Prologue
Prologue
“In a single day and night of misfortune, the island of Atlantis disappeared into the depths of the sea.”
Plato, Timaeus 25d
1000 Years Ago—Across the Milky Way
The High Council hadn’t met in person for a thousand years. Virtual sessions twice a year were the norm; an in-person assembly was nearly unprecedented.
There had been a lot of grumbling, particularly from Administrator Bo’Kir’Az Voss. The complaints prompted President Uvan to poll all 21 members on whether meeting in person was necessary.
Administrator Voss had grumbled loudly about the inconvenience, prompting President Uvan to poll the 21 members. The motion passed 17–4—largely because the requester was the highly respected Chief Scientist P’Tor’Il Noc (known as Tor’Il to friends), despite opposition from Voss and her allies.
Light from the brilliant blue-white star fractured through the high crystal ceiling, painting the chamber with shifting rainbows. Blues and violets dazzled with icy brilliance, while reds and oranges faded almost instantly. The walls bore bas-reliefs depicting the billion-year history of their Type III civilization, masters of a galaxy’s power.
President Uvan banged a crystal gavel. “Thank you for being here. I know this is inconvenient, but Chief Scientist Noc believes two grave, connected issues require our physical presence to discuss.”
“Without further delay, I present Chief Scientist Noc.” There was a smattering of applause. Tor’Il turned to his protégé, Assistant Chief Scientist Khal, and whispered, “Tough crowd today, Lir’On.”
“Sir, I’m sure they will be receptive to what you say.”
Tor’Il approached the podium. “Thank you, President Uvan, and my thanks to you and my esteemed colleagues.” He scanned the chamber.
More of his people had uploaded their consciousness into the vast optic-magnetic fields around Rhy’loren since the war against the H’U’nam half a billion years earlier—a war of their own creation. The memory brought the familiar pang of regret, especially regarding his estranged brother, Sar’Il.
“I’ll get right to the point. Three weeks ago we lost contact with the life—something nearly impossible given its quantum communication link.”
He paused, watching disbelief, concern, and fear ripple across faces. “The probe’s last location was the far side of the galaxy. The most likely explanation is an outside agency.”
A dozen conversations erupted. The President struck her gavel, and the din subsided.
“May I address the Chief Scientist’s outrageous claim, Madam President?”
“If done respectfully,” Ivan responded
“If done respectfully,” Uvan replied.
“With respect, Chief Scientist, your hypothesis is absurd. Our technology is far too advanced for that to happen. Who or what could subvert or reprogram our technology?”
“An excellent question, Administrator,” Tor’Il said mildly. “Which is precisely why we must investigate—to rule it out.” Murmurs rose again.
“Chief Scientist,” Uvan prompted. Please respond to Administrator Voss.”
“I must remind the Administrator that her arrogance regarding science may blind us to the danger.”
The chamber buzzed louder; the President struck her gavel several times.
“There is a second, more serious issue,” Tor’Il continued. He glanced at Lir’On, who nodded gravely.
<Tor’Il, they deserve to know.>
<We’re not. The sooner they prepare, the better.>
“What are you waiting for, Chief Scientist?” Voss snapped, her voice dripping sarcasm.
Tor’Il cleared his throat. “We have detected frequent neutrino bursts, fluctuations in total solar irradiance, and disturbances in our sun’s magnetic field.”
“Surely, our learned Chief Scientist is aware that the solar supercycle is near,” Voss interjected
“True, but the probability of all three anomalies coinciding is between 1 and 13 in a billion. A concurrence seen only twice in half a billion years.”
“Are you suggesting these are unnatural?” President Uvan asked, eyebrows raised.
“Yes, I believe the probe’s loss and these solar fluctuations are connected.”
“This is even more preposterous!” Voss shouted.
The gavel fell hard. “Enough, Administrator. Chief Scientist, please continue.”
Tor’Il’s voice grew heavy. “The latest data shows the neutral/ionized helium ratio skewed toward ionization, and an asteroseismic hush is underway.”
“‘Our sun has stopped singing,’” he said softly. “Its core has been compromised. It will explode—and there is nothing we can do to prevent it.”
Bedlam erupted. The gavel pounded until silence returned.
Voss rose again, but Uvan’s icy voice cut her off: “One more outburst, Administrator, and you will be removed.”
Voss sat, face tight.
Tor’Il continued. “The same external agency that disrupted quantum communication with the probe has injected mass into our sun’s core. No natural process can explain both.”
He wiped his eyes. “Our sun will explode in hours, or at most days. My advice is to evacuate to a colony at least 100 light-years away. My team’s families—and my own—are heading to Fa’loris 5.”
“We will leave a monitoring station inside an iron/stone asteroid in the Outer Ring Belt, shielded by a gravitomagnetic bubble and the asteroid’s mass.”
“With permission, I must make preparations.”
“Granted,” Uvan said, striking the gavel. “Meeting adjourned.”
The chamber emptied swiftly.
Lir’On approached. “How certain are you?”
“One hundred percent. Please leave now, Lir’on. Our people will need your leadership after this happens.”
She nodded, eyes wet. “I’ll meet you on Fa’loris. I only hope more listened to you than to Voss.”
Tor’Il and Mar’Il packed essentials: crystal memory blocks of their long-departed children, garden plants, and seeds—replicators could duplicate anything, but nothing matched the taste of soil-grown produce.
They sat on the porch one last time as the sun set, its orange orb half below the horizon. Rhy’tha and tiny Cordis hung in the purple sky. The warbling of plumed skraets mingled with cricket-like t’largs.
“How many more sunsets?” Mar’Il whispered.
Tor’Il hugged her closer. “This may be the last.”
The sun flared briefly, as if to answer Mar’Il’s question. “We need to go—now.”
They loaded the trans-dimensional transport and arrived at the research station—the same complex where they had met as young scientists millennia ago.
They activated protective shields, then set coordinates for Fa’loris 5.
Waiting were Sar’Il and his wife, Kor’Al.
Kor’Al spoke first. “Stop being stubborn fools. You’re brothers—you need each other now.”
Mar’Il smiled. “What she said.”
The two women joined hands. After centuries of silence, Tor’Il and Sar’Il embraced, tears flowing.
“I’m sorry, Tor’Il,” Sar’Il whispered. “For everything.”
“Me too.”
A moment later the women joined, smiling through tears.
Behind them in the southern sky, a star exploded, outshining every other object in the firmament. The diamond-cold light casting dark shadows that reached for them like bony fingers.
Tor’Il turned to his brother. “It is our responsibility to ensure this never happens again.”
“Yes. And perhaps if we succeed, I’ll earn some small redemption.”
“The sentient AI project—do you still have the plans?”
Sar’Il’s voice was quiet. “What if creating a fully sentient artificial intelligence proves as great a threat as the H’U’nam uplift?”
Tor’Il met his gaze. “What if it has already happened?”
