Your enemies were here first, but unlike you, they came over the wall with guns clear and broadcasting threats.

I see you are smarter than that.

This time.

To answer your questions in a random appearing order, let us start with the biggest one that is asked.

Why do we not share our technology with others?

We did at one time. We welcomed others, thinking to follow the Pubvian Diplomatic Model and the Vampire Hunter Protocols.

Defeat your enemy by making them your friend.

We paid the price for our naivety. We thought that by uplifting them, empowering them, to be our peers, that they would join us in facing the malevolent universe together.

It cost us something dear to us.

The Confederacy.

Five species who had been friends for thousands of years died at their hands.

Hundreds of billions of lives.

We uplifted others and they did more damage than the Second Mar-gite War.

Then, to compound the insult, those who were never in danger from the Mar-gite Resurgence chose to attack us while we were desperately fighting to save the entire galactic arm spur. They plunged the dagger deep into our backs and then were surprised by our response.

We no longer share our technology.

Our billions dead demand we no longer do so.

A C+ round into Rigel-B-7 taught us that you are not to be trusted just because you have shown up.

The terrible silence of the ducklings means we will never share our technology again until a species proves they can be trusted with it.

Why do we not respect you? Why do the Forerunners and the Precursors hold you in contempt?

You must earn our respect. It is not your due. Just surviving the malevolent universe as far as you have grants you the right to speak to us in politeness.

We don't respect your guns. We have more. We don't respect your warships. We have more. We don't respect your armies. We have more.

You ask why are we not forthcoming with the respect you feel is your due, yet never think to give us the respect we have earned, nor have you thought to give us the same respect that you demand of others.

Nor is our trust your due.

As soon as the three of you met each other, you exchanged broadsides. Not once have you accepted our offers of mediation. Not once have you sought out truces, only cease-fires while you both rearm and resupply. You have dealt in planet-crackers and novasparks. You have proven that you cannot be trusted.

We hold you in the same contempt you hold us.

You showed up with guns cleared for action the first time, demanding we give you what you wanted. You showed bottomless contempt for us, referring to us as a waning and fading species.

And you ask why we hold you in contempt?

We hold you to your actions, not your words.

Why are we isolationist?

We are isolationist because you have proved that you are part of the malevolent universe.

The Pubvians insisted that we not 'protect' ourselves using the Lanaktallan Protective Model. Out of respect, our people, a Precursor Race, agreed with the request of a Forerunner Race. Thus, you have not been gentled.

The last question we will answer is simple: The technology you seek, that you desire, will do more than end the war.

It will end your people.

Hear our words and understand: The Mad Lemurs of Terra, the Warsteel Forerunners, lay sleeping in their graves and their dreams reach out to all of us. That which lay dreaming are not all dead. We know they will return, and we fear that they will return Engraged, in fire and blood, in response to an atrocity upon their person by the malevolent universe.

Disturb them at your own peril. - Mantid Diplomat Speaks to Lesser Animals, 3,575 Current Era

The Book of Telkan tells us to greet newcomers as possible friends. The words of the Digital Omnimessiah urge us to allow others actions and deeds to tell us who they are over our first impressions and their words.

Again, you have come to us searching our Terran technology.

Again, you have come to us asking for the secret of Holy Warsteel.

This time, you have come in peace, no longer mumbling threats when you think our back is turned or we are not listening.

But we have judged you by your deeds.

However, we have performed the holy rites and summoned the Holy Ghosts, the Gestalts, and communed with them.

We have realized that you will not stop asking. Eventually, you will attempt to force us to comply with your demands.

We will attempt to reason with you.

We do not share our technology, even though the base of our warfighting technology was gifted to us.

We learned that lesson the hard way, when a nova-spark was used on an inhabited world in a surprise attack that those beings believed would force us to accept them as our masters.

Fifty five billion, gone in an instant.

We taught them our lessons.

Over the millennia, others have come demanding our secrets, usually at gunpoint and with threats.

We did not kneel to the Atrekna.

We will not kneel to others.

We did not quail in the face of the Mar-gite Resurgence.

This road that we have traveled has been paved with blood, bone, suffering, and pain. Only the words of the Digital Omnimessiah and the Book of Telkan have made it possible to endure.

This is not a road you should seek.

But the Book of Telkan and the words of the Digital Omnimessiah tell us to educate children, and children you are.

Here are some coordinates.

Go carefully. Stop at the first set before deciding if you want to continue to the second set. Stop and listen. Stop at the second set. Carefully and ready to flee. There you will feel what you seek.

At these two coordinates you will hear and feel how dangerous what you seek is. Ensure that your ships have psychic shielding to protect your crews' very souls.

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The words of the Digital Omnimessiah might protect you. The Book of Telkan might shield you.

But you must be believers, not just those who give lip service.

Think carefully before you proceed from that second location.

Pray to your deities to protect your minds and souls.

The last set of interlinked coordinates is the only pathway that any who seeks it can follow, a pathway that leads to a place so terrible all who know of it avoid it.

Return after you have learned your lesson, and perhaps we will teach you more wisdom. Return to us and speak of your lessons and you shall be on the first steps of your journey to adulthood, to earn the respect you crave.

But be careful.

Where you go, you would be best to stop and listen before entering, for it a dark place, cursed and horrible. None who know what lies there will speak of it, and those who crafted that place with rage, wrath, hatred, blood, fire, and warsteel ever spoke of what occurred there.

It is a screaming monument in the darkness that reflects the darkness and evil within us all, the darkness that the Book of Telkan urges us to resist, to not give into.

Perhaps, child, you will learn lessons there.

But be warned...

Even we Forerunners, even the great Precursors, avoid that place.

Even the Mar-gite feared to tread there.

The Clownface Nebula. - Telkan Holy Diplomatic Corps, 3,577 Current Era

You got lucky we stopped you, partner.

You were about to enter an area that they greet newcomers with a C++ cannon barrage just to give you a little tap and say hello.

Tell ol' Uncle Tee, do you know where you were going with these battlewagons?

You do?

Are you sure?

What makes you think they'd be impressed by your task force? I get it, two hundred ships, including what you call dreadnoughts and monitors.

I don't suppose you'd be interested in movie night with your ol' Uncle Tee, would you?

Well, that's how I share wisdom, partner. Through popcorn, sew-dee pawp, and movies.

You've been seeking wisdom. You went to the fuzzy boys, to Sis, but what made you come here?

Oh, you're looking for Forerunner technology and thought that this place would be good to go to?

Why?

Oh. Yeah, that war you've been listening to, that you say is from five thousand years ago? That's not over.

It will never be over.

Come on, ol' Uncle-Tee will show you a movie, we'll have some popcorn and sip on some sew-dee pawp.

Let ol' Uncle Tee share his wisdom with you, greenhorn.

You wanna watch?

You would?

This first one? It's called: "On the Black Iron Beach", it's a dramacmentary of the Red Graviton Fist Martial Order's assault upon the Dread Hellhounds Martial Order, about a thousand years ago.

It's so exciting.

...

...

You OK? I didn't know your people can throw up through your sinuses. That looked awful. Uh, you got a popcorn kernel stuck in your nostril.

Now, hear ol' Uncle Tee's wisdom.

Those two martial orders still exist. They have banded together now to attack another group of martial orders.

We call those the Dark Crusade Blood War Worlds.

Do you still want to go there?

No?

Good decision.

So what were you after?

War technology. Really? After what you saw?

Well, yeah, partner, you'd be able to defeat your enemies with it. Or they'd defeat you with it.

Used to be, us Tee-Bugs, we would have helped you. Days gone by and all that, I'm sure you understand.

You don't?

Well... it was before your time. You were still playing around with radio and zepplins. We greeted multiple species, just like you, and shared everything with them.

They then proceeded to commit atrocities upon us.

We helped someone recently. Only a century ago.

They repaid us by trying to slaughter our people that had helped them.

We were reminded, in blood and atomic fire, that this is a malevolent universe.

So, while we do not make the universe a more terrible place by being actively or passively malevolent, we no longer assist you younger races.

We will wait to see if you are just one more bit of malevolence in this universe or if you are perhaps like us, merely one who endures the suffering of our mother, the malevolent universe.

Want a piece of advice from ol' Uncle Tee?

Here it is.

You want that technology so badly? Well, take it from the only species to ever get more than a 25% win rate in all combat action against the Terrans.

Research it yourself.

Just like they did.

You don't have the time? You're engaged in a war of survival?

My Brother in the Digital Omnimessiah's Grace...

...they researched more than you have in mere decades, starting with less than what you have.

I'll pass you some tech. Don't tell sis.

This is the plans for the Terran war machine the F4 Phantom. Here is the process to make the fuel for it.

What do you mean, it's junk? That it doesn't even use countergrav or hyperalloys or molycircs? You think it's primitive and unable to change your war? Don't rely on your computer simulations. This has to be built in the real world. Build it, test it, then make your decisions. What do you mean that fuel is too dangerous to manufacture? Those you seek made that before they even had fusion power. If they could do, surely you can too.

No, despite your accusations, partner, we are not trying to sabotage you.

My Brother in Kalki's Gaze, you do not know what you are seeing.

Research that.

Once you understand that craft, understand its fuel, then you will understand something I will whisper, now, into your ear.

A lesson the Mad Lemurs of Terra taught everyone.

there are no dangerous weapons, only dangerous men.

Take that lesson, take those manufacturing plans, take that fuel recipe, and see if you can learn the Lesson of Jawconnor.

Good luck, greenhorn. - Treana'ad Guardian Outpost 87A13c1, Border of Crusade Space, 3,578 Current Era

Greetings to you upon this fine day.

It is indeed fine. The sun is shining. The insect life is buzzing, the avians are chirping, the breeze is warm, and the fruit trees fill the air with the smell of delayed gratification made manifest.

Friend, your guards are about to step upon my berry garden. Please, ask them to move.

What am I?

I am a human. Pure Strain Human at that. Never heard of my people? It is no matter. My people lay dreaming.

What am I called?

Surcsee Oathsworn, Servant of Nakteti the Traveler, Daughter of Lady Keena Oathsworn, Sister to Magnus Oathsworn, Guardian of the Path of the Traveler, Duty Bound Immortal.

Friend, your armed guards are stepping on my berries and fruit vines in my jam garden. I have asked you once to request they move. Will you not ask them to be careful of my jam garden lest I be rendered fruitless?

What is the next step of the path? I am no mere sphinx to ask riddles and stand aside for you to move forward.

Friend, your armed guards have stepped on my streppleberries, a plant I nurtured long to grow in this alien soil beneath this star. Your other guard is about to step on my strawberries.

Do you intend on rending me fruitless, friend?

You ordered your man to step upon my strawberries.

I have warned thee thrice.

My duty is done.

BEHOLD! I AM SURSCEE OATHSWORN, ARCHMAGE AND WIELDER OF THE NINE WORLD ENGINE KEYS! WARNED THRICE WAS THEE AND NOW THY DOOM HAS COME FOR THEE AND THOSE IN ORBIT! PREPARE TO ACCEPT MY WRATH, TERRIBLE AS A NOVA DAWN AND MERCILESS AS A DARK MATTER SEA! GAZE UPON MY BEAUTY IN YOUR LAST MOMENTS AND DESPAIR!- Last recorded encounter of Grenklakail Archeological Team Four, 3,793 Current Era.

Ah, I was wondering who would show up.

What am I doing? I am picking apples. I enjoy apples. I have tended this orchard since before your people reached the stars and I will tend to it when your star has gone out.

Yes, this world saw the steps of Nakteti the Traveler in ages gone past.

I stood next to her. Right here.

She spit, onto the ground, the apple seeds that I nurtured into this very orchard.

Who am I?

I am Magnus Oathsworn.

You come polite, bearing gifts.

Sing to me your quest.

No, don't tell me, sing it to me.

Yes, you may withdraw to compose your ballad.

I eagerly await your return.

Here, take this basket of apples with you.

And Friend?

Your politeness and genteel behavior has ensured your survival. Do not return in rudeness and crassness, as so many others have.

Show me the respect you crave in kind.

I do know what The Traveler's next steps were.

I know the path she took to those strange starless skies.

Sing unto me your ballad, your quest, and I shall weigh whether or not to share that knowledge with you. - Magnus Oathsworn, speaking to Grenklakail Archeological Team Seven, 3,805 Current Era.

Nakteti reached up and touched the collar of her armored vac-suit, the helmet beeping, asking for confimation, before withdrawing into her collar.

The air smelled sour, but Nakteti knew it was breathable by her people and many other species that had made up the Unified Civilized Council. The mountains were low and weathered, the protocontinent ancient.

Only a deep trench in the deepest part of the ocean gave any clue as to why life was so stunted on the planet.

That, and it was in the middle of the Great Gulf.

"We are halfway there," Surscee said quietly, watching as Nakteti looked around.

"Halfway to Confederate Space," Nakteti said quietly. "Pitch the ants."

Lady Surscee nodded, pulling out the small orb and starting to cast the spells needed to command the ants.

Nakteti watched quietly.

When it was done, she boarded the shuttle, paused to take one last look at the world, then closed the hatch.

-----

The world was solid, a frozen core of iron, a permafrost crust, and layered with thick ice. Methane, mostly.

The It Tastes Sweet orbited it slowly as Nakteti watched the ants' progression on the monitor.

The ants had found plenty of raw ores, raw materials, to build with.

The majority of what they built was heavily shielded and underground.

It took some time, but finally the planet signaled "ready" and Nakteti ordered the ship to move out.

It dropped a single Alfred Von Nuemann machine in the Oort Cloud, next to a satellite. The machine went to work, built what it was supposed to, and shut down to drift in the cloud.

Nakteti watched.

The systems she was seeding each system with were simple. Message torpedo relay stations. Ship repair and 'fumigation' stations. Jumpspace beacons, something the Confederacy possessed and the Council had struggled with.

"What will you do when you have blazed the trail, lit the path, and traveled the road, Lady Nakteti?" the sorceress Surscee asked one evening.

Nakteti just stared out the armaglass window.

"I will seek the red skies for hints how to pass into purple, like in my dreams," Nakteti said.

She looked at Surscee and Magnus both.

"I will seek Heaven and Hell and ask the guardians of both if I may enter," she said softly.

Both Terrans just nodded as she turned her attention back to the viewport that showed the swirling vapors of jumpspace.