Chapter Seventy-Five (Dreams)

Dreams sat in a contemplative position, staring at the image of a map of the various planetary lines in her mind. She could see the four sections of the Unified Civilized Council: The Core Worlds, The Inner Sphere, the Outer Rim, and the Peripherary which was next to the Great Gulf which humans called the Long Dark.

Tens of thousands of stars, thousands of settled worlds. Multiple species ranked Civilized, Near-Civilized, and Neo-sapients. Without a single exception, the Neo-Sapients were species that evolved on a plant after the Precursor War and there was almost two dozen of them. The Near-Civilized were a mixture. Only fourteen races, six of them evolved after the war, the others were former food. The last, of course, was the Civilized races. Six of them, all of them former food species.

Dreams let each race appear in her mind. Examining them. She thought, only briefly, only long enough to her implosion wire to tingle, how each one would taste. Afterwards, she rated them according to psychic sensitivity, using her race as one side and the Terrans on the other.

Even though the Lanaktallans had supposed recorded every moment of their history, a hundred million years was a long time and she had to figure out what exact keywords and search strings she wanted to use.

The frustration led her to calling in 117.

The smaller, lime green engineer came in, stopping at the door to adjust the track the door slid open on, moved in with finicky precision. Behind 117 was a human holding a board with a nail in it. 117 flashed a stream of icons and Dreams contemplated them for a moment.

He was still discontented that a being had entered his quarters and disturbed his Mosizlak in an attempt to kill 117.

Dreams soothed 117, reaching out with psychic powers as well as soothing words and icons and emojis. Once the small engineer had calmed down, Dreams had informed him on the information she wanted gleaned from the historical databanks of a civilization a hundred million years old.

She also called in Fights Against the Night, the russet colored one. When Fights arrived Dreams told the other Mantid what she needed from the database. Fights was horrified and intrigued by the idea and sat down, contemplating the idea.

Fights had arrived with two escorts. One in white air-mobile armor, the red crescent on one side of the chest, the red cross on the other, and the bright green interlocked green horns of the biohazard mark on the other.

Fights was a doctor. A very good one.

Fights told her escorts where she needed to go and the trio left so that Fights could gather the data.

Dreams considered that perhaps a mistake had been made.

A terrible mistake.

She checked on Mr. Rings, who was sleeping in his bole, and wiped away the eVR of her favorite thinking spot, putting up data. The six races of the Civilized Races. She moved around each of them, accepting the implosion wire's tingle as she jumped on the back of each of the hard light constructs and cracked open their skulls or delivered a death strike with one quick, sure movement of her blade arms.

Each one it was quick, easy. A leap, stun with a psychic attack, disable, then feed on the dying creature's emotions.

With one exception. She could do it, but it was clumsy, unsure.

Sitting back down she had 117 build a set of constructs. A Speaker and a Warrior. 117 programmed them and had them run through the simulations. Move in, paralyze with the psychic scream, attack, feast. It was all quick and simple.

With the same exception.

It wasn't the that the exception was particularly tough. A warrior's blade arms would slice clean through the entire body. It just was... clumsy.

Fights returned and loaded the data into the network, sitting with Dreams as 117 set to work. The nutripaste dispenser had largely sat unused, Dreams preferring to take her meals from the stores aboard the ship.

Finally, the nutripaste was ready.

Dreams tasted each one.

Three tasted delicious, one acceptable, one not too good, and one greasy and cloying.

The datasets that had been run according to 117's protocols were ready and Fights and Dreams examined it. The three delicious races had evolved on sandy, dusty worlds. Largely arid. The acceptable one had evolved on a rocky one. The meh one had evolved on a jungle world. The nasty one had evolved on a temperate world, a single protocontinent of vast rolling fields.

Fights and Dreams looked at one another, cleaning their antenna with anxiety.

The data-sets were looking off.

At Fights suggestion she ran the Near-Civilized races that had existed before the war in the datasets.

They had all evolved on temperate water-heavy worlds. Again they tasted weird to both Fights and Dreams, and harvesting them was clumsy in the recreations. Even the Speakers and Warriors looked strange. Killing them was simple but actually feeding off of them didn't look right to either of the two mantids.

Watching, 117 ran the programs in his mind, using CAD software to model it. 117 added another data-point without telling Dreams or Fights, just having it appear in the simulation without even an icon of warning.

They watched as 117's simulation ran. Separating out the species that tasted good from the ones that didn't, the ones that had evolved on a dusty arid planet or rocky one, keeping out the ones that feeding from them had a level of elegance. Then separating out the dominant species.

The implications of 117's clear cut logic disturbed Fights and Dreams both but for different reasons. To Fights it was obvious, from a medical and biological standpoint. For Dreams it was a horrible realization that explained so much of what was happening.

They called in Sees and Speaks, showing both the simulations and the data. Speaks watched carefully, nodding along. He could not deny what the evidence showed.

"There has to be a missing link," Speaks said, staring at the evidence. "There's no way they put up a fight tough enough that we built the Great War Machines to fight them. We breed faster than they do, have dedicated warrior classes that can rip them apart without effort, and they're susceptible to our psychic abilities. Maybe something you missed?"

There was silence for a long time as the five Mantid looked at the projections, simulation data, and information.

"There's no way they could have fought us to a standstill," Speaks said.

There was a grinding noise of amusement and all five Mantids turned to see Rack and Pinion shaking their heads. The two human warborgs ran their weapon's checks, their eyes going from blue to green to amber to red and back through.

The five Mantids put their heads together, talking quickly. 117's icons flashing almost too fast to read.

The added a Pure Strain human to their computations.

It could smash apart every single thing but the warriors and the speakers easily killed them, made it look graceful. The fights were longer, true, since humans fought on even after mortal wounds. Naked and unarmed humans were still killed easy by the Warriors and the Speakers.

Adding in a rock and crudely made fur clothing and it got harder.

The black Combine Armor and the beam rifles, and the Warriors were killed by the hundreds, by the thousands, just to kill a single human.

Add Imperium armor and weapons and even the Speakers could not prevail.

117 added in known weapons and ran it again. At Rack and Pinion's suggestions they gathered up entire groups of the outlier case and had them armed.

It was a deadlock. In large groups the outlier was able to withstand the psychic assault. With a simple duraplast helmet with a simple lining they were able to withstand the scream on a one to one basis.

Automatic weaponry leveled the playing field. Security armor, then combat armor designed by 117 just scanning older databases, and the fight was hard.

The five Mantids looked at one another, then at the simulation.

The race in question preferred worlds much like the Mantid. Oxygen, orange or low energy yellow sun. Stable geology with a single protocontinent. Where the outlier preferred rolling plains the Mantid preferred dusty sand.

"This cannot be right," Dreams said softly, staring at the outlier, armed and armored, next to a nude version.

"Yet, as 117 would say, data does not lie," Speaks replied.

"Perhaps a missing link? Much like we are missing our Speakers and Warriors in this simulation?" Dreams tried again.

117 threw data up onto the screens.

The neural lash, preferred by the outlier to control the near-terminally unruly. Just cracking it would send shockwaves across the psychic wavelength. 117 put up weapons that he had found in ancient databases so old that it had taken nearly two hours for the datanet to provide him with the files.

"Their weaponry would hurt across the psychic wavelength," Fights told everyone else, pointing at the discharge corona arc's sine-wave. "Breaching Warrior and Speaker psychic shielding."

"They're just... just... herd animals," Dreams tried.

Fights shook her head. "Herbivores are dangerous. Ask the humans. Humans are still badly injured by herbivores all the time. Herbivores are large, meaty, with thick hide or plates, often horned and sometimes even clawed. They can crush with their weight, bite with strong jaws used to ripping plants from soil, and many other ways of defending themselves."

The russet Mantid leaned back slightly. "Do not confuse herbivore with weak. Moving about chewing the landscape gives them time to contemplate, discuss, and consider. If we look at our outlier, they are very well adapted for self-defense. They had a predator at one time, probably a pack animal. Look at how the outlier's eyes are designed."

117 flashed a quick set of icons and the other four Mantids nodded.

"117 is right. Evolution only keeps what is useful and increases the chances of survival. Those eyes, that body configuration, requires a lot of nutrients to keep running and to create. Herd mentality and an abundance of food was necessary for that to evolve without removing any extraneous body parts," Fights stated. "There was a reason for every biological development in the outlier species."

"Even with 117's help I have been unable to identify their system and planet of origin. Their records are no help, they all rose up from roughly two dozen systems," Dreams stated.

"Operation Dandelion Seed," Speaks said, referring to the human disaster plan that had been activated when Terra had been glassed. Dozens, maybe even as many as hundreds, of colony ships had scattered from human space. Ships of all kinds. Rumor said there were massive slow-ships still moving through space heading toward the targeted systems, ships completely dead and silent except for a shielded computer core and a single zero-point reactor to keep the core alive, watching silently through the eons as the ship moved through the darkness, waiting to awaken the crew and colonists.

That made all five Mantids nod.

"We have always assumed that we moved through the enemy's space, what was to prevent him from moving through ours?" Speaks asked. "What is to prevent our assumption from being faulty?"

That got another round of nods.

"So we have fourteen races that survived the Precursor War," Dreams mused, slowly sharpening her bladearms.

117 flashed an icon and Dreams nodded.

"I stand corrected. Fifteen, counting our race. Our records are largely destroyed between time, our flight from our original systems, our own internecine warfare, and the 1% Line," Dreams stated.

"Yet the records are clear, our Enemy during the Precursor War was destroyed," Speaks countered.

"No, they are not clear," Fights said, cleaning her antenna. "It is an assumption based on exactly zero evidence beyond our own survival and the face that no Precursor Machines came after us."

"And that is not evidence," Sees stated softly. "I cannot see what you do, but I see where our inquiry is leading us."

They all turned to the blind seer, waiting.

"War. War in the manner of, not of our race, but war in the manner of wrathful humans. Burning stars, burning worlds, burning beings, all afire as wounded but not mortally wounded Terra smashes out in rage and hatred with a fierce violence, leaving horrified survivors to stare, shocked, at the ashen wreckage of the empire they had once ruled over," Sees said, wringing her hands. "The galaxy, the universe, will never be the same."

"And if I was to delete our simulations and our data at this second?" Dreams asked softly.

The seer held still for a long moment, as if she was a statue carved of ivory.

She sat on her boat made of a fragile leaf, a dragonfly's wing as a paddle. Her vestigial wings hummed as she paddled, following the swirls, sliding with the current and paddling into the pool where the current slowed and eddied. She looked around, shading her eyes with her paddle.

Silence. All around her was eerie silence. The banks were covered by wreckage, ruin. Ash covered ruins, bodies still and dead beneath a thick ashfall. There were no suns on the sky, no stars to decorate the inky void. A crushed and wrecked Precursor Great War Machine was covered in thick black ash. There was no wind to stir the dust and ruin.

Nothing. Nothing lived. Nothing moved. Even the stars were gone.

Then the rubble began to shift, began to move. The shoreline bulged and a jet black warborg, its eyes bright red, lifted from the rubble, raising its fists to an empty sky and roaring in rage. Blood and screaming bodies poured from its bellowing jaws. Its fists were covered in the remains of shattered worlds, history denied and destroyed pouring from the ruptured worlds.

At its feet were dead, small, twisted, bloody. Children, broken eggs, podlings, littlelittles, immature beings of all types, twisted and dead.

Their presence had driven the Terran mad. It smashed about it, picking up the Precursor Great War Machine and ripping it in half, throwing one half away and putting the other half in its bloody jaws where it crushed it between jagged warsteel teeth. The Warborg picked up a red star, grabbed it with both hands, and tore it in half, blood and screaming being falling from the sundered star.

Sees paddled away, fighting against the current, until she reached the calm water of the Now, where she slumped, putting her paddle across her forward legs.

The others watched Sees jerk and twist, twice wracked by convulsions. Then she went still, shuddering, her vestigial wings rubbing together softly. Finally the blind seer lifted her head, her antenna raising.

"Deleting the data will do no good. The humans will discover circumstances, events, and procedures they cannot abide and will react with such violence that the stars will hide their light. The data, as terrible as it may be, is the only way to hold back human rage and hatred. We cannot hide this data, the fate of trillions are held within it," Sees stated.

They all leaned back, considering the information. Mr. Rings woke up, climbing around on the new ceramic tree that Dreams had purchased him, enjoying the new feel of the larger nest. Speaks watched him move, mesmerized by the fluid way he moved.

"How bad is it?" Dreams asked softly. "Are we looking at what the Combine did? What the Imperium did?"

Sees shook her head. "This will be a measurement all of its own that other events will be weighed against long after Terrans have been forgotten by the turning of the galactic wheel."

Speaks shook his head. "So we've outsmarted ourselves. This data means we have a definite conflict of interest in acting as the political envoys. We all know how the Terrans are when it comes to diplomacy."

"Pardon me, I appear to have, through no fault of my own, spontaneously ignited. Do you happen to have the time? Oh, and it appears that your food dispenser has ceased working due to issues completely unrelated to any action on my part," Dreams said, finished by running a bladearm through her mandibles.

That got amused responses, including 117 showing a short cartoon of a human warborg completely wreathed in flame with a bunch of little green Mantid engineers chasing it with fire extinguishers.

"Well, we better send this for TerraSol to look over," Dreams said sadly.

The others nodded.

Mr. Rings stared at the Lanaktallan dressed in black armor, holding a neural whip in one hand and a neural stunner in the other and wondered if his beak was strong enough to crack open the helmet.

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MANTID FREE WORLDS

No. No way. No way that's true.

-----NOTHING FOLLOWS-----

TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

What, that you got your antenna torn off by a bunch of herd dwelling herbivores?

-------NOTHING FOLLOWS------

RIGEL COMPACT

You're acting like you never got your legs torn off by the humans.

-----NOTHING FOLLOWS----

SIGNUS SAURIAN GESTALT

Who cares? It's a hundred million years ago. Most of us weren't even recognizable.

----NOTHING FOLLOWS-----

MANTID FREE WORLDS

It's not what they are, its that they are still around.

-----NOTHING FOLLOWS------

DIGITAL ARTIFICIAL SENTIENCE SYSTEMS

Just picture Project Dandelion Seed and apply it to a bunch of cows. Same idea. Picture the herd all scattering, thundering away. Where was the best direction to go? Into YOUR territory since your Great War Machines were chasing you.

-----NOTHING FOLLOWS------

TERRAN CONFEDERACY

Welp, guess we're gonna end up finishing this war.

We'll start by staging in the systems within a few hundred light years of the Deep Darkness and go from there.

This war is going to be long. There's factory worlds we're going to have to find and destroy.

Welp, lotsa killing to do!

Terran Confederacy whistles as it walks off, twirling a pistol

>TERRAN CONFEDERACY HAS LOGGED OFF

----NOTHING FOLLOWS------

TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

I wonder if its too late to pretend to be a pacifist?

-------NOTHING FOLLOWS-------