"And thus the Plath, unable to avoid their ultimate fate, chose to forestall it indefinitely," the Abyssal Lord said to Mark Guilderan, the Terran Secretary of State. "They chose to cast aside all of the technology and culture of their creators and regress to a pre-technological state in order to 'disappear' from the universe. This decision triggered civil war within their ranks, but ultimately the forces of the individual now deified as 'The Great Prophet' prevailed, and the entire species regressed but not before 'terraforming' an entire solar system to suit their needs. They created what you call 'The Garden of Eden' for their descendants, a place where a true technology-free society could flourish and has for untold amounts of time."

The Abyssal Lord paused and looked at Mark.

"As part of the 'cleansing' that preceded their regression," the old fish continued, "They completely wiped out any traces of the Progenitor's empire they found… Including the other servitor species. Each was given the choice of purifying themselves and returning to their 'natural' state or be 'cleansed'. We aren't sure of the specifics, but after the 'cleansing,' no trace of the Progenitor's technology, culture, or science remained. Anything that did survive the 'Great Filter' certainly did not survive the upheaval that followed."

"Goddamn..." Mark muttered. "One question, how do you know any of this?"

"While all Plath that survived their civil war and 'purification' agreed with the overall principle of regression, many could not bear to abandon their living ships, great 'creatures' that they used to sail the void and were their only true 'home' for most of their existence. They could strip themselves to nakedness, but they could not abandon or kill their beloved ships. In an agreement with one of the major factions of the fractured Plath, they would not be required to do so. They could take the ships and do one final patrol of the galaxy to ensure that nothing remained and then consign themselves to the 'timeless and pure void'. What exactly that means is unknown, but the process would allow their ships to live out their natural lifespans filled with beings that cared for and loved them. We believe that the ships were prevented from reproducing and that their crews accepted that they would die alongside them, but again, we are not entirely sure. The Plath that made contact with one of the Elder races did not explain further. That's how we know all of this. The last of the ancient Plath told The Veiled Ones directly… along with other things..."

"I thought you and The Veiled Ones hated each other."

The ancient Abyssal Lord sighed heavily.

"We do… now," the fish said sadly, "but that was not always the case. We once viewed each other with great regard and affection. Some of us still hold them in high regard and pray that one day we can put our differences aside."

"So what went down between you guys, anyway?"

"I see no harm in telling you," the Abyssal Lord replied, "It was, to borrow a Terran phrase, that 'goddamn' Federation."

Mark smiled. He wasn't an expert in piscine body language, but you didn't have to be. His new 'friend' did not like the Feds either…

…interesting…

"Yeah, those fuckers can, to borrow another of our phrases, 'fuck up a wet dream,' can't they?" Mark chuckled.

The Abyssal Lord paused, his attention directed to something off screen.

He laughed a strange alien laugh.

"Yes, they can definitely curdle a spawn," he laughed. "Well put. Some of us were against the whole idea from the start but decided not to fracture the consensus. Some of us may have regretted it later as well. In any event, it became clear to The Veiled Ones that the Federation was too 'undisciplined' and lacked 'focus'. They felt that 'firm guidance' was required, namely taking control of the Federation and imposing their 'opinions' upon the entire Federation as law enforced by the might of the elder race's fleets and technology. The charter members were divided, some agreeing with The Veiled Ones and others siding with the Sundrinkers saying that the 'experiment' just needed more time and that tyranny was tyranny regardless of intent."

"The Sundrinkers?"

"The species that most know as the Kalent," the ancient terror replied, "They were quite 'invested' in the Federation concept and we, much to our later regret, backed them. We felt that the real reason The Veiled Ones wished to subjugate the Federation was to use them as an industrial base, slaves, and cannon fodder against their ancient enemy, the group you now know as the Collective. Perhaps that was the case. Perhaps what motivated The Veiled Ones was simple hate and a desire for revenge. Perhaps they were the only ones who truly knew the threat the Collective represented. In any event, the situation became very strained and nearly broke out into a war between the elder races involved when The Veiled Ones started to take matters into their own hands and take the Federation by force."

The Abyssal Lord looked downward.

"And that's when 'we' made a terrible mistake," he sighed, "because we had been so close for so long, we knew each other's secrets and vulnerabilities. We betrayed their trust and forced them to withdraw, forever losing their friendship and support. They withdrew to their home system, turning their back on both us and the Federation. We sacrificed a true ally over… nothing, worse than nothing. History has proven their point beyond a shadow of a doubt, both where the Federation and the Collective are concerned."

Mark nodded quietly. He knew when to remain silent, despite several million questions.

"Now, the Federation teeters on the brink of collapse," the old fish said with bared fangs, "Between corruption, the humans, and that 'goddamn' Karashel, its chances aren't very good. As bad as The Veiled Ones might have been, I am certain it would be a gentle caress compared to the embrace of the Forsaken, the Communalist Party, or the Collective."

"The Communalist Party?" Mark asked as his monitor helpfully started displaying the latest info.

He laughed.

"Oh, you have to be kidding me!" he exclaimed. "Yeah, that's not good."

"They are wearing hammers and sickles and everything," the abyssal lord smirked. "but we are firmly convinced that there is more to the game that Baleela is playing. This might be the one case where it smells like an eel, wiggles like an eel, but is definitely NOT an eel. We also have fairly reliable information that Karashel and Jessica Morgan are in some form of contact. They may not be allies, but they are definitely coordinating their activities on some level, not that it can be proven."

"Then you have a very real problem," Mark replied. "I don't know this Karashel character, but I know Jessica Morgan and her Confederacy all too well. Do you think what we did to them during the Federation War was just revenge? No. We wanted to neutralize them as a threat. We took the opportunity to reduce their effectiveness as a fighting force. You're welcome, by the way."

"Do you have any recommendations?" the Abyssal Lord asked with interest.

"Yeah," Mark replied, "Whatever you do, do NOT go to the Raylesh System. If she is wiggling her withered ass the way she is doing, she is sitting on one big fucking hook. We have no idea what that hook might be, but I would bet the entire Republic that it's there and that it's sharp. Don't fall for it. What happened last time you guys tried to take Raylesh will be nothing compared to what will happen if you go for round two. Let them have the system, at least for now."

"That is our assessment as well," the old fish replied, "Anything else?"

"Yeah. You aren't going to like this but negotiate a peace yesterday," Mark said like he was chewing on a turd, "I love to see you guys killing each other. It really warms my heart, but you guys are not equipped to go up against them. Unless you are willing to commit genocide, there is no winning play. They are doing exactly what we did to you a couple of years ago, and it's working. They have you chasing a million small fires while they are just getting richer and more powerful by the day. It won't be long before they start seeking actual fleet engagements. Once that happens, you are fucked. We don't know exactly what their capacities are, but Jessica Morgan and her inner circle possess what remains of pre-Yellowstone military science and technology. It is quite possible they have some bullshit from those days. Jessica is an American, one of the big powers of pre-collapse Earth, and had time to plunder their vaults and databases before Yellowstone blew. They were known for all sorts of black book projects. I know you guys are 'sufficiently advanced,' but do not underestimate what they might have."

"We have recently learned not to underestimate them," the Abyssal Lord said ruefully, "While we are on the subject, is there anything you can do to stem the flow of weapons both to the Forsaken and to the Federation as a whole? I would be willing to reward you handsomely if you could."

"Even in the best of times, that would be difficult," Mark said with a wince, "right now, with everything going on over here, it would be… problematic. It isn't the Terran government supplying the arms. It is thousands, perhaps millions, of private citizens. Cracking down on them during our current political climate is not a move we are prepared to make, not over the Feds. Besides, have you ever heard our legend of Pandora's Box?"

"One moment," the Abyssal Lord said as he looked away.

He laughed once more.

"What a wonderful tale," he said with delight, "Thank you for this! I think I see what you are getting at, but could you clarify it for me, please?"

"Our weapons tech, especially small arms tech, isn't difficult to replicate. Any Federation member certainly has the capacity to do most of what we do, at least on some scale, once they know how. Hell, I made the rifle I used during the Sol Wars using a few salvaged hand tools, and it worked great until I was handed my first AK. Are you aware of the 'tablet' that the Confederacy of Sol has been handing out?"

"Isn't it some sort of weapons guide?" the Abyssal Lord asked.

"It's a LOT more than just that," Mark laughed, "Get a copy. It details most of our weapons technology, including fission and fusion bombs. She fucking handed schematics for nukes out, and the way we do them requires technology that we developed over a thousand years ago. Any Federation species can make them. They might not do it as well as we do it now. We have had an extra thousand years, after all, but any of them could whip up a Fat Man or a Tsar Bomba tomorrow. Jessica Morgan just threw open Pandora's box and dumped it all over your asses. It's only a matter of time before this 'Communalist Party' becomes a Nuclear Power. You need to secure the peace now. Get Jessica Morgan to the table and cut a deal. I hate you fuckers with a passion reserved only for the Porkies and the Bug, but I hate the thought of anarchy and a power vacuum more, especially with the Bug just a few years away if we are lucky. Get your shit together. Fuck, if nothing else, make nice with The Veiled Ones and take over everything yourselves before Jessica or this Karashel chick does."

"There are many who agree with you, Mark," the Abyssal Lord replied, "But nowhere near enough."

"Then the Federation is fucked," Mark replied. "However, I am prepared to discuss technology exchange and possible future military cooperation when the Bug comes."

"… We are willing to discuss those possibilities," the Abyssal Lord replied, "But first, I wish to secure an agreement that you will not antagonize Sheloran or the Plath further. Seriously, you need to leave them alone. No good can come from it."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Ok," Mark replied, "I'm willing to table the whole Plath thing, and unless Sheloran continues to whip up those super nukes, she's completely in the clear. I just gotta know one thing. How? If they have truly 'cleansed' themselves, how can she just throw together some stuff that is literally science fiction? We have some 'artifacts' of hers, and we can't even begin to figure out how they work. Well, we have one of them figured out and are going to copy the fuck out of it—"

"Please don't."

"It's ok," Mark chuckled, "It's just a mono-wire accelerator. We figure it could make a very nice 'trench sweeper' or boarding weapon once we dumb it down. I doubt it will trigger this 'Great Filter'."

"Playing with anything she creates is playing with fire," the Abyssal Lord replies, "no matter how 'harmless' it appears. Still, I don't see how a simple wire thrower will 'offend fate'."

"You don't have to worry about the other thing we have captured," Mark laughed, "we have absolutely no clue how it works. Do 'solid electrons' make any sense to you?"

"I wouldn't tell you if they did," the Abyssal Lord chuckled, "but if you are referring to her glitter-covered pistol, it's a bit of a mystery to us as well. My advice is to either give it back to her or disintegrate it just to be on the safe side. To answer your original question, we aren't exactly sure how she can manifest 'forgotten' technology. We suspect it has something to do with genetic knowledge."

"Say what now?"

"We have creatures capable of incredible feats on our homeworld," the Abyssal Lord replied, "small things that can build massive, intricate structures purely by instinct. I'm sure you have similar?"

"Yeah."

"We suspect it's like that. She isn't the first one to display… unusual abilities like this. Normally the Plath do a very good job of taking care of the problem, quite humanely by the way. They aren't like the Z'uush. However, Sheloran is the first one to break containment. The Plath are normally nearly incapable of leaving their home. Even the Plath counselor doesn't travel. He has special permission to do all of his business remotely. They don't leave their home for any reason… except for Sheloran. She is… abnormal in that respect. As such, she has removed herself from the regulation of her peers and the very small number of Plath who are… knowledgeable… where dealing with 'issues' are concerned. Sadly, what she 'escaped' was not the fate she thought she was escaping. She likely would have been recruited into their number and had a very satisfying and comfortable life. Now that she is an 'apostate', that is no longer an option. They won't touch her now. She's too far gone. Oddly their advice is not to kill her. They say she could be 'vitally important,' but they will not specify further. They say to just leave her alone and 'let her find what she seeks', whatever the void that means."

The Abyssal Lord flared his gills in irritation.

"Dealing with a Plath can be frustrating under the best of circumstances. Dealing with those 'assholes' is even worse. Where Sheloran is concerned, they are impossible. They will barely say anything about her save to leave her be and that if she is what they think she might be, stopping her is quite literally impossible, that she is 'inevitable as the death of the cosmos'. They also say that if she is yet another 'failed incarnation,' then she will amount to nothing and be of no consequence to them… then they refuse to say what that means."

"So talking to them is like when we try to talk to you assholes," Mark smirked.

"Exactly," the Abyssal Lord laughed. "Just… don't fuck with her or the Plath. We are fully prepared to assist your technological advancement in preparation for the Collective. You don't need to poke things that should remain asleep. Besides, it will take you years to properly utilize what we can show you. Anything that the Plath give you that we can not would take decades to use, if not centuries. Their technological heritage likely spans millions of years if not longer."

"Longer?"

"How long did it take for life to develop on your world?"

"It happened pretty quickly from what we can tell. We have microfossils well over 3 billion years old."

The fish nodded.

"And how long did it take for life to progress from those simple prokaryotes to multicellular lifeforms?"

"Now you are putting me on the spot," Mark laughed, "A couple of billion years, if I remember high school correctly."

"Do you know how long it 'normally' took for the vast majority of life out there, including us?"

"I would guess about the same time, but if that was the case, we wouldn't be talking about this."

"On average," the Abyssal Lord replied, "From the initial prokaryotic lifeforms to multicellular life took only a few hundred million years if that."

"What?"

"It confused us for a very long time," the Abyssal Lord said with a smile, "our simulations kept coming up wrong, projecting times much more in line with your world, if not longer or ever. The Xx finally cracked it. Your world is what should happen. Our worlds were… altered. Something paid them a visit. A lot of the worlds that have thriving civilizations aren't even going to be able to support life long enough for it to have evolved as it did on Terra. Most homeworlds are like your Mars or Venus. They won't last anywhere near long enough for complex life to develop 'naturally'. Something tipped the scales of fate to make this galaxy as 'alive' as it is."

"What. The. Fuck?"

"Yes, it's true," the Abyssal Lord replied, "Every world is different, down to its 'DNA'. There are no commonalities between any world aside from the utilization of certain common chemical structures and universal amino acids. Even so, something visited all those worlds, took the simple single-celled creatures floating in those primordial seas, and 'tweaked' them to get the process moving faster. The Progenitors were very real. It took the manically obsessive Xx to finally find their 'fingerprint', certain enzymes, and certain amino acid preferences. You will have to talk to an Xx to get the details. If you do, be warned. Pack several meals. You will be there for a while."

"Are these the same 'Progenitors' that the Plath worked for?"

"We aren't sure," Abyssal Lord shrugged, "The word 'Progenitor' is one we use to describe them. We have no idea what they were called. The Plath call their former masters something I can't even pronounce properly that roughly translates to "The Source of All" or the "All Masters". They may have been the true 'Progenitors,' or they may not have been. I suspect they weren't. Time devours all, and whoever or whatever seeded all of those worlds did so hundreds of millions to over a billion years ago. If there is a 'Great Filter' that is the final stop for technological development, then they probably hit it long before most of us had fins... including you."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Mark asked, "This is like some 'secrets of the ancients' level bullshit."

"Because it's relevant to the discussion," the Abyssal Lord replied, "And we are in a period of relative calm and peace, well… relative to what the next few years hold."

The ancient terror grinned broadly, displaying all of its needle-sharp teeth.

"Besides, you will have to become an 'elder race' pretty quickly if you want to survive, and if we want to remain an 'elder race,' then we will need friends, friends like you, for example. Some of us have made the decision to reach out 'prematurely' in order to start building relations and allies outside of the Federation."

"Some of you?" Mark asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I chose my words carefully," the Abyssal Lord smiled. "There is no true and full consensus behind my actions. There are, however, enough singing the song I sing to lend enough strength to start the process, especially among my species. I happen to like my world and would hate to have to flee it over some surface-scraping bugs. The Federation will fail to stop them, and if we don't start building relationships with species that are demonstrated victors, then we will stand alone against a force beyond counting. Karashel may be able to deliver on her promises, or she may not. I would prefer to hedge my bets."

"What is Karashel promising?"

"More than she can deliver, and she most likely knows that. Fifty years ago, she might have been able to do what she describes, but ten years is just not enough. However, we allowed her to 'deceive' us for our own reasons. Our wayward children, the Sundrinkers, need to be shown that their beloved experiment is a failure. Karashel will succeed, or she will fail. Either way, she will likely break the Federation or, at the very least, cause some much needed changes. It's a pity that the bug will just eat it all anyway. Karashel the Baleel is a quite interesting individual. I recommend getting to know her before she meets her end however that end may come."

"I will take it under advisement," Mark replied, "or pass it along to my successor as the case may be."

"You anticipate replacement?"

"The world is an uncertain place," Mark smiled ruefully, "shit happens. We will leave the Plath alone, Sheloran included, provided you guys come across with that tech. We royally fucked up the whole Sheloran thing anyhow. There is little chance she will cooperate with us now and I suspect forcing a 'technologically advanced' being to make things we don't even fully understand against their will might not be wise. We have enough shit to deal with right now. Personally, I'm in favor of deporting her ass or, at the very least, bribing her to go somewhere else, but that's not entirely my call."

"We would also be willing to 'sweeten the pot' as far as enticing her to leave Terran space goes… provided that means her return to the Federation. We can make her legal issues disappear without much problem. Unfortunately, repatriation to her homeworld is impossible at this time. They don't want her back under any circumstances. They call her the 'oil that befouls the waters' and do NOT want her anywhere near them. That being said, there are plenty of pleasant worlds that would happily take her in, our system, for example."

"I'm not willing to just let you asshats get your fins on a walking cosmic WMD," Mark smiled. "You say you won't try to exploit her, but we all say a lot of shit, know what I'm saying? I'm thinking someplace nice and remote, maybe somewhere out of the way where nobody knows where she is."

"… I'm not opposed to that," the Abyssal Lord replied, "We both monitor her, and nobody save the bare minimum knows where she is sent. We can give her the plants she desperately needs to cultivate and never touch the surface of that world again. Do you have a particular world in mind?"

"Not yet, but the galaxy is a big place. What about an O'Neil cylinder or other such habitat?"

"I would advise absolutely no accessible technology. Who knows what she could do with what."

"Good point," Mark replied. "I can live with this. We both start looking for worlds that would be a good fit. Between us, I'm sure we can find a place. All that remains are the details."

"Agreed," the ancient fish said with a satisfied nod, "We would prefer to use unofficial channels for now. There is a Kalent already involved in this situation that has no connection to the Kalent government, a Sundrinker named Baxlon. He is currently acting as Sheloran's lawyer. We can use him as our point of contact. He will know how to reach me directly and streamline communications between the Terran government and my faction."

"What about his connection to Sheloran?"

"We won't tell him about that," the Abyssal Lord replied, "I will tell him that my contact with you is because of a loss of faith in the Federation and the desire to forge new alliances with more competent races. That will play to his own feelings on the matter. Besides, he nearly worships us as living gods, and I have some rather significant leverage over him personally. I am confident he will discreetly do as I say, and he will only be used to set up meetings and deliver a communications device similar to the one I am now using. Anything concerning Sheloran or anything else will be discussed directly between you and myself. In fact, I would prefer that you remain my point of contact regardless of your official title."

"… I'll see what I can do," Mark said carefully.

I guess I could do that from a prison cell... he thought with a rueful smile.

"Then we have an agreement," the Abyssal Lord said. "I will get in touch soon concerning possibly hosting a small group of your scientists and engineers where they can interact directly with us. We have found that to be the best way to efficiently exchange knowledge."

"I'm looking forward to that," Mark said quite truthfully. This was a pretty big deal.

"Excellent," the Abyssal Lord said, "Farewell."

"His image disappeared."

Shaking his head, Mark activated a secure call to the Prime Minister.

***

"You have a lot of nerve, you know that?" Baxlon snarled at that same ornate box now held by one of the Abyssal Lord's attendants. "You just waltz in here again and just assume I'm going to bow and scrape just because you are what you are?"

"Yes," the box replied, quite amused, "Well, that and I might be able to address your little problem."

"And just what problem is that?" Baxlon replied, fighting the overwhelming instinct to, in fact, bow and scrape.

" Excommunication," the box said smugly. "perhaps even exile. How would you like to return home one day? I understand you are quite happy with your life here, but you may wish to return home one day. I can make that happen. When your time approaches, I can ensure that you are able to enter The Great Ocean."

"T-the Great Ocean?" Baxlon stammered.

"Remember it?" the abyssal voice purred from the box. "You will no longer be limited to this single short life. You will be able to claim your birthright as one of the Kalent. Serve me and you, once again, serve the Kalent. My voice will sing your name and accept you when you present yourself. I will claim you as one of us. Nobody will raise their voice against mine in this regard."

"A-and all I will have to do is relay messages?"

"That's it," the Abyssal Lord purred, "this is a matter that requires discretion, at least for now, and you are ideally placed. I am willing to overlook your past indiscretions and failures, especially since you have overcome your little addiction, at least to the point where you can maintain your affairs. All I require is loyalty, discretion, and effectiveness. As far as your crimes against the Federation go, I doubt they will even exist by the time you desire to rejoin your people in eternity. Will you do this for me, for your people?"

"To be able to enter The Great Ocean..." Baxlon said quietly, "Yes. To be able to enter The Great Ocean, I will do whatever I have to do. Name it, and it will happen."

"Serve your people by serving me, and your redemption is assured."

"Thank you, My Lord," Baxlon said as he bowed.