Apex (13 page)

 

Chapter 14

J
ALIA
AND
M
ARREN
used two other cargo walkers to pull the damaged one up and off the injured Dreklor. The creature had sustained a broken back in addition to the lachar damage to the face and small scorch marks across the rest of its body from the battle. All in all, it was badly damaged. Riax left for the
Resolute
's med bay and returned carrying a host of components that he'd stripped out of Jalia's equipment.

A little peeved at his not asking her permission first, she watched in awe as he cobbled together an impromptu healing array which he set up in a primitive corral of cargo crates reorganized in a ‘C' shape, stacked two high. The injured creatures were moved into the corral, where Riax set up the array to cover both the creatures, attaching bits and pieces to the crate walls where needed. The energy produced by the device was invisible, but the effects were well known. The healing rays encouraged and fed cellular growth, speeding up the recovery process of injuries.

That alone was insufficient for the Dreklors' injuries, so Riax stayed with the pair and made manual adjustments while the Cres brought him the information he requested, along with more food. The Human alternated between studying datapads and making physical contact with one of the creatures at a time to regenerate damaged or destroyed tissues.

Meanwhile, he dispatched Marren to the enemy frigate and Orrona to guarding the prisoners while Ella and Jalia remained to assist Riax. Feeling left out by the language barrier, Jalia made herself useful fetching supplies and whatnot, leaving Ella to feed him any additional information about current events. After several hours of work, both on the Dreklors and getting Riax up to speed galactically, Ella finally ventured a question.

“How are you healing them?” she asked carefully, not sure as to where his mood was at. He'd put up an impenetrable telepathic block shortly after realizing he was the last of his race, and since then not so much as a wisp of emotion had gotten past it. “How did you heal me?”

Riax deactivated a hologram of a jumpship and looked at her. “Different ways,” he answered, glancing around. He found and telekinetically pulled to him a small knife from the pile of mercenary belongings they'd taken off the prisoners and the dead. He held it up for emphasis, then sliced a shallow, three centimeter long cut into his right hand, chucking the knife back into the pile when he finished.

“Watch,” he said, closing his eyes. A moment later the small cut visibly sealed itself, then smoothed out as the tissue rapidly regenerated.

Ella shook her head in wonder. “I've never seen regeneration occur at that speed, not even with medical assistance.”

“It takes energy, focus, and available biological mass,” Riax explained. “Hence all the food,” he noted, grabbing another Ikala bar. He'd been eating off and on ever since the battle.

“But how do you manifest it in others?”

Riax looked at the Dreklors. “We have to have similar genetics to make alterations. The more different the race, the less we can heal. In the case of the Kayna, even altered as they are, I can access their physiology due to the presence of several remaining interface points we placed in their genetic structure long ago. If those were not still present, then there would be little I could do for them above and beyond what this healing array is accomplishing.”

“Why did you alter their genetic structure in the first place?”

Riax snorted, a half laugh. Or at least as close to it as possible given his current mood. “You really don't remember much about us, do you?” he asked rhetorically. “Our greatest technological strength is our ability to manipulate genetic codes. We made many beneficial upgrades to the Kayna and other races over the millennia, including the interface points that allow us to heal them directly.”

“Just heal, or can you do more than that?”

“More,” he said, gesturing to the pair beside him. “That's how I'm keeping them asleep without using a neural inhibitor or drugs.”

Ella's eyes widened. “Can you undo their alterations?”

“Not on my own,” he admitted. “That level of genetic alteration requires technology, or medical upgrades.”

Ella glanced down at the floor for a moment. “Did you alter
our
genetics?”

Riax nodded. “More so than any other race.”

That brought Ella's head up. “What! Why?”

“Part advancement, part reward, and by your reaction I'm assuming you're unaware of how far we went with the alterations?”

“We didn't know anyone had tampered with us,” she said respectfully, yet feeling a bit violated.

Riax frowned, shaking his head slowly. “It wasn't tampering. Yours was by choice.”

“I'm sorry,” she said apologetically. “I don't mean to sound rude, but everything I have been taught about Humans never suggested you would . . .”

“ . . . be cruel?”

“Intrusive,” she said diplomatically.

Riax raised an eyebrow. “You disapprove?”

She started to say something, but no words came out and her mouth was left hanging open.

A quick scan of her thoughts gave Riax all the answer he needed. “No, we're not like that.”

“Then . . .” she uttered, hesitating again.

“Prove it?” Riax finished. “Alright,” he said, leaving the holographic schematics alone and giving her his full attention. If he was really on his own he needed to have his allies intact, not harboring doubts. “We do make genetic alterations to some races without their permission, most of the time because they are incapable of offering it. Some would argue that we're upsetting the natural balance of the universe, wherein each race should develop on its own merits, as you were suggesting.”

“Natural balance and self-­determination are central to Cres philosophy,” Ella added, again almost apologetically.

“Close, but not entirely accurate,” Riax said seemingly arrogantly. “Remember, I knew the original Cres far better than you do, ironic as that sounds. Earning your place in the universe is key to Cres philosophy, but it's based on the presumption that nature is not kind, nor fair, and one must fight to survive and overcome it. Not embrace it.”

Ella considered that carefully for a moment. “Go on.”

“You need to understand that the Human race is older than the Cres, and we were present on the galactic scene when your ­people first attained space travel. In that way, you always fought to close the skill gap with us. You were never the dominant force, as you are now, and because you were essentially a midlevel race it allowed you an opportunity to observe both angles. Now, you see everything from the top down. Everyone else is inferior, and you want to, at least on a philosophical level, ensure fair play in their development, which you have interpreted as noninterference.”

“You seem to have us pegged quite well,” Ella admitted.

“We went through a similar stage in our development,” Riax offered, “and we learned from it. When one is dominant, it is easy to forget what it is like to struggle for advancement. The path to the top is not predetermined, though it often looks predictable and orderly when viewing others that are treading the same path that you once did. You wrongly assume that your path was inevitable, and you forget the dangers and unpredictability of life.

“Your ancestors didn't have that problem, given that we were always above them. They viewed the races beneath them, and in contrast they viewed us above them. From this perspective they became balanced, understanding what they had previously accomplished by comparing it to the struggles ahead . . . struggles that they may not overcome. With uncertainty present, one is less resistant to receiving help from others than when viewing the ultimate outcome as an automatic function of nature.”

“You're saying we've become insensitive?”

“No, you've lost your ability to affect changes on a widespread level. Your hatred of slavers and your efforts to free their captives suggest a psychological capability to ‘be intrusive' on an individual level, but when attempting to apply the same concept to an entire race you encounter a perspective blind spot that you haven't been able to see through yet. In response, you choose to do nothing in order to avoid causing harm. Your intent to render help is intact, and therefore not ‘insensitive.' You have simply lost your perspective and therefore your ability to act on a grandiose level.”

Ella's frown intensified throughout his monologue. “Can you give me an example from your history?”

“Sure,” Riax said reflexively, having been down this philosophical road many times before with other races. “We view nature as the enemy, the antithesis of civilization. Something that is to be fought rather than embraced. No being chooses when or where it comes into the galaxy, nor what race it is. When we encounter a race with a predetermined lifespan it annoys us, and we seek to genetically reengineer it out of that race. They may not live any longer after the alterations, but each individual lifeform at least has a chance to, and that is a chance we feel all lifeforms should have that nature doesn't give them.

“For example, we discovered the Fresnac waterfly had a developmental trinary cycle, the last of which saw its digestive system completely shut down, ensuring that it would starve to death in a matter of days. We altered its genetics so that during the third cycle its digestive systems remained active. This, on average, lengthened their life span from five weeks to seven weeks. The local ecosystem was affected as Fresnac swarms tripled in volume, so nature was ‘unbalanced' as some might say, but a new equilibrium was established, as always happens.

“In the end, what's another two weeks of life? The point is that their lives aren't ending because they have no chance to live, they're dying because attrition or environmental factors kill them. It's the difference between no chance at continued existence and one chance in a million. On principle, we believe every lifeform deserves at least a chance to live forever.”

“Forever?” Ella repeated, surprised. “I don't know of any race that does.”

“Really . . .” Riax said dryly.

Ella's eyes narrowed. “How old are you?”

Riax leaned forward, and whispered, “Not counting my time in the pod, a little over 12,000 years. How old are you?”

Ella blanched. “I'm 532 years old, but very few Cres ever make it past 1000.”

“1000 used to be the norm for Cres,” Riax informed her. “Living is not automatic, you have to maintain and update your body and mind as time goes on, otherwise attrition will slowly devour you. But if you're able to continually succeed in that endeavor, your lifespan becomes unlimited. So technically a ‘lifespan' isn't how long you have to live potentially, it is simply the average of the successes and failures of those that have come before.

“It's a basic principle that can be summarized in terms of healing rate versus attrition. Suppose your body takes 100 units of damage per day, nothing so large as a broken bone or pulled muscle, but microdamage.”

“Workout soreness?” Ella asked, thinking that she knew where he was going with this.

“That's an extreme case, but yes. You could also call it microdamage, and it occurs every second of every day. Whereas machines require maintenance and spare parts, biologicals heal on a continual basis. The myth of ‘old age' being tied to the calendar is wrong. Growing old is actually an accumulation of unhealed damage.

“If you take 100 units of damage,” he said, getting back to his metaphor, “and heal 99 per day, you have one linger. The next day another is added, and another, and another. This damage stacks up and creates the physical reality that ­people refer to as ‘old age,' but it has nothing to do with the calendar, in so much as the calendar doesn't cause it. But as time goes by, those that have lived longer have racked up similar amounts of damage so it appears that the number of years you've lived is the cause when it is really a coincidence.

“So, assume you heal 100 and damage 100. No attrition damage occurs, nothing stacks, all is a wash and you don't grow old. This is what is called ‘self-­sufficiency.' Same is true if you're capable of healing 101 while taking 100.”

Ella's eyes tightened slightly, following the logic. “You're saying that someone who is old can actually de-­age if their healing rate goes up?”

Riax smiled. “Exactly. This occurs in two ways. Lower your daily damage amount or increase your healing ability . . . or both, preferably, but your attrition damage rate is constantly in flux. One day you'll be over, another under. It's the big picture trend that you have to keep in mind.”

“Why aren't we and other races seeing some ­people live indefinitely then?”

“You have to train and make adjustments,” Riax explained. “If you don't know what you're doing the odds of you accidentally getting it right over and over again are statistically improbable.”

“What type of training?”

“Physical training increases your healing rate. Which is why if someone stops training to ‘rest' indefinitely their rate eventually lowers and they begin a downward spiral of attrition otherwise known as stagnation.”

“When we're young, do we start out self-­sufficient then lose it?”

“The maturation process has its own regenerative boost. Once you reach maturity and that is gone, if you haven't trained yourself into a neutral or positive rate you'll start to decay.”

“So the young are insulated until they can develop?”

“To a point, and it varies from race to race. Some are so biologically a mess they end up with a very negative rate that is truly hard to overcome.”

“But it's still possible?”

“Of course. So, tell me why we would even bother altering the Fresnac waterfly?”