Later cultures and civilizations, finding our ruins, wreckage, and waste, will wonder why we did what we did.
The lucky ones will chalk it up to idiosyncrasies.
The unlucky ones will find out when Shades erupt and turn their planet into a graveyard. - Doctor Shelmit, PhD, Director of Science for the Lamderl Ecognosis Biocracy
Pushing his comlink into his pocket, his fingers bumping against the thing, Dunahd waited for the screen on the public vid-phone to warm up. The little white dot appeared first, then flickered and vanished. The screen went from blank 'dead feeling' to feeling as if there was warmth. Then the image of "PUBLIC VIEWPHONE" appeared in standard runes. It took less than a second for it to expand, but Dunahd appreciated it anyway. The silver border to the image always come up first and the red letters second.
Dunahd waited until the keypad appeared and punched in the comm number to his girlfriend's comlink.
It rang twice before her voice showed up and the screen said "NO VIDEO" in crimson letters edged with silver.
"Um, yeah? Hi. Hi, Dunny. What's going on?" she asked. She sounded breathless.
"I figured I'd call you and see if you wanted to go to the park or to lunch. I'm off work early," he said.
An older Lamderl went by, looking at him curiously, but didn't say anything.
"Oh, I'm uh..." she paused for a second and Dunahd heard the rustle of cloth. "I'm jogging down by the canals."
"Really? Oh, well I'll wait in the cafeteria for you to come back and we can have a cold Slushie," Dunahd said, keeping his voice happy.
The waitress put his red slushie on the table and he gave her the two fingers up. She smiled at the motion and waved her three fingered hand with her thumbs out in return. Dunahd noticed how pretty she was. Soft hair on top of her head and on top of her shoulders, long limbs with prominent joints. three long thick fingers and two long thin thumbs. Her two eyes were a sparkling amber set in a crimson sclera and pupil. Her nose was long and elegant and her wide mouth full of strong root grinding teeth.
For a moment Dunahd wished he was talking to the waitress.
"Dunahd?" Stevmee asked.
"I'm still here," he said, pulling his attention back to the vid-phone.
The screen was still blank.
"When are you going to get to the cafe?" she asked.
He knew she was knew that he planned on going to the very cafe he was now at.
"About a half hour. I'm still on the monorail," he lied.
"OK. I'll see you then," she said.
He disconnected the call then cursed himself. She'd know something was up.
But then, maybe she would be too preoccupied to catch it.
He sat down, tasting his slurpie. It was good, livestock blood, insect honey, and sharp flavoring. The waitress came over and he paid for it. As she walked away, he admired the drink itself.
While his people were largely herbivores, they were opportunistic carnivores before agriculture was developed and they had still kept small animals to domesticate them for food. That meant his tastebuds still enjoyed the taste of blood when mixed with other flavors.
His people were largely peaceful too.
Which made the way he felt feel strange and unnatural.
A squad of socio-police came through, following a drone that hovered on three fans. They kept moving up to table and hovering for a moment, then moving on.
Dunahd bit back a curse, then let his mind go blank. He used his comlink to open a game featuring some erotic content. Normally he disliked those games, but he had been worried about what was going on happening right when it was happening.
He watched the half-clad Lamderl girls that ran around making happy squeaking noises on his phone and getting into silly and sexy antics. They weren't arousing to him.
He'd lost the joy in such things.
He started reciting, mentally, the steps to opening an account on one of the web-sites he moderated. He felt his heartrate start to slow.
The drone darted over to him, hovering around. It darted behind him and he saw his comlink's video stutter for a slight bit. The game flickered a few times, then steadied.
The socio-police moved up, hovered for a moment around him. One saw the game and cursed, slapping the drone.
The socio-police moved away and he kept his eyes on the comlink, allowing himself only a slight bit of relief that he knew everyone was feeling at the sight of the socio-policeman's backs. He kept the videogame running even though he wasn't watching it.
After a few sips he saw the door open.
A male Lamderl hustled out the door, pausing to kiss the female that then closed the door.
A Lamdrel sat down next to him with a green slushie, which Dunahd knew had a slight bity of alcohol in it.
"A man who stares a door that hard is either about to propose to a woman or murder someone," the male said.
Dunahd looked at him.
"Which is it?" the male asked.
Before Dunahd could do anything else the other male reached over and thrust his hand into Dunahd's pocket. He pulled out the knife and twirled it once before he made it vanish.
The other one grabbed Dunahd's arm. "You try to do this, the police will kill you if the drones don't. You'll throw your life away without it meaning anything."
"My life has no meaning without her anyway," Dunahd snapped.
The man shook his head. "Not so. If you throw your life away helping me, your life will have meaning."
"Give me back my knife."
The man shook his head again. "Throw your life away helping me."
The door opened and she exited, wearing a running outfit.
Dunahd started to stand up and found himself pinned to the seat by the other man's hand.
"A woman and a killing," he said. He shook his head. "Don't do it. Throw your life away for me and I will lift you up high enough that she will lament what she has done."
"She laid with another while promising herself to me," Dunahd said, trying to stand up again only to find himself still pinned to the chair.
"As is a woman's way," the male said. He let go. "Fine. Chase her down. Murder her in an alley. Get in a standoff with the socio-police and either die or get taken alive to then be stabbed to death in the Chamber of Justice to slay you as you slayed her."
Dunahd turned and stared at the other man.
"She will be a martyr. They'll probably even pass a legal mutation to restrict knife possession again," the man said. He carefully put the knife back in Dunahd's pocket. "Or, you can file a mutation that you work for me now."
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Dunahd blinked. "What?"
"File a mutation that you now work for me and have left your other employments," the stranger said. He smiled exposing teeth that were inlaid with circuitry that glowed softly. "Work for me and you may throw your life away but you shall be remembered," he nodded at where she
was jogging back toward the door. "While she is forgotten as if she never existed when she dies and her MyLife site is deleted in a server crash. She will have next to no chance of ever contributing a Trial or Mutation to rival the slightest you will endure or discover in my service."Dunahd stared. Part of him wanted to go over there. To kill her. To stab her in the heart the way her infidelity had stabbed his.
He turned and looked at the stranger. "Fine."
The stranger nodded, standing up. "Follow me."
Dunahd stood up and followed the stranger. They passed by her, who looked up and smiled.
"Oh, Dunahd, I just finished a..."
"Quick jog to hide your relationship mutator of sexual infidelity," the stranger said. He didn't even look at her, just dropped back to put himself between Dunahd and her. "Begone, harlot-maxxed. Take your oath breaking and your under-developed mutations with you."
Her mouth opened in shock.
"File your mutation for a trial of these nuts," Dunahd threw over his shoulder.
"You will throw your life away in my service," the stranger said. "Ultimately, for our people."
0-0-0-0-0
Dunahd closed his eyes and pulled to break free of the consensus. The trial on the decision to settle one of the planets around a nearby star was almost done and it looked like the decision would be to settle. The bioweb connected everyone in the Lamderl Ecognosis Biocracy, connecting them to make decisions that would guide the populace by aggregating their opinions on subjects put forward by the government or by society itself.
The Colony 3781 Trial was more or less decided before it had untaken a serious thought trial. The Trial had passed thought challenges and trials quickly, after all, the Biocracy had colonized nearly a dozen worlds in the last two hundred years.
Not bad for a species that had developed powered flight only two thousand years before.
The Biocracy didn't use the rather unintelligent metric of "when a species evolved into its present form" due to the fact that the Biocracy knew very well that evolution was the only path forward. Science, politics, the environment, even the Lamderl people had to evolve, mutate, and change to survive and move forward.
No, the metrics were such as "developed powered flight" or "entered ghost-space for the first time and had a successful FTL jump." For example, saying "The Lamderl people managed to build its first lunar colony only 150,000 years after they evolved" said nothing. Saying "The Lamderl people built their first lunar colony that could sustain itself via vertical hydroponics only eighty-five thousand years after developing soil enriching for basic agriculture." said plenty about the amount of time it took to mutate technology from one form to another.
Dunahd sat up slowly in his seat. While he felt as heavy as normal, he was still adapting to the thrust induced gravity of the ship. Across from his acceleration couch stood the stranger, one High Mutator Bernak.
"The Colony Trial is foolish," Bernak said, without turning from the screen.
"Why?" Dunahd asked. He had learned in his last eight months of training that a question unasked or an observation unspoken could be lethal.
"They are undergoing the final Trial, which will have Trial Colonies on already settled areas close to the colony site's environment and geography and terrain, but they cannot simulate what we are going to be looking for," the High Mutator stated. He held up one hand. "What mutations could cause the colony to fail?"
Dunahd thought for a moment. "Builder ruins, like the ones we are going to examine, could activate and eliminate or take prisoner the colonists," he thought a big more. "A Robotic Autonomous War Machine may activate. The ecological biofield could collapse. The examination of the atmospheric protection belts could have been errored. A parasite or other biological threat vector in the atmosphere undetected by the probes. The amount of mutations in planet and it's realities compared to the probe and survey is possibly limitless."
"Exactly," High Mutator Bernak stated. "A trial should be done on the planet itself in addition to the trials in select areas, which may not actually accurately reflect the environment and the dangers."
Thinking carefully about the topic, Dunahd looked around the main chamber of the spaceship the High Mutator had chosen for his mission. The sleeping pods were on opposite sides from one another. The controls were at the front of the room, with gap between the four stations and the viewscreen. A gap that the High Mutator stood in. At the back was the door that led to the hallway that had storage areas on both sides and led to the engine room. All of the lights were yellow sodium lights. Everything was red with silver or chrome. The walls and interior spaces were made with iron to protect the biomechanical sections of the ship, like the Ghost Drive, the communication nodes, even the computational array. The red and everything else was designed to protect the living tissue of the ship as well as its occupants.
The ship was able to enter Ghostspace with only minimal danger.
The ship was nothing like Dunahd had grown up seeing in media.
Bernak turned and looked Dunahd in the eye.
"Four may days until we exit Ghostspace," the High Mutator said, turning away from Dunahd and starting at the swirling and sparkling gray vapors of Ghostspace. "Attend to your studies, Mutator in Mutation."
"As you command," Dunahd said.
0-0-0-0-0
"The Mareleft System," High Mutator Bernak stated. "Named after the first survey Captain's daughter, who rose to become a Senior Ungraded Banking Mutation Specialist."
Dunahd nodded. He was used to the High Mutator now, after the months in transit. Every detail, no matter how small, could effect the evolutionary trials or alter the mutation. He had grown in his studies, knowledge, and ability to process data until he too was able to wrest even the smallest detail from where it might be hidden.
"The Colony Trials were a success. Consensus has been reached," Dunahd said.
"More fool them," the High Mutator said. He shook his head. "It is romantic, exciting! Just like the Tri-vee! Just like class."
The High Mutator stared at the starfield being shown on the viewscreen.
"The classes don't project the screaming of the colonists of a failed colony. The Tri-Vee shows, at the most, heroic survivors overcoming the dangers that caused the colony collapse and then living in harmony with the planet," he shook his head. "It never shows the mutations that were forced upon them to survive. How the ecology, environment, the terrain, even their own bodies, all had to undergo mutation and evolution rapidly and without proper trials," the High Mutator sneered.
"And they never show the Builders," he finished.
Dunahd just nodded. He was startled by just how much and how little data there was on the Builders.
The description was fitting. Only one thumb, but the smaller finger apparently gave them a better balanced grip than Dunahd would have expected. The hair distribution was stranger, but it made sense.
Undoubtably their environment had shaped their mutations into the optimal surviving form. It was without a doubt that the Builders Trials had pushed them toward rapid violence mutations.
It made perfect sense to Dunahd.
His profile on the Builders, built over the last six months, had been altered and mutated by the High Mutator giving him access to new datafiles or videos or even just testimony.
He had it now.
They were aggressive to counter threats. Their violence and aggression a mutated defensive response. Their explosive response was a mutated fleeing response transferred over to aggression. Their skeletal protections of their organs in response to threats also meant they could outlast others in battle, the mutations making firm muscle cushion blows that would have ruptured internal organs.
Quite ingenious to Dunahd.
They had moved to tools as their skeletal structure had mutated properly to give them the ability to throw objects a far distance. Dunahd had to admit, for such a oddly structured joint, the upper limb joint provided a terrific range of motion with strength.
The High Mutator had impressed upon Dunahd the requirement of understanding The Builders.
For some reason, they had left behind many worlds filled with relics.
Dunahd had a theory. It was a strange one, and he wondered if it would pass consensus.
He believed contrary to the ongoing theory that they had all committed suicide, with the last ones fighting to kill the others side, had been driven by a religion or ethos mutation. His belief was an outside force discovered a bad mutation within the Builders and used it to exterminate them almost instantly.
He had looked over the ancient records. There were four mutations, hurried and not well done for two of them, that had almost ended the Lamderl race. A badly folded protein mutation that had killed billions and left the planet awash in disease and destruction was one. It prevented sugar uptake and killed those billions within hours. Those unaffected had been driven crazy by the bioweb being filled with the dying and the desperate and they had waged bloody war for nearly a decade.
Dunahd believed that a bad mutation had felled the Builders.
The ship's viewscreen zoomed in on the ship's current destination.
A large nautilus shell, with massive rigid sacks of fluid on either side. The fan-like wings were off to the side, collecting up the solar energy even two hundred fifty light hours from the star, well into the second Kuiper Belt. The tiny meso-planet it was orbiting glimmered a rosy tease, rays from the star making the ice covered rock sparkle.
"Space Station Neemos is responding to hails," the Communicator said, his eyes closed and the blood cooling reservoirs on the back of his head pulsing as he used the augmented synapses in his brain to reach out to the device grown into his control panel, which then used thick superconductor nerve cables to communicate with the primary communications tissue bank.
"Excellent. We will refuel, examine the logs, then make our decision on whether or not this evolutionary trial should be mutated or not," the High Mutator said.
"Sending log download request."
"Neemos is taking control. Augmented Decision Array is functioning within standards."
Dunahd watched eagerly. He had never seen a ship refuel. The way the fuel tentacles twisted to make the most of their stored energy. The way the tip opened up into five triangular wedges covered with high intensity suckers to allow the refueling artery to connect to the ship. The way it pulsed.
It was all fascinating.
"Any new mutations?" the High Mutator asked the Biological Maintenance Lord.
The other Lamderl shook his head. "Nothing overwhelming. A few slight albedo adjustments, a new absorption tissue mutation that all passed micro-wing growth protrusion trials."
"Download the biological data. Such data may lead to even better mutations for industry in the future," the High Mutator ordered.
0-0-0-0-0
Through the Near Oort and to the first actual planet that had cleared its orbital revealed the entire stellar system to Dunahd's eyes.
The star was unusual. It defied classification.
He planned on checking ice cores to luminosity tests on the star.
For the first time since he had come to suspect her of infidelity he felt alive.