Galactic Empires

by Neil Clarke

  “That seamless devotion was necessary.

  “You see, the eruption was not a random event. And I didn’t make the mountain tremble and belch just to scare the local souls.

  “Even as I sat on my throne, I had been working. My assignment demanded the kinds of energy generated by top-grade fusion reactors. But reactors produce signatures visible at a great distance. Neutrinos are difficult to shield, and I didn’t want prying eyes to notice my industrial plant. So instead of a reactor, I employed the lake of magma directly beneath our feet, creating an inefficient but enormous geothermal plant. When that plant awoke—when the first seawater poured down the pipes and into the reaction vessels—my island was shoved upwards like a balloon inflating. Watchful eyes noticed that every tide pool was suddenly baking in the sun. Our island was significantly taller, and a thousand hot springs flowed out of the high crevices, and the black ground was itself warm to the touch.

  “On that good day, I ordered every woman of breeding age to come to the palace, to arrive with the evening bell, and I welcomed each of them individually, giving them a feast and plenty to drink, as well as jewelry and robes finer than anything they had known. Then to this nervous, worshipful gathering, I announced that each of them was carrying a child now.

  “I promised my wives untroubled pregnancies and healthy, superior babies.

  “Both promises came true.

  “And you are correct, Perri. Sir. Fifty thousand followers would never have been enough. No natural species can bring the mental capacity demanded by this kind of delicate, highly technical work. So I enlarged the natives’ craniums and restructured their neural networks, flinging them across fifty thousand generations of natural selection. Then I served as the children’s only teacher. I taught them what they needed to know about the high sciences, and I made them experts in engineering, all while carefully preparing my kingdom for the next change.”

  Perri said, “Wait.”

  In the dark, Quee Lee felt her husband’s body shifting. She recognized his excitement and interest, his emotions mirroring her own.

  Again, he said, “Wait.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been thinking about what you’ve told us.”

  “Good.”

  “Where your logic leads . . .”

  Silence.

  “If you were willing to rewrite the biology of one species,” Perri said, “you could just as well reshape others too.”

  “Ants?” Quee Lee blurted. “Were you a god to the island’s ants?”

  “Ants have no need for gods,” the voice corrected. “They demand nothing but a queen blessed with spectacular fertility. But you’ve seen my logic, yes. You are paying attention. But then again, I knew that the two of you would prove a worthy audience.”

  Some small object clattered against hyperfiber—a clear, almost belllike sound expanding and diminishing inside the gigantic room.

  The voice returned. “By the time my first grandchildren were born, the ocean around my island was lit from below. Which was only reasonable, since the city above was just one portion of a much greater community—a nation numbering in the billions. My people supplied the genius, but to serve them, I had built a multitude of obedient minds trained for narrow, exceptionally difficult tasks. A full century of careful preparation had made me ready to begin the construction of a single mechanical wonder.

  “Which was the moment, I should add, when all of my many troubles began . . . ”

  7

  In the smothering blackness, Quee Lee held her husband by an arm, by his waist, and then she twisted her body in a particular way, inviting a groping hand, not caring in the least that the nameless entity might be able to perceive their timeless, much-cherished intimacies.

  Perri started to ask the obvious question: “What troubles?”

  But the voice interrupted. Louder than before, it said, “Human beings are an extraordinarily fortunate species. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I feel lucky,” Quee Lee said.

  But Perri guessed, “You’re talking about something specific. Aren’t you?”

  “Tell me your opinion,” the voice said. “Is this vessel a true blessing for you and yours?”

  “You mean the Great Ship,” she said.

  “I mean the machine that surrounds us,” it said. “The name itself has zero significance.”

  Perri laughed. “Well, I know at least a thousand other species that could have found it first. They were more powerful, more numerous, and far older than we are. All of them should have grabbed it up before we ever knew it existed.”

  “It is a magical machine,” Quee Lee offered.

  The entity made a few soft, agreeable noises. “Our galaxy has stubbornly refused to be dominated by any single species. But humans stumbled across this prize, claimed it first, and have held on to it since. A single possession has lifted the human animal into an exceptionally rare position. Your best captains have no choice but to thank the stars and Providence for this glorious honor. Today, your artisans and scientists are free to drink in the wisdom of the galaxy. Your wealthiest citizens can make this long journey in safety, sharing their air with the royalty of a hundred thousand worlds. But I think your greatest success rises from the hungriest, bravest souls among you.

  “Each year, on average, seventeen-and-a-third colonial vessels push away from your ports. How many of your willing cousins are dropped to the surface of wild worlds and lucrative asteroids? How many homes and shops are being erected, new societies sprouting up in your wake? Now multiply those impressive numbers by the hundreds of thousands of years that you plan to invest in this circumnavigation of the galaxy. The totals are staggering. No society or species or even any compilation of cooperative souls has enjoyed the human advantage, and there is no reason to believe it will happen again.

  “And consider this: How many species buy your berths? Thousands arrive each year, and in trade for a safe journey, they surrender every local map, cultural experiences and open-ended promises of help. That’s why each of your new colonies has a respectable, enviable chance of survival. And that’s why your species is hugging a small but respectable probability of dominating the richest portions of the galaxy.

  “So now I ask you: When will this galaxy of ours become known everywhere and to every species as ‘the Milky Way’?

  “In other words, when will this wilderness become your possession?”

  Considering that possibility, the humans couldn’t help but smile.

  But then Quee Lee sighed and shook her head, saying, “Never. Is that the answer you want?”

  The voice turned quiet again, nearly whispering as it explained, “That kind of success shall never happen. No, never. Even in your blessed circumstances, this little whirlpool of creation remains too vast and far too complex for any species to dominate. Your makeshift empire is doomed at its birth. The best result that you might achieve—and even this is an unlikely future—is for this machine to complete its full circuit of the galaxy without being stolen from you, and for you to leave scattered in your wake twenty million human worlds. But what are twenty million names against those trillions of rocks big enough to be called planets? I promise that no matter its blessings, each one of your colonies will struggle. It is inevitable. Your species is relatively late on the scene. Easy rich worlds are scarce and typically walked by someone else. By the minute, your galaxy grows older. And with every breath, the sky grows more crowded. New species are evolving, and thinking machines are designing their next generations, and almost everything that lives strives hard to live forever, or nearly so.”

  The smiles had vanished.

  For a long moment, neither human spoke.

  Then Quee Lee suggested, “Maybe our empire should stop naming our worlds. If we emulated your Union . . . if human beings decided to rule the dark and empty and the unmapped—”

  “No,” the voice interrupted.

  Then with a palpable scorn, it added, “I will share with you
one common principle known by every true empire. Whether you are British or Mongolian, Roman or American: You may never, ever allow a competing empire to sprout within your sacred borders.

  “My Union stands alone.

  “Never forget that.

  “And when the inevitable future arrives . . . when the final star burns out and the universe pulls itself into a great empty cold . . . my Union will persist, and it will thrive, living happily on this galaxy’s black bones: A force as near to Always as that word shall ever allow.”

  8

  The humans felt chastened and a little angry, powerless to respond yet nonetheless intrigued by the stark implications. They held one another in ways that spoke—the touch of fingers, the pressure of a fat-clad knee, and the shared tastes of expelled air carrying odors that could only come from Perri, and only come from Quee Lee.

  The voice returned, quietly mentioning, “My mission to the blue world had begun so easily, with much promise. Yet now its nature changed. In relatively quick succession, three problems emerged, each capable of threatening the project and my sterling reputation.”

  A thoughtful pause ended with a brief, disgusted sound.

  “Remember the pirates mentioned before? The seafarers whom I let my people kill? They had floated out from the main continent, and with another hundred years of experience, their descendants were eager to return. That rocky green wilderness still lay over the horizon, but now it was speckled with dirty cities and fledging nations. Unlike my little island, those far places had always enjoyed culture and a deep history, every corner of their rich landscape adorned with some important little name.

  “Bronze-and-brick technology was at work. Kings and educated minds were beginning to piece together the first, most obvious meanings of the universe. The largest triremes could wander far from land, and their captains knew how to navigate by the stars and moon. That those captains would try to visit my island was inevitable, which is why I took precautions. The leviathans patrolling my bright waters were instructed to scare off every explorer, and should fear not work, they were entitled to crush the wooden hulls and drown those stubborn crews.

  “A few ships were sunk off our coast.

  “The occasional corpse washed up on shore, swollen by rot and chewed upon by curious or vengeful mouths.

  “One of the dead had been a scientist and scholar, and even as he drowned, he managed to grab hold of his life’s work—a long roll of skin covered with dense writing and delicate sketches.

  “The body was looted, and the book eventually found its way into the appreciative hands of one of my grandchildren.

  “The island’s original natives could never have understood the intense black scribbling, but my grandchild was more than intelligent and highly creative, he was also curious and unabashedly loyal to me. Using code-breaking algorithms, he taught himself the dead man’s language. In his spare moments, he managed to translate the text in full. His purpose, it seems, was to make me proud of his genius. He was certainly thrilled of his own accomplishment, which was why he shared what he had learned with close friends and lovers. Then he walked to the palace and kneeled before my throne, presenting both the artifact and his translation for my honest appraisal.

  “‘They speak of us,’ the young man reported. ‘The rest of our world believes we are gods or the angels of gods or we have descended from the stars. They have convinced themselves that if they defeat the sea monsters and outsmart the currents, they can row themselves into our harbor and stand among us, and they will be heroes in the gods’ eyes. And for their extraordinary bravery, we will award them with the secrets of All . . . ‘“ A brief pause.

  “I’ll ask this question again,” said Perri. “This species . . . were they human . . . ?”

  A sound came, soft but perhaps disgusted.

  “Atlantis,” Quee Lee whispered. “Is that this story?”

  “My guess exactly,” said Perri, hugging her until her ribs ached. Then he said the ancient name for himself, in the appropriate dead language.

  “Once again, you have forgotten: The galaxy had no name for that world, much less for that long-ago island. But I won’t stop you from imagining your Earth and its legendary lands, and I won’t fight the labels that help you follow what I happen to say.”

  In the darkness, Perri squeezed his wife again, and she pushed her mouth into his ear, saying with relish, “It must be.”

  They had decided, together.

  It was Atlantis.

  “My grandchildren,” the voice continued. “Several generations had passed since the first of them were born, and I should confess to one inevitable event. I have always taken lovers from the locals. A lover supplies information and oftentimes can be a tool for good methodical management. Bedding those who are most beautiful and intriguing is a natural consequence of my station. But one of those grandchildren proved more irresistible than usual. She was a young woman, as it happened. Though it just as likely could have been a man . . .

  “By the standards of her species, she was physically small and exceptionally lovely.

  “Among her gifted peers, she was considered brilliant and singularly blessed. The finest of the fine . . .

  “That I took her into my bed was natural. That she retained her virginity until that night only enhanced her reputation with her people, and to a degree, with me. The bloodied sheet was hung from the palace wall for a full day, and when she appeared again in public, cheers made her stand tall as a queen—the center of attention smiling at her appreciative world.

  “I was very fond of that little creature.

  “As a lover, she was fearless and caring, bold and yet compliant too. And when we were not making love, she would ask me smart little questions about all matters of science and engineering. Her particular expertise involved the heart of the device that we were building together. There were puzzles to work through, matters that I didn’t understand fully myself. I had never built such an object, you see. That’s why the brilliant grandchildren were critical. But even though she understood many of the ideas behind our work, she always wanted to know more, and if possible, hold what she knew more deeply.

  “Charming and crafty, she was, and I let myself be fooled. I confessed that there were subjects that could never, ever be discussed with her people. ‘You will repeat none of this again,’ I warned. ‘Not even to the wind.’

  “She promised to remain mute.

  “Then I explained to her the true shape of the galaxy, and its great age, and I told the violent history of our glorious universe.

  “And yes, there were moments when I mentioned the Union and my small, critical role within it.

  “Then because she seemed so interested in the subject of Me, I confessed my age and gave a brief thorough accounting of past missions as well as some of the tricks that I was capable of.”

  The voice fell away.

  In the blackness, a body stretched until the bones or carapace creaked, a sharp dry crack coming at the end.

  “That lover was my second challenge,” said the voice. “Although at that particular moment, I didn’t appreciate the danger.”

  Quee Lee leaned away from Perri, begging her dark-adapted eyes to find any trace of wayward light. If she could just make out the creature that was sitting so close to them—

  No. Nothing.

  “One of our shared nights never seemed to end,” said the voice. “Normal fatigues don’t trouble me, but my lover, no matter how much improved genetically, needed sleep. She lived for dreams. Yet the girl somehow resisted every urge to close her lovely dark eyes. Twice in the dark, she managed to surprise me with tricks she had never shown before. I was appreciative. How could I not be? But then as the full moon set and the bright summer sun began to rise, she whispered, ‘I was wondering my lord . . . about something else . . . ‘

  “‘What?’ I asked.

  “‘But maybe I shouldn’t,’ she conceded.

  “‘Ask me anything,’ I said, never voicing t
he obvious possibility that I wouldn’t reply, or that I might simply lie.

  “With a sleepy slow voice, my lover confessed, ‘I am curious. When you speak of old missions, you usually seem to be out between the stars, or huddled beside some dying star, or cloaked inside a storm cloud of interstellar dust . . . ’

  “I nodded, and for a moment, she seemed to drop into sleep.

  “But then she roused herself with a gasp, straightening her little body before asking, ‘Why come here? Why visit our little world, my lord?’

  “‘It suits my present mission,’ I conceded. ‘Your volcano and the sea water are rich with rare elements and useful minerals—’

  “‘But you have told me this before . . . in other nights, you explained that in the baby days of any solar system, some if not most of the new worlds are flung out into the night. Their oceans freeze. Their atmospheres fall as snow. But radiation keeps their iron cores molten, and volcanoes still bubble up beneath the bitter ice, and a god like you could surely bring temporary life to those unnamed realms . . . ’

  “I listened to her, perhaps not quite believing just how bright she was.

  “Then very quietly, I reminded her, ‘Like those cold places, this world possesses no name. As far as the universe is concerned, your home is a random lump of dust and still-simple life forms.’

  “For a long while, she stared at me.

  “Those beautiful dark eyes . . . I cannot mention those eyes and not feel shame . . . a burning disgrace that keeps me from describing to you just how deep their hold was on me . . .

  “But then the eyes closed, and my lover drifted into a rich, much deserved sleep. I thought the matter was finished. I didn’t want to entertain any other possibility. And really, what reason did I have to believe that this worshipful little creature was a threat, or even if she was a threat that she could be ever present a genuine danger to the likes of me?