Abyss (Songs of Megiddo) (2 page)

“Even you?”

“Especially me. Which is precisely why I’m concerned: because I know how
I
reacted to a similar situation. How might Humanity react, if their first encounter with those from beyond the limits of their understanding is a hostile
encounter? The others – the Younger Species and the rest of the Ara’ghetn – they’ve evolved well beyond a point where they go weak at the knees over how hard someone throws a punch...but Humans...?

“
A cultural tendency away from reverence for aggression has no inherent relationship with evolution. Aside from being...from a certain perspective...a relative inversion of the shared locus of competitive advantage common to the majority of highly, longitudinally successful species. And, similarly: aside from being a potentially significant constituent contributor towards the likelihood of a peaceful species’ removal from the aggregate of those species still evolving.”

“You mean...‘peaceful gets you killed’?”

“Approximately.”

“Strange sentiment. Y’know...
coming from a
Riin
.”

“
I merely attempt to clarify the shortcomings of your use of certain terms.”

“You’re also enjoying pointing out
other ways in which I’m not being particularly logical, as a way of reminding me of how illogical I’m being about the issue you’re actually concerned about. You’re not all that subtle, Myadir.”

“
‘Enjoying’ may not be the most appropriate characterisation of my feelings on the matter. But, notwithstanding this revision...your evaluation is broadly accurate.”

“
Okay. Look. It’s like this: I can’t let the Pho’ain get a foothold on Earth, or, before you could say ‘divide and conquer’, I’d be back here...
again
...having to do something far worse than what I came here to do. What I’m
about
to do. And I don’t want to have to do that. I don’t want
anyone
to have to do that. It’s why I’ve stopped Quae from allowing the Aesinya worlds to establish contact with Earth more times than I can count. I mean...seriously: you know how these things go. If it’s not the technology, it’s the psychology of it...and if it’s not the psychology, then it’s a cultural thing...or worse, a
religious
one. They’re not ready. And I’d very much like for them to be
around
to be ready some day.”

“Who’s
to say that today is not that day?”

“Remember Tolaektu?”

“There is not a Riin in existence who will
ever
forget what happened on Tolaektu.”

“It’s not just the Riin. What’s that phrase that the Aesinya
seem to insist on saying when it comes up?”

“
Aekorleo-hisayaen. ‘Pity the Twollnom’. Or ‘Pity
for
the Twollnom’, more accurately.”

“That’s right. ‘
Pity the Twollnom’. If
I
have anything to say about it, no one is
ever
going to get the opportunity to anatomise
my
species as a cautionary proverb. And I
do
have something to say about it. I’m here, after all. I’m ready for whatever comes. So...like I said, I need you to have a transport ready. Just in case. Regardless of whether I’m being illogical or not.”

“
I will do as you say; but I need for
you
to ensure that the secondary stratagem is not required.”

“
I’ve ran the equations again and again. The Phaen agree. This should work. We have about the same probability of success as...well...the chance you think I’d have of surviving my ‘contingency’ plan. So there’s a nice symmetry, there.”

“One might observe that some symmetries foreshadow.”

“One might.” She agreed, not particularly wanting to consider the situation through that lens. She remembered the superstitions of the culture to which she had, originally, belonged. She remembered the vague prophecies and blood-spattered entreaties to ambivalent spirits and nature-gods. She remembered how convincing it had all seemed at the time; like a covenant with the natural order; a relationship...or a ‘buying in’ to the equilibrium of that order. But then the others had come. On Earth...the others
always
came. Another tribe, or another state, or another culture. She shook her head. The memories were hazy and distant. She preferred that. She had no wish to breath new life into old ghosts.

“Janissary?
Issa?” Myadir prompted.

“
So we’re ready?” She murmured, seeking fresh confirmation. Or was it reassurance that she sought? Mutuality of purpose? Support? Myadir simply nodded out a noncommittal, distant nod. Janissary sighed. The time was now.

She
pressed down on a raised, button-like protrusion at the end of the left armrest. A holographic screen appeared in front of her, with a range of diagnostics and commands accompanied by the glyphs that, in ‘Reformed Riin’, represented syllables. Syllables which, slotted together in myriad variations, formed the base-most blocs of the language’s written expression. Under that, the annotations were repeated in her language. English.

More accurately, it was her language
...
today
. Like most sentient beings living in exile – whether involuntary or self-imposed – Janissary was fluent in a range of dialects. Of course, the fluencies that she had developed from a distance while monitoring the wax and wane of the cultures of her former home had little utility in her day-to-day life. Knowing them was still of profound importance to her...but it was, she was aware, an affectation. But on this particular day...Earth English seemed appropriate. Even simply as a matter of respect for the vast metropolis below; the first target, ostensibly, for the prospective invasion of the Pho’ain.

With a wry
, humourless smirk, Janissary made a clawing motion at the hologram, swiping sideways. The display flipped fluidly towards Myadir.

“Do
you want to do it?” They exchanged a glance. Something between fear and tired annoyance showed through in his expression.

“The question is
premised on a deliberately counterintuitive foundation.” With a similar motion, he flipped the display back to her. She shrugged. It was a reasonable response. After all...it was her plan. More than that...it was her
planet
.

“Fine. More fun for me.”

“‘Fun’?” He echoed sceptically.

“Don’t.” She warned.

And, with that, she sent the command.

And it was such an easy a thing to do. Far,
far easier than a thing like that had any business being. She just pushed a single, slim finger toward a little sphere of light, and, in seconds...the holographic projection disappeared. And so it was done. Just like that. Her gaze shifted towards the larger, permanent screens where the diagnostics and imaging were displayed. She watched them attentively as the readings, confirmations, revisions, and assessments began to pour in.

§§§

From the perspective of the Humans of New York City, Janissary’s action had a more visceral, observable impact. The sky above the city – and, undoubtedly, within a wide circumference of it – lit up with a brilliant pulse of light, accompanied by the shattering, chattering perforation of tens of thousands of fragile glass panes as the shock-wave tore down, out, and through.

As air
-raid sirens whirred to life in a deafening cacophony of distended, distorted moans, the citizens of New York rushed for the subway entrances, designated assemblies, and convenient basements. Naturally, there was panic...but the crowds were surprisingly organised: pressing into the deep places and safe, enclosed spaces with, all things considered, orderliness reminiscent of Swiss clockwork. It was as if they were drawing on a kind of forgotten disaster-response imprint, buried somewhere deep in their collective unconscious. An awareness – a rationality – that had, perhaps, been passed down from earlier generations. From the children of the Cold War, or from those of the Eleventh of September...just over twenty years before.

Deep within,
it seemed...a kind of dark, calculated intuition had lain dormant and waited – forgotten but not gone – buried deep, deep down. A contingency...left in place for when the inevitable finally arrived. And so – or so it seemed – it had.

§§§

Janissary’s eyes flickered shut and she shivered, turning her face from the images lighting up the floating monitors. Without intent or forethought; without naming any god or power to whom she acknowledged obeisance...she allowed a muted prayer to hiss softly forth from between her gritted teeth. A prayer for herself. A prayer for her
world
.

She knew, on some
level, that the fear, awe, and myriad uncertainties that bloodied her mind were entirely a matter of context. It was she, after all, who had – with her own eyes – witnessed billions of souls, prostrate and trembling, before her wrath. She had known, many times, the power to extinguish or to save. It was she who had – consumed by rage – watched as, on her orders, asteroids were manoeuvred, prodded and pushed...set to falling...burning and hurtling through atmospheres. She had smiled, on those dark days – satisfied – as the asteroids cratered the hearts of ancient, glittering metropoli, built of worked stone and grown crystal; of living metal and mouldering bone. It was she who had – friendless and alone – forced her way into wars of annihilation fought over thousands of years, between great Empires whose dominions spanned vast swathes of the Galaxy. She had...a simple Human...brought those conflicts to their ends with nothing but the icy resolve conveyed through her disapproving glare...and, behind her, the hulking shadow of her well-earned reputation.

And, on this very planet
– lifetimes ago, or so it seemed – it was she who had sown fear among the fearless, and reaped the strength of the strongest. It was she who had carved her bloody legacy deep, and with an unerring hand, into the bones of history itself.

In comparison, this should have been a small thing.
A merciful thing. A responsible, justified, and justifiable course of action. She was, she told herself, simply doing what was necessary. She was saving her species from knowledge for which they were not ready, and from predators who sought to gain from their youth and naïveté. There was little damage. There was no death.

No
Human
death. 

Yes, but who would shed a tear for the others?
For the monstrous hordes of Pho’ara and the Caldera-worlds? The Riin, perhaps...but then: their sorrow had always had more to do with what was within them, as opposed to being a response to what was without. Beyond them...there would be no one else. No one would care.

And, beyond pity...beyond restraint...
she had every right to the decision she had made. Every...right.

The Pho’ain had moved on Earth, travelling through the vast expanse of the Riin Domi
nion to do so. They should have known better. After all...the Riin – innately peaceful; peaceful to a fault – were the technological equals of the Elder Species. And Janissary had proven, on numerous occasions, what a Human mind was capable of when it came to repurposing the technology of peace for the needs of war. Her reputation was known. That the Riin turned a blind eye to her actions when it mattered...was known. And, most importantly, her world of origin – the tiny, pre-interstellar civilisation of Earth – was
known
. She had made no secret of it. She had never needed to. Janissary couldn’t fathom the stupidity; the hubris of it. How could they not have known how it would end?

The attempt
had been almost amusing, in a way. Almost. And her response was as predictable and appropriate as a response to such an act of aggression could have been. She had followed them to Earth; she had ascertained that there was no mistaking their destination; she’d waited to see if their purpose was hostile – though, with the Pho’ain, it had been a foregone conclusion that it would be – and then she had prepared to respond with force. In any other place...at any other time, it would have been nothing more than a good deed set to the spectacle of a grand light show.

But somehow
...this was different. She knew her species. She knew them, ironically, better than she knew herself. She could see the chain reaction that her decision to assert control of the situation could provoke. What she’d neglected to mention to Myadir about Human stupidity had been the species-wide propensity for responding to the unknown with extreme, reflexive hostility. An explanation not forthcoming, she feared...they would turn on one another, as they had done so very many times before. But what was she to do? What could any one Human do, when confronted with her choice, while wielding her power?

She found herself recalling that most haunting quotation
...voiced by a man – a Human, like herself – who, knowing not what he risked, had been part of an unprecedented scientific instrumentation. Unprecedented, that is, in the context of the blue-green planet around which they currently maintained a cautious, geo-stationary orbit. And it troubled her...genuinely so...to consider how close her species had come to the brink, without even realising it. The series of experiments collectively known as the ‘Manhattan Project’ had...for a single, terrifying moment...brought the all-seeing eyes of the Elder Species squarely into focus over her former home. Never before had such a young species been so overweening. Never before had such a young species been – and been so obviously – a monstrosity in the making.