Chapter 145: (Dreams) (2/2)
When the big gold insectoid left Popie-dee breathed a sigh of relief. The little green one had made her nervous at first taking everything apart but she could hear her dishwasher running and see the steam leaking out from the seal.
It had not worked since Popi-dee had moved into the apartment over fifteen years prior.
Her son was still sitting on the floor, playing with the little toys he had. She had purchased them, one at a time, from the used goods store, and none of them had ever worked as long as he son had owned them. Now they were all bouncing, rolling, squeaking, chirping.
Popi-dee smiled at her son. He was a calm and well behaved little boy, much like his father, and made it feel good inside that her son was so happy with the toys that the little green mantid had fixed.
It never crossed her mind how strange it was that what 117 had done was akin to magic to her.
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Dreams sat down in her favorite spot inside the eVR hard-light sim of her grove, slowly sharpening her bladearms as she struggled to control her anger.
She knew she should not judge. A diplomat needed to hold all cultures and societies and systems of government equally in order to dispassionately perform the duties of their office. She knew that she had no right to feel the way she did, but she still did.
Dreams had been a negotiator all her life. Even in the creche, even in school, she had attempted to always negotiate for a better position, better standing, better everything. She had used cooperation to get what she had wanted.
All she could think about was the younger Vuknaraans she had seen. They had no idea that they were living in the shadowed abandoned ruins of their own culture. No idea that there was more out there, that they could be more than they were.
And because they didn't know that things could be better, they didn't strive to be better.
For Dreams everyone was born into their castes. Coloration and size mattered. It was much the same way for the Treana'ad and the Rigellian saurians. It was just part of how life was, embedded in their genetic code due to millions of years of selective breeding. For some races it was obvious in the egg or even in the womb what caste they were going to be. Dreams had known she was going to be a negotiator since she knew what her coloration meant.
But a caste-species recognized another caste-species.
And the Vuknaraan were not a caste-species.
At the same time Dreams had spent the majority of her adult life around Terrans, who caste and birth-station were only slightly related. Yes, the son of a rich shipping magnate was born with advantages over the son of a primitivism world coal miner, but both could change their life station through hard work or just a split second decision.
During her life Dreams had seen highly decorated admirals retire to farms to raise cattle, politicians with go-gang tattoos, wealthy software designers who left to become vagabonds, and starship pilots who ended up writing books.
The majority of the civilized species in the known galaxy recognized a hand full of Great Filters that a race had to overcome in order to endure
The humans believed in nearly twenty other ones.
What was happening to the Vuknaraan was an outside force ensuring they did not survive one of the Terran specified Great Filters.
Genetic alteration.
Opening the report with her datalink and only looking at it on her optic nerve display with her diplomat security in place, she went over what Fights had to say again.
Not only was their current genome altered, but their base germination genome from ancient days altered if someone knew how to look for it, which Fights was trained to look for.
The Vuknaraan had been altered from the beginning. There was left-over code that highlighted and made it easy to spot certain things that a race might want to alter.
Dreams queried her implant, using her diplomatic codes, again searching the available databases.
The fossil record was thin, apparently eight million years ago the planet had suffered a massive life extinction event and the current creatures and plant life were the survivors of that event. It was assumed to have been what wiped out the fossil records, since it had also caused massive geological upheaval except for one area of one continent, which is where the most depth to the fossil record existed as well as where the modern Vuknaraan had spread from.
It made Dreams suspicious as hell.
Her door chimed and she just opened it, not really caring if it was an assassin.
To be honest, she wouldn't mind the fight.
Speaks came in and for a moment Dreams was annoyed. It was like the male knew when Dreams was swallowing a bitter pill so he came in to urinate on her feet.
”You're up late,” Speaks said, sitting on the bank of the stream and reaching out with his front legs to dip them in the water.
”I am attempting to formulate suggestions to the Terran Confederacy regarding our efforts within Council Space,” Dreams said primly.
”Attentive as always to your duties,” Speaks said, flashing wry amusement icons.
”Yes,” Dreams answered.
There was silence for a moment, broken only by Mr. Rings hammering the shell of a Pacific Northwest Wooly Snail against something to crack it open.
”Ask me what I've been doing,” Speaks said, flashing the icons for smugness.
Dreams sighed. ”What have you been doing, Speaks?”
The other mantid was silent for a moment then reached into his satchel and tossed Dreams an ornate tourist token. Dreams glanced at it, then looked again, slowly turning it over and examining it.
”You went to their historical museam?” Dreams asked. She flashed icons for suspicion. ”Why?”
Speaks hummed in pleasure. ”Partly because I knew it would annoy you. Partly because I had some suspicions that I wished to attempt to confirm. That's just part of it. Here,” Speaks reached back into his satchel and pulled out another object, tossing it to Dreams who examined it closely.
It was a piece of armaglass, sharpened and engraved, with a hilt made of wood attached with crude screws to the armaglass and then wrapped with leather. Primitive work with high-tech.
She looked up and frowned. ”You went and met with the primitives.”
Speaks nodded. ”Yes, I did. Best of all, I got a genome sample from a few of them, citing my religion, and turned it over to Fights a few hours ago.”
Dreams looked back at the crudely made knife. ”And what did she say?”
Speaks smiled slowly. ”She had to call in 117 to look at it with her. Then she ran a few other tests.”
”And?”
”They've been modified. Are still being modified, right now, as we speak. Fights and 117 believe that they'll be fully primitive within 3 generations and slowly devolve from there. It's already set into the recessive genes, all it needs is a few nudges and they'll barely be sentient within a century,” Speaks said slowly. ”It's pretty obvious it's from outside too. Nobody would do this kind of engineering to their own race.”
Dreams sighed. ”The Lanaktallan and their hundred million year empire.”
Speaks nodded again. ”It's the obvious culprit.”
Dreams tapped the tips of her bladearms on the hard light ”rock” she was sitting in front of. ”You realize that the idea of the Lanaktallan doing such a thing in some kind of intricate plot to ensure they remain at the top seems almost too good.”
Speaks nodded. ”Now take into account that the Lanaktallan are being genetically altered.”
Dreams frowned. ”By who? By themselves?”
Speaks signalled that he didn't know with a quick flash of icons. ”Time for some words you might fear,” he said.
Dreams sighed. ”Say them.”
”There is another player. We may have made a faulty assumption that the Lanaktallan are the ancient enemy and not the tools of the ancient enemy.”