“It’s a long story,” said the alien who’d called herself Lhyn Rivers. “Captain Serrado has asked me to tell it to save time. I’m just trying to figure out where to start.”
Tal’s theory of pronounced sexual dimorphism had been disproven the moment Lhyn had unfolded her lanky body from the stretcher and stood, towering over not just Tal and Captain Serrado, but also Micah. Her long, loose hair was a blend of dark brown and silver, but it was her large green eyes that made the strongest impact, and the way she held a steady gaze.
Tal liked her on sight, especially the fact that her presented emotions so closely matched her real ones. She had opened up her empathic senses again, wanting to monitor this conversation with every tool at her disposal, and found that Lhyn’s emotions differed significantly from Captain Serrado’s. For someone who had just survived a life-threatening crash, Lhyn seemed remarkably cheerful. There were undertones of sorrow, mostly directed toward the woman next to her, but the overriding emotions were of relief and enthusiasm, which Tal found baffling. Not much baffled her when it came to empathic interpretation, which made Lhyn a curious puzzle.
“I would suggest starting at the beginning,” she said. “It’s a twenty-tick flight to Blacksun, and we can’t leave until your Lieutenant Candini and all of my Guards return.”
“And we want to know everything,” Micah added. “Starting with how you speak our language so well.”
“Because I’ve been studying you through your media broadcasts for more than seven of your moons, and I’m very good with languages. But that’s not the beginning, Colonel. For that I have to go back in time about one hundred and forty thousand of your cycles.”
“That might be an earlier beginning than we need,” Tal said.
“Bear with me. That’s when modern Alseans first appeared in your fossil records, isn’t it?” Lhyn asked.
“I’d have to ask a specialist, but it sounds correct. Why?”
“Are there any fossils predating those modern Alseans? Earlier forms that show a clear line of evolution resulting in your species?”
“Of course not,” Micah said. “Fahla created us to act as guardians of her world.”
Lhyn nodded. “You share that belief with many planets. Every race but one that we have found on Gaian worlds—by which I mean, worlds inhabited by a race with most of the same genetic markers we share—appeared at about the same time. But none of us were natives. None of us evolved on those worlds. We were planted there.”
Tal was reeling from the casual way she’d said “many planets” and almost missed Micah’s question.
“Then Fahla created other races to guard other worlds as well?”
Lhyn smiled. “Well done, Colonel. You’ve taken us right into the biggest philosophical schism in the galaxy. The only thing that all of us agree on is that a very long time ago, just as the original humanoids had evolved into their modern form, an ancient spacefaring race picked up a significant percentage of the global population and scattered it across the galaxy, seeding many different worlds. What all of those worlds have in common is a sudden appearance of modern humanoids in the fossil record. Only one planet in the galaxy has a fossil record with examples of earlier humanoid forms. It’s called Gaia, and that’s where Captain Serrado is from.”
The captain looked sharply at Lhyn, who quickly explained something in her own language. Captain Serrado nodded, visibly relaxing, and Lhyn continued her story.
“As more and more of these seeded populations made the leap into space, and then out of their own gravity wells and into interstellar travel, we began finding each other. But we never found any signs of that ancient spacefaring race, nor any indication as to why they spread our species all over the galaxy. Gradually, two major theories coalesced to describe our…benefactors.”
Tal waited, curious to learn the reason for the disdain lying on the surface of Lhyn’s emotions.
“One theory is that this ancient race was a benevolent one, guiding our evolution and making sure we had time to develop into another generation of spacefarers. After all, if the original Gaians failed to develop FTL—er, faster-than-light travel, they would eventually die along with their planet when their star burned through its hydrogen and began expanding.”
When she paused, Tal said, “We understand the physics. Every star system has a finite lifespan.”
“Right, I thought you would.” Lhyn took a sip of her water. “People who subscribe to this theory call that ancient race the Seeders, because they seeded other worlds with our species. They worship them as gods, and believe that the Seeders are still around, watching over us. Their ideology ranges from those who believe the Seeders merely set the mechanisms of life in motion and then adopted a non-interference policy, to those who believe the Seeders watch out for them—sometimes on an individual basis—and actively intervene in daily life.”
“You don’t subscribe to this theory,” Tal said.
“No, I don’t. Captain Serrado and I are both in the second group, which calls them the Shippers—because they shipped the original Gaians all over the galaxy and experimented with their development without a thought for their rights. And we certainly don’t believe that any Shippers care about us now.”
“I’m guessing these two groups don’t get along well in philosophical discussions,” Micah said.
Lhyn’s surprise sparkled on Tal’s senses. She hadn’t expected Micah to have a sense of humor. “We can if we’re friends. Unfortunately, the ramifications go deeper than just discussion. They play out in galactic politics, too.”
Tal leaned forward, her attention sharpened. “And now we’re getting to why you fought that second ship.”
“Yes. My world, and Captain Serrado’s, and many others are all part of a confederation called the Protectorate. It encompasses a large part of this quadrant, but not all of it. Many worlds choose to be unaligned, though frankly I think that’s a dangerous way to live, because it puts them at risk from Expansionists. That’s a general term for any race ascribing to a fundamentalist interpretation of the Seeders’ intent.”
Tal thought she could see where this was going. “They believe the Seeders intended for them to take over other worlds.”
Lhyn nodded. “Specifically, they believe that their own technological advancement is a sign of favor from the Seeders, and gives them the right to expand, to seed themselves, as victors in the development race. Terraforming an uninhabitable planet takes two to three generations and a huge amount of expensive technology. Seizing a habitable planet, and exterminating or enslaving the local, less advanced population, is easier, faster, and cheaper.”
“Mother of us all,” said Micah. “We were being invaded.”
Tal sat back in her chair, rocked to the core. “You saved us?”
Lhyn’s enthusiasm dimmed, allowing a residual fear and guilt to come to the surface. “I’m the reason you were endangered in the first place. My research group was supposed to be operating in strict secrecy. None of my staff knew where we were going other than myself and the captain of our research ship, and once we arrived here, there were no communications in or out for the duration of our study. But we were betrayed. One of my own team members sold the coordinates of Alsea to the worst of the Expansionists. We only found out because I have a communications genius on my staff, and he detected the transmission. At that point, all I could do was ask for help.”
She paused, her guilt stronger now. “I didn’t save you, Lancer Tal. Captain Serrado did.”