORLDS CONFERECE (UWC)

  TAKING PLACE IN THE VIBRA GALAXY

  Ossi had managed to crawl his way to the top of this dung heap of co-conspirators, casually referred to as the Vibra leadership high council, and he wasn’t about to surrender the high ground. The port smart-screen on his small vessel had overlaid the faces of the other negotiators in a checkerboard pattern over the stars, and since he was the one doing the talking right now, his checkered square was centered and greatly enlarged.

  “I want to stress the importance of all of Vibra staying out of the tensions with the Nautilus and its crew, and with its war god Leon DiSantis. Whichever way his prison escape goes, we will profit. There is no need to risk our supply chain, and no need to…”

  He winced, feeling a sudden stabbing sensation in his head. “Forgive me,” he continued. “Ah!” The flash of pain throughout his head had actually escalated. Every neuron in his brain felt as if it were afire. “I…”

  “It is The Collectors reaching out!” spoke one of the faces amid the checkered squares, enlarging to match the size of Ossi’s. “It has been many generations since the gods have honored us with their guidance.”

  Ossi shrieked. The others waited with baited breath for the advice of the gods in such sensitive matters. “We are being told to engage the Gypsy Galaxy with our greatest weapons. They are a threat to ongoing tensions between the galaxies and will collapse our economy if allowed to continue on their mission.”

  Ossi was gasping now, but relaxing out of the pain.

  The others were nodding. “So be it,” said the one whose face was as big as Ossi’s on the screen. The checkerboard was contracting as the other emissaries broke off the connection to return to their worlds to spread the word.

  Ossi knew he would be the one to lead the attack. This was how it had always been with his people. The ones blessed to receive the communiqué from the gods led the assault. No one ever thought to question the logic because no one wanted the job. Least of all Ossi. He was probably the biggest coward of them all.

  Whatever hero’s gene was present in other races was conspicuously absent in theirs. Their people valued their privacy and their isolation, so much so that they had become master moat builders to keep others away from their worlds. Technologies that remained passive and harmless, so long as anyone expanding throughout the heavens kept their imperialist tendencies well outside of Vibra. Vibra had never thought to develop armies, even robots that could be easily programmed, because those might be turned against them. And no one wanted a fight. Even their master weapons, their “moats” were designed as space anomalies, so that no one would even know sentient minds were behind them. Thereby avoiding provoking battles even when acting strictly defensively.

  ***

  Blaxus let the mirage of the Vibra Galaxy United Worlds Conference, in the shape of a sphere, dissolve, his work done there.

  He replaced the hologram with a new one. As before, the image arose from the electrical discharges coming from Blaxus’s fingers, weaker now, as he had grown weaker from the intervention with the Vibra.

  Visible now was Simul, Galactic Field General for the Testerns, who lived to do what Testerns as a whole lived to do, use the weapons and technologies handed them by others to perfect in order to declare war, when they felt they had a superior advantage. Simul was just better at winning wars than other Testerns.

  ***

  TESTERNIA GALAXY

  ACRAN’S NEST TRADING POST, AN ARTIFICIAL WORLD

  Simul was touring one of the many artificial worlds set up at the periphery of the Testernia Galaxy where many Testern CEOs and entrepreneurs came for trading purposes, where sellers and buyers could intermingle and do business. The synthetic worlds were hollow and little more than colossal hangars or storage silos repurposed for trading.

  The Testerns were the shop mechanics for connoisseurs of vintage tech for the TGC to which they once belonged. They did not invent any of their own technology, but they had a thing for souping-up any technology they got their hands on. And they delighted in anything from vintage space ships to the most advanced forms of legacy tech. Anything they could tinker on and improve upon. And a fair amount of Testerns then enjoyed racing their jalopies and vintage craft, as well as the more advanced legacy tech, if indeed they had been built for speed. If they had been built to explode, or serve some other task, the Testerns had countless competitions where the Testern finesse work could likewise be put on display.

  A small percentage of Testerns were what Simul drew on for his warrior caste. For these Testerns, building a superior space ship and not racing it or not putting it into war was an affront to the tech itself. It was like having a vintage car that never got taken out of the garage but kept in a hermetically sealed chamber to ensure its perfection was maintained.

  Most of these Testerns engaged in more primitive warfare with their more primitive tech within Testernia for their own sport and entertainment.

  That left Simul with the few Testerns who enjoyed making the most of the more cutting-edge technologies—whatever they were designed for. They met up for Simul’s wars as they would meet up to show off their stuff at any competition, and seldom saw them as more, to Simul’s complete chagrin.

  Simul, ironically, of all the many Testern species and body types, was the mousiest looking of them all. No one would have cast him in the part of a warrior. And his real genius lay not in getting the most out of any particular piece of tech, vintage or otherwise, but in getting the most out of them acting in concert.

  There were very few like Simul in the Testernia Galaxy. But plenty enough to oversee solar system competitions and galactic sector competitions.

/>   Of these, Simul was the best of the best. No one contested that and everyone was happy to have him represent Testernia in all intergalactic warfare, because the pride of the Testerns was at stake. And nothing but the best would do. Politics played absolutely no part in having him serve in this regard, short of making Testernia the envy of all technological societies who could only dream of getting their own tech to do what the Testerns could do with it.

  Some said they became who they were through the Chi flowing through their sector of space. A common idea, particularly among xenophobes who were quick to point to their genetic superiority—for whatever reason. Others believed their peoples had been genetically manipulated by a master race at the dawn of time, the records or proof since lost to time’s passing, but that this was the true source of their bioengineered genius. Maybe the Testerns’ own ancestors had had a hand in their bioengineering, or maybe some transgalactic consortium of oligarchs was playing social engineering at a very high level, at the level of the master races, looking to maximize trade, competition, profiteering, or what have you.

  Simul didn’t care about any of that. What he did care about was what he might find here at the trading outpost today that might give him a leg up on Leon’s growing war machine, and his infernal desire to bring peace upon the cosmos. A war machine Simul could get behind, as he had turned Testernia into one, or at least, that was one of its faces. But war to end all war? Leon had to be crushed, plain and simple. But he’d proven devilishly clever at countering people like Simul, and coming up against tech far superior to his own.

  So, Simul was not going into the exchange with his usual cockiness. Instead he was stockpiling the very best of the very best of the latest tech coming on line.

  And he knew more or less where to start because the artificial worlds scanned all technologies brought into the marketplaces of the trading posts themselves. The Mecha trading posts scanned the minds of the people who designed the technologies, or at least what the salesmen knew about the devices if the designers themselves did not come in person to showcase their items.

  Once the artificial worlds had completed their scans and their AIs evaluated the products, the intel was forwarded to one of Simul’s people for additional filtering before the highlights were brought to his attention.

  If Simul wanted to pirate any of the goods brought to Testernia, he was in a ripe position to do so. But that didn’t serve his or Testernias’ interests at all. Only right-fitting the toys, whatever they were, with the Testerns they were best-suited for. The Testerns themselves monitored everything coming through the trading posts, using the trading posts’ AIs to help them sort items of the greatest interest to them.

  One of the reasons for multiple outposts was that even AIs could get weighed down processing so many live feeds from so many Testerns plugging into their brains at once, many quadrillions per trading post, often more. Those quadrillions of Testerns were scattered far and wide throughout Testernia, but they all used their mindnet connections to the trading posts.

  But by plugging in directly to the outpost AIs, Simul could keep a close eye on who was who and where they were to be found in his galaxy, should their particular skills be needed in the service of Simul’s passion.

  Simul’s scouts were closing in on the Vibra section of the Acran’s Nest trading post. The Acran birds congregated in the highest peaks of all the worlds of Testernia, where they could see the farthest into the distance. And, like those far seeing hawks, of all the trading posts, Acran’s Nest specialized in the most cutting-edge tech that reached the furthest into the future. The most advanced civilizations with teleporting and wormhole-opening capacities cared little about physical location, so making the trip longer to Acran’s Nest for them was a non-issue. For the ones that couldn’t afford the extra travel distance, Acran’s Nest served them, too. No one who had genuine tech to sell or get serviced or enhanced was turned away. Ever. It was a matter of Testern pride. Lest some civilization make inroads into various niches of their economy. Teleporters were made available to the low-rent districts that couldn’t afford the spaceships or the cost in fuel to travel traditionally to and from the trading posts.

  Simul’s scouts were well known to everyone in Testernia, and what their presence signified: Simul himself was on the way. All other traders and whatever throngs they drew at various vendors’ tables and booths, immediately pressed up to either side of the aisles and concourses, clearing a wide path for him.

  It was a great honor for whoever Simul was here to see, and those parties could be assured of making a lot of money, far more than they would have made otherwise. And for economies that no longer relied on a money, or perhaps never had, whatever they wished in trade would surely be provided, even if Testernia had to engage in lateral deals with other galaxies to secure what was requested.

  Simul wasn’t exactly sure why his traditional filtering methods had been overshot this time. But there was no doubting the presence of The Collectors inside his head. And he knew the implications of ignoring their advice. No one knew how to fan intergalactic fires like those guys. No one. So disregarding them could only hope to lead to less warring for Simul. In short, he had no good reason to discount them. As to why they trusted their all-seeing eye over Simul’s trading post AIs, well… there were plenty of humanoid species that could still outmaneuver AIs any number of ways, for reasons that were a long way from being clearly understood.

  He stopped at one of the Vibra stations whose vendor was named Ossi. As if to certify what a complete fool he was, he introduced himself as such. “Hi, I’m Ossi.” Perhaps he was simply made nervous by Simul’s presence. Either way, Simul’s instructions were clear. Acquire the Vibra tech on The Collectors’ shopping list, and bring Ossi himself along. He had been assured that simply stating, “The Collectors request your presence at our first engagement with the Gypsy Galaxy” would suffice.

  And The Collectors were never wrong. About anything. At least anything related to matters of war and to enhancing intergalactic tensions for the benefit of everyone, despite the stultifying presence of rogue galaxies which wanted nothing to do with war. As to how the pacifist galaxies got stuck in The Menagerie, plenty of people were looking into that, out of fear that more might be arriving to gum up the works further.

  It was Simul’s guess that the powers that be outside The Menagerie didn’t much care whether a civilization was peace-loving or war-loving, just so they could be brought to heel and turned into avid consumers for whatever the powers that be were peddling. And if they couldn’t, nothing said, “Welcome to The Menagerie” quite like “Just say no.”

  Simul handed Ossi the shopping list.

  Ossi gazed down at it and tried to get his mouth to work properly but just couldn’t. “These…these… these are our most advanced weapons. Deploying them all at one-once… The peoples of the Gypsy Galaxy will get sus-sus-suspicious.”

  “You leave that to me.”

  “Of-of-of course.” Ossie gazed up from his list, in a cold sweat. Only the fact that Simul’s scouts had blocked off every possible path of retreat kept him standing there, that and his inbred genetic inclinations to avoid conflict at all costs.

  “Please come with us,” Simul said. “The Collectors wish your presence at this first engagement with the Gypsy Galaxy.”

  Interestingly enough, Ossi simply swallowed hard and nodded. He seemed more prepared for that news than for the shopping list. Perhaps under the right circumstances, the Vibra, too, could be goaded into battle. Perhaps The Collectors had popped inside Ossi’s head before they had popped into Simul’s.

  Now, let’s see how long his polite, servile attitude holds up under the stresses of war. Legends spoke of Vibra coming completely untethered at the swatting of a flying insect in their presence. Ironic that they made the best space war machines of anyone. Albeit they were defensive weapons that one had to use very creatively to turn into offensive weapons.

  Simul was just such a creative force.
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  ***

  LAGRANGE POINT FOR THE COLLECTORS’ MULTIVERSE PRISON

  ISOLA,

  MOON WORLD OF THE COLLECTORS

  Blaxus’s knees buckled. He hurriedly lowered the satellite dish shape off his cape-like appendage so it was pointed downward instead of at the stars to support him until he had his legs under him again. It had taken everything out of him to keep Simul from backing down, to ensure his pride got the better of him. But in the end Simul was too smart to expend his first rate army in a battle that couldn’t be won.

  Blaxus could read Simul’s mind as his train of thought reached its destination. Simul would wage war with Leon, all right, with the Vibran toys, perhaps with some Testern toys thrown into the mix, but only to test Leon’s worthiness as a war god. If Leon passed the test—as Blaxus was sure he would—Simul would attach the Testern Galaxy to the Gypsy Galaxy, become part of the Gypsy Galaxy Grouping. In the end, Leon could offer Simul a lot more than The Collectors could—access to the All, not just the tech of galactic civilizations imprisoned within the Menagerie. For a mind such as Simul’s, nothing less was acceptable.

  ***

  AFTER THE 2ND ALL-OUT ASSAULT ON THE GYPSY GALAXY BY GALACTIC FEDERATIONS WITHIN THE MENAGERIE –

  PRESENT TIME…

  Blaxus was as shocked as everyone else. Schopenhauer’s gambit had worked. With one Peacekeeper, he held off the largest alliance of Menagerie worlds ever formed, if only for taking out the Gypsy Galaxy. As the Galactic Disruptor and the Gigantipede had failed with the first All-Out Assault Wave, so the numberless battle cruisers and their smaller fighter jets had failed with the second.

  Without taxing his resources in the slightest, Leon had sent a madman to do a job Blaxus had deemed worthy of only the great Leon DiSanti. Blaxus had greatly miscalculated.

  With the second defeat of the alliance, the period of The Great Peace had begun. The Collectors would never outlast it.