First Minister Genvass Shaafvaazif of the Galactic Confederation looked over his notes for his upcoming address to the Counsel on Precursor Technology, before rubbing his eyes. Time was slowly catching up to him, and every year it seemed a little harder to just get out of bed, let alone keep up the pace he’d been managing these past forty years. But it was important work, and he wasn’t ready to hand the job off to his successor quite yet. Soon, though, he promised himself. Next year, perhaps, or the one after that. No more than three, tops.
That drew a chuckle from him. He’d been making the same promise to himself ever since he took on this crazy job, and he had yet to make good on it.
With a heavy sigh, he turned and gazed out his window at the starfield, marveling at the view once more. When they’d laid the groundwork for the Confederation, so many years ago, one of the first issues to land on his desk was deciding which world would be their capital. All the races put in a bid, each one hoping to claim the honor… not to mention the potentially lucrative contracts that went with it… for themselves, save New Terra of course. Athena still guarded their system as jealously as she always had, so housing a gaggle of diplomats on their own homeworld was out of the question, no matter how good it looked on paper.
The clashes on the subject grew rather heated, so much so that he was forced to step in and settle the matter himself. Since any world that housed the capital would potentially gain an incredible advantage, Genvass informed them that instead, they would build one in space, in neutral territory. No one liked that idea, but at least they all equally disliked it enough for him to ram the “suggestion” through. It was the first time he’d invoked Clause 37 of the Confederation Charter, but it was most definitely not the last.
Clause 37 was still a sore point with the other races, just as he’d known it would be. Despite all outward appearances, the Confederation was not an alliance of equals. As the only race with access to New Terra, and more importantly, the Precursor technology found there, humans would always be in a unique position by necessity. Genvass had recognized that almost immediately, spending many a long night struggling with how best to encourage cooperation from the others without whipping them like curs. Dangling shiny bits of advanced tech as an enticement was a start, as was pooling whatever knowledge they’d gleaned from it, but the sad truth was the Terrans could shut off the pipeline any time they chose, and no one could do anything about it.
Except to rise up in rebellion, of course, which was the last thing he wanted.
So they’d inserted Clause 37 into the Charter, granting the Terrans ultimate veto power on any decision they disagreed with. It was a powerful tool, to be certain, but also a dangerous one. Invoke it too often and the other races would rebel, which defeated the entire purpose of the Confederation in the first place. It was a delicate balance, a political high-wire act, with the consequences of failure too horrifying to consider. A weapon best used sparingly, and despite a few missteps over the years, they’d found an equilibrium they were comfortable with. Most of the time, anyway.
So, year by year, the Confederation grew. Many races were reluctant to sign on at first, still distrustful of the Terrans, but watching their friends and neighbors… and more importantly, their enemies… gain access to Precursor technology had most of the holdouts falling over themselves to sign on in fairly short order. Despite all that, there were still a few diehards who dug their heels in and refused to budge, most notably the Tu’udh’hizh’ak. Once perhaps the most powerful member of the Troika, they had absolutely balked when they discovered that any race joining the Confederation would have to agree to certain standards. Most centered on trade, while others dealt with legal and government systems, but one regulation, in particular, they absolutely refused to agree to.
The regulation concerning slavery.
Of course, the telepathic amphibians didn’t see it that way. Their Chell servitors were merely junior members of their civilization they claimed, nothing more, and anyone who disagreed was more than welcome to discuss the matter with the furry rodents themselves. The Chell gushed over how they were honored to serve the mighty Tu’udh’hizh’ak, and no amount of questioning could prove otherwise. They demanded they be granted membership… until a small contingent of rogue Chell asked to be heard.
How any of the Brotherhood survived the purges following the Yīqún disaster was a mystery for the ages, yet some had. They told a far different tale, one of telepathic coercion almost from birth, and the terrifying fate for those immune to their influence. For thousands of years, they had been a race of slaves, dreaming of a day when they might yet breathe free. They pled their case before the Council… and the Council listened. Of course, Genvass himself knew the truth, having once been on the receiving end of their mental conditioning, as did others, and it was through their efforts they decided in favor of the Chell.
It was the first major crisis of the fledgling Confederation, as the galaxy readied itself for war.
The Tu’udh’hizh’ak Empire prepared for battle, digging in all across their region of space, which presented the Confederation with a problem. There were few of the amphibious overlords within the Imperial military, save at the very top. The bulk of their warriors were Chell, conditioned to fight until their dying breath in order to serve their masters. Defeating that force meant killing the very beings they were trying to save, an ironic if morally dubious position to be in. They had the cure, a way to free the Chell from their conditioning, but administering it meant gaining physical contact in order to inject them with a powerful dissociative anesthetic. How to actually manage that feat without first killing them in job lots eluded them.
In desperation, the Terrans had first turned to Guardian, and then Athena, hoping that the ancient Precursors had an answer to their dilemma. After studying the problem, they devised a possible solution, using specific frequencies of the electromagnetic spectrum instead to disrupt their neural conditioning. The only problem was that every species was different, and it would take time and many experiments before they located the necessary wave harmonics. Which meant test subjects.
Genvass tried not to think about what they were being forced to do, as it was uncomfortably close to the same manipulation the Troika itself was once guilty of, often with Terrans as guinea pigs. But it was necessary, if the Chell were ever going to be free. He tried to comfort himself with that, though with little success. The tests were as humane as they could make them, which was not very humane at all, to be honest, but what else could they do?
In the end, they located the correct frequency and beamed it across the Tu’udh’hizh’ak Empire. As the Chell slowly awoke from their lifelong nightmare, realizing at last what they’d been forced to do against their will, the results were all too predictable. They fell on their former overlords with a frenzy that was frightening to behold, many times actually tearing them limb from limb with their bare hands. He’d seen the images for himself. They weren’t pretty.
They eventually granted the Chell full membership in the Confederation. No one mourned the Tu’udh’hizh’ak.
Surviving that first crisis gave the Confederation a renewed sense of purpose, and the Terrans increased status. There had been other challenges since then, other disasters, but perhaps none quite so significant. Every year the organization grew stronger, and every year they unearthed more knowledge gleaned from Precursor artifacts. It was a good beginning, one he hoped to build on.
As for the rest of the Troika, the Eleexx weathered the transition surprisingly well. Always the most scientifically minded of the three races, they had an abundance of highly trained researchers, all eager to examine firsthand the artifacts now being shared. Their expertise was invaluable, as they slowly gained acceptance from their former vassals.
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The Aggaaddub, however, were proving to be a consistent thorn in his side. While the other two-thirds of the Troika had relied on more subtle forms of coercion, the overgrown reptilians were renowned for their brute-force approach to matters of foreign policy. They’d been warned on several occasions that if they wanted to remain in the Confederation’s good graces, their tendency to threaten people at gunpoint needed to stop. They were currently on probation for their repeated violations of the Charter, and if they didn’t mend their ways soon, Genvass was in favor of stripping them of their membership entirely. They’d probably rebel, of course, but with the entire weight of the galaxy at his back, he liked his odds.
The Oivu, on the other hand, loved the Confederation. They no longer had to tiptoe around the Troika, and as long as they treated their customers fairly, the Confederation left them alone. They occasionally grumbled about certain clauses in the Charter relating to economic policies, specifically the ones referring to price fixing, price gouging, and monopolies… written with the Oivu specifically in mind, by their former customers… but given the size of the market due to increased trade, it more than offset any potential losses. For the most part, everyone was satisfied with how it was all playing out.
It was hard to believe it had all begun with one small ship, filled with a crew that distrusted and often actively disliked one another, sent on a mission of desperation in order to give their people a second chance.
Genvass sighed, leaning back in his chair. Most of the old crew were gone now. Maggie had died first, peacefully in her sleep, as irascible as ever to the end. Young Diggs and his adopted brother Micah both eventually recovered from their trauma, going on to lead full and rich lives. Diggs became quite the skilled engineer, while Micah had taken up farming, of all things. It was hard to believe that Diggs was a patriarch now, having just welcomed his first grandchild into their ever-growing family. He remembered fondly that mute feral boy with mismatched eyes, fiercely protective of his adopted mother.
Remi died next, as he felt once again a familiar twinge of regret. Grounding the Corsair had destroyed him, the buccaneer crawling inside a bottle and taking up permanent residence. He slowly drank himself to death, something the old crew of Gyrfalcon never forgave him for. Maybe sending him to prison would have been kinder, in the long run. Then as now, he recognized he’d had little choice, but it did little to alleviate the sting.
As for Alphad, his Morpheus Syndrome finally caught up with him. When the disease worsened, the Avatar chose to end his life on his own terms, deliberately triggering a cascade failure that deleted his code. His lover Raven never quite recovered from that, though she carried on as best she could. She and the handful of other AIs who’d emerged from cyberspace became valuable allies, helping to bridge the gap between the Terrans and the technology their ancestors left behind.
Blye decided to keep the Repository, at least long enough to regain her sight. But she didn’t hold onto it for long, instead choosing to use its gifts as the ultimate healing device. The Proteans of St. Jean Baptiste, as well as others whose injuries and maladies had proven untreatable, became her calling as they each linked in turn with Guardian, receiving the Repository’s healing magic. Word of her efforts spread, and while other species were unable to benefit directly from the ancient device, the Cognates within were privy to massive amounts of medical data, information that Blye shared freely with any who asked. The former refugees of Taing’zem told of her bravery against the Aggaaddub, the cult of personality she had long hoped would die a quiet death now experiencing a sudden and massive resurgence. Despite her feelings on the subject, she reluctantly accepted the mantle of living saint, as she continued to give aid where it was needed… which of course only added to the legend. Recently, however, she’d been forced to give up field work, as the advancing years slowly caught up to her. Her son Joona now carried on the family tradition, picking up where she’d left off, while she’d taken up a teaching position at New Terra’s first medical university, vowing only to retire when they carried out her cadaver feet first.
The Paygan had passed on several years earlier, fallen in combat just as he’d hoped. It was a good death, by Ixian standards, with him and Rúna traveling to Achxii in order to participate in his Celebration of Life. Many songs were sung and staggering amounts of alcohol were consumed, while they regaled one another with tales of the colorful aristocrat’s adventures. No less a personage than the emperor himself insisted that Rúna tell them of how she had defeated him in single combat… not once, but twice… before presenting her with a medallion the size of a salad plate and declaring her to be an honorary Ixian. As honored as she was by the gesture, on their journey home she confided she’d gladly trade all of it away, just to spend five more minutes in the irrepressible alien’s company. She stayed on as his head of security for several years, before finally retiring to join one of the independent survey teams scouring the planet for Precursor tech. He got the impression she was still searching for something; serenity, perhaps. Whatever it was, Genvass hoped she’d find it.
“The stone which the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.” It was a quote from an ancient Earth text, one often in his thoughts these days. From a ragtag band of nomads, often on the edge of starvation and constantly beset upon by the older races… when not fighting amongst themselves… to the leaders of the galaxy. Despite having a front-row seat to the events that brought them to this point, he still marveled at the transformation. It was almost enough to make one believe in miracles, if you discounted the loss of their original homeworld. Their ancestors had inadvertently stolen their birthright, via the Yīqún, and then just as unwittingly provided them with an even grander one. Genvass was convinced there was a lesson in there somewhere, though it would take a far wiser man than he to unravel it.
So much had changed.
The Clans still existed, though they held far less sway than they once had. They were more akin to the old fraternal orders back on Earth these days, like the Elks or Masons, than anything resembling a political unit. Aging clan members still met and talked about the “Good old days”, but in two more generations… three, at the outside… they’d be a distant memory. It was probably for the best. Humanity needed fewer internal divisions, not additional ones.
The galaxy was rapidly becoming a much smaller place, and Genvass was glad to see it. The Confederation was still very much in its infancy, but the way the various races were slowly coalescing into a single body gave him a renewed sense of hope. There were teething problems, of course, given the nature of the beast. That was to be expected. They’d literally spent decades arguing over a universal system of measurements, an absolute necessity for any sort of joint construction projects. (The Confederation capital was actually built prior to that agreement, and was now considered obsolete, however, no one was interested in building a new one due to the costs involved.)
Their burgeoning armed forces were another case in point. Designing ships, for example, to accommodate all the various races was still proving to be a massive headache. The Atiassa, for example, were a race of methane-breathers. How did one integrate them into a ship’s crew? Terra help them if one of the Sonoitii ever decided to join up. The nutritional and waste disposal needs alone for hundreds of disparate species were a massive undertaking, and the less said about finding matching uniforms they could all agree on, the better. Some days, it was like herding cats.
Ultimately, those were all minor considerations. They’d eventually overcome them, of that he had no doubt. No, what truly kept him up nights was the technology they were struggling to master, their gift from the Precursors. Their ancestors had harnessed incredible powers, and it wouldn’t take much for it to all go horribly wrong. The Yīqún were a prime example of that, and if the Precursors could make such a disastrous mistake, what chance did they have? The researchers approached the problem cautiously, rigorously enforcing all safeguards, but it was the hazards they didn’t yet know about that could bite them in the ass. Only, what choice did they have? It was the lure of Precursor technology that bound them all together; without it, the Confederation would soon be a distant memory, with the various races at each other’s throats once more. He couldn’t let that happen.
So he kept as close a watch as he could, slowly worrying himself into an ulcer, ever mindful of the adage, “When riding a tiger… hold on tight.” So far, it seemed to be working.
A soft chime sounded, interrupting his thoughts, as his Qi-Tam assistant appeared at the door. “First Minister, the Council is waiting,” she reminded him, her tone slightly disapproving.
Genvass chuckled, taking up his cane and rising to his feet. “My apologies. I’m afraid I was woolgathering,” he told her.
“Woolgathering, First Minister?” she asked in confusion.
“An old Terran expression,” he told her. “I was reminiscing, and lost track of time.”
“Of course, First Minister,” she agreed politely, well familiar with his many eccentricities. “If you would allow me to escort you to the Council’s chambers?”
“Yes, yes, I’m right behind you,” he chuckled once more, leaning on his cane as he followed her to the waiting body of legislators, pausing to spare one last look out the window, at the vast field of stars.
How far we’ve come, he thought to himself, before turning and exiting the office.
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And somewhere, out beyond the most distant star, an ancient being looked down at the accomplishments of their children… and smiled.
THE END