Heresy: Part 1
This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules.
Heresy.
The being that would one day be known as Vradhez sat in its pod, slowly spinning in its personal eddy, separate from the overwhelming current of the Flow. Its caste was one of the few among the Living who had this ability, much less the permission. The Living had long ago realized that in spite of its incredible benefits, the Flow brought with it its own challenges and obstacles. The unity of the Living was powerful, but so too could it be limiting.
So a new caste had been created from countless strands of DNA and mitochondria collected from a thousand different species across the Living’s territory. In spite of their physical similarities to the Prime castes, they had more genetic material in common with the great minds, the caste devoted to the Living’s memory and logistical instincts. They were not only able to see the Flow, but to escape it; to not just analyze and assess, but to imagine and explore.
It was this ancient foresight that meant the Living could survive the great awakening, the sudden awareness of their entire race that they were not the only sentient species in the universe. But how could they have imagined otherwise? Of all the animals they had ever met, none of them were truly alive. How could they be?
Most of them made sounds, yes, and some of them in impressively complex manners with incredibly dexterous mouths and throats — more dexterous than most of the Living, in fact — but this was the most primitive form of communication. Most animals made scent, but the Living had only ever met a few species that were able to control their glands, and those barely made sounds at all.
On top of that, only five species in the Living’s long history had ever been able to touch the Flow. Three of them had been spared, allowed to grow and evolve as their destiny allowed. One had no control over their ability, blanking the Living’s own connection with a deafening roar, and so had been destroyed. The fifth…
The fifth had somehow created a tool that allowed them to speak into the flow. This bestial tool-making, this primitive desire to augment their bodies with simple levers and inorganic material, had somehow managed to do what only the highest art of the Living’s self-modification had achieved; true communication. Life.
This fact had thrown the Flow into chaos as thousands of thoughts clashed and churned. A storm of confusion, fear, regret, and joy all struggled for dominance as the Living felt the universe shift. No longer were they alone, free to follow their purpose to grow, evolve, expand, and thrive without concern. Now, there were other living beings.
Vradhez was also changing: where once they ignored the limitations of beasts, now they were impressed by those that had no natural ability to communicate through scent or the Flow. The Living had no “words,” at least not the way these animals did. Through the Flow, their pheromones, and voice, the Living had three vectors on which to communicate. These new species had to communicate so much with only complex sounds — “language,” they called it — it was no wonder they fought among themselves. Even with complex vocal chords and dexterous lips like sphincters, how much information was lost? How much was incomplete?
Add onto that the fact that many of these beasts had different languages, and the fact that they had survived at all was a miracle. To only speak through grunts and howls and yet still thrive; It was as if they had built a spaceship without tools or created cities without possessing limbs. Vradhez would have thought it impossible, were it not plain to see.
Then, the crowning achievement, the ultimate miracle: some of these new species were tapping into the true technology of sapience and modifying their own genetic code. “Gene-modding” was their word for it. Their attempts were still primitive, simply increasing their size and physical strength or augmenting their synaptic flexibility; and they had yet to forsake their bestial tool-making — they still wore armor, traveled in large metal machines, and refused to fuse their form and function — but every species had to start somewhere.
One species was…Vradhez considered which alien word was appropriate…“cute.” They imitated the practice of self-modification using tools. They fused their bodies with machines and mechanical items in an endearing mockery of true sentience. They were still dangerous, of course, but amusing. Vradhez spared a moment to consider if and when the species would require eradication.
But no; of all the “new” species, there was one that made Vradhez’s skin itch.
The Living’s space had grown too large. There were too many eddies in the Flow, too many tide-pools. By the time a thought managed to reach across the entirety of the sector, another thought had already been agreed upon at the other end. Disagreements were not unheard of in the Living’s history, but they were minor and easily resolved. There were even occations when splinter-hives had been allowed to separate from the Living for a time; to experiment, improve, and demonstrate their ideas before returning to the fold. Sometimes they were proven correct, other times not, but always unity was maintained.
Now, the differences were too great. The pains were too strong, and the ideas too incompatible. The Living were fracturing and there wasn’t enough time for the Flow to unite them all in a single pure current. Already there were…what was the proper word…factions. They were small at the moment but their mere existence promised more to come. Small vanguards were refusing to return to the Flow and were pursuing their own ends. Primes were forming their own armies and following their own paths. The unity of the Flow was being threatened.
Even some of Vradhez’s own caste were succumbing to the lure of independence.
Among the Living, such deviations from the will of the Flow would simply be called “broken,” to use a word. They were mistakes to be reincorporated and remade without flaw — or, if the flaw was minor or curious enough, to allow integration with constant supervision.
This… this was something all-together different. This was willful. This was one of the Living choosing to defy their purpose, their caste, the Living as a whole. They were finding beasts and sentients and applying the true technology to them, rising them up as a new kind of Hive. They were mingling genetics in a macabre mockery of the Living; not incorporating the new species genes into their own, but placing their genes in the new species.
There was only one word that Vradhez knew that encompassed the disgust it felt at such actions.
Heresy.
Deep in the bowels of Arpescious City, a gnarled and crumbling building sat alone and unassuming just off Central Road. It was the old town hall, a place where the elite had once sat in council to discuss how best to organize and utilize the limited resources of the city for the betterment of all.
At least, that had been the promise. In truth, for generations they had used the limited resources for the betterment of themselves and to placate the whims of tyrants and warmongers on other planets. They had bent the knee to the Protectorate and kept the citizenry under a soft leather boot.
After the Blue Sun Rebellion, the New Council had ordered the building remain in its dilapidated state as a fitting monument to the tyrannical ideals of their former masters. Forever more would the ruins of the old town hall stand as a reminder that those who seek to rule others would eventually meet their just punishment at the hands of the people.
It was something of an interactive monument; standing in the middle of the bombed-out building was chilling. Foreboding. Few people could stand there for long, with the dark and broken rubble surrounding them, the memories of generations of pain baked into every stone.
Few imagined the building served another purpose entirely.
It was this purpose that brought Mother Pwanji Truevoice to the ruins, picking through the uneven mess with only her staff to aid her balance. She paused briefly at the bare center, glancing around at the broken walls, before continuing to what had once been a storeroom. There, next to the barest remains of a wall, a burnt rug lay half-buried under a pile of broken stone and bent metal.
Pwanji took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. With the gift her Goddess had given her, she felt the world outside her flesh. Deep in her mind’s eye she saw the winds and rocks and the lines where they met. With her mind’s arms, she gripped the large pile of rubble that covered the rug and gently tugged.
It was far too large for her own feeble arms, but in seconds she felt her mind grow. From deep below, a helping mind met her own. Now she was no mere human, but a giant bent almost double to reach the crumbling pebbles at her feet. A hand rose from the shattered earth to help her push the rubble aside with no more effort than a gentle nudge.
The rug now free, she opened her eyes and pulled the cloth aside to reveal a small trapdoor. With another gentle tug, the door opened and she descended into the darkness.
After only a few feet, the darkness gave way to a bio-luminescent glow. The thick earth and rock was now covered in gnarled purple-brown flesh. The air pulsed with heat as she walked deeper into the holy sanctum, closer and closer to her goddess. In mere moments, she stood before a rough and bulbous shape that glistened in the phosphorescent glow of the goddess’s altar.
Bowing her head in reverence, Pwanji extended her palm with fingers pointed down towards the floor, like she was gently pushing a young child. “Mother Goddess,” she said, “I humble myself before you, most holy master.”
Do not call me that word, the monstrous shape shifted in the darkness, claws and limbs unfolding.
Pwanji balked. As Goddesses went, the Mother was rather ambivalent towards ritual and ceremony. She refused to stake a claim on any one form of respect, forcing her priests to invent their own words of reverence. Pwanji hadn’t known of this particular aversion. “Forgive me, Holy Mother. I did not mean to offend.”
I am no master, the voice in Pwanji’s head was strained and clumsy. She was again amazed at how lucid the thoughts had become; they had been so discordant not half a year ago. No masters. We are all apart. Pwanji thought for only a moment before the correction came. I see confusion? You know we are not separate. We are apart of a whole.
Pwanji realized her goddess’s mistake. She also knew that in that instant, her goddess knew as well. They had become quite adept at sharing thoughts, the two of them; it was a source of some pride. Nevertheless, the Holy Mother had made it clear to Pwanji that as much as she had to learn about the Flow, so did it have to learn about words.
“Not apart,” she explained, verbally, “a part. Two words, meaning singular piece.”
Yes, the voice felt tired. We are all a part of a whole.
“Yes, Mother of us all,” Pwanji smiled. “It is a great blessing you have given us.”
Is it? The Holy Mother shifted again, catching Pwanji’s gaze with her own six glittering eyes. Already I infect. I have brought you and yours into the Flow. Your thoughts are mine, and mine are yours. Someday, we will share the same thoughts. I am strong. My current will drown you.
“Is that so bad?” Pwanji pressed her hand to her heart.
It is a defilement. To bring into the Hive is to join, not to consume.
“But Unity of thought, of purpose…so much pain and suffering could be avoided if we followed the Living’s path of unity.”
No, the soul-snatcher’s growl was deep and primal. The Living are too large. There is no place for beings like you.
“Yet your people have welcomed so many into their Flow,” it was not a plea; Pwanji had heard many stories of the Hive and its history. It was almost insulting that humanity might be rejected. “Are we so flawed we cannot be improved?”
You do not know the things we have done. We have devoured billions of species, trillions of beasts. How many of them were alive? How many died in terror? You do not understand the fear that comes from realizing Life is not a binary, but a spectrum.
Pwanji bowed her head again. “I do not understand, my Goddess, but I accept. I will not speak of it again.”
She felt the discomfort at the word Goddess, but the Holy Mother did not rise to the bait. As you wish. Why have you come to speak with me?
“Our scouting bands have reported back,” Pwanji said, adjusting her grip on her staff. “The landing vessel was indeed one of the Protectorate, but it is old, perhaps from the Arrival. It does not bear the markings of the Conduit. Soldiers are already marching on the city and will be here within two days.”
They are not from the Legion of the Founder, then? The thoughts of the Holy Mother wavered in uncertainty. Odd. Perhaps a coincidence. All the same, prepare the city’s defenses. Place our faithful among the populous and distribute our arms.
“As you command, Holy Mother.”
Are your thoughts already mine? The living Goddess shifted again. My kind was built to suggest, not command. I would hear your thoughts as well.
Pwanji licked her lips, thinking for a moment before speaking. “Would it not be better to invite them to join us? If they do not bear the livery of the Conduit, they may be open to hearing of our path. They might become faithful, if we give them the choice.”
There was a pause as the holy Mother considered the idea. You may try if you wish. Be careful, though; I have grown comfortable with your thoughts, and I would not like to see them ripped from this life.
Pwanji’s heart swelled at the kind thought. “I have faith in your protection, Mother Goddess.”
I am no goddess, the thoughts came in a torrent, I am not all-powerful nor all-knowing. Nor am I a mother; the Living breed for purpose and my purpose was to think and advise.
“But you have blessed us all,” Pwanji protested. “Two generations of your children walk among the people of our city. Because we believed in your words and because we carry you in our veins, we are free from servitude. Because of your strength, I am not afraid.”
Yet, I am… the Holy Mother slowly unfolded to stand in the small vestibule. The angled form towered over Pwanji, but it was not frightening. Instead, it was soothing; comforting, like a welcome hug. I am separate from the Flow, but I can still hear it rushing behind me, threatening to claim me and sweep me up in its current. I do not know what the Living will do if they find me. Perhaps they will kill me, perhaps they will drown me in the Flow and carry me along once more. I do not want to return. The Flow said there was only one way to be Alive, and we were wrong. How can I submit myself to the unity if it is not a path to truth? I will no longer cause others to suffer for the sake of the Living. I am free from the tyranny of a community, and may live for myself. I will live for joy, and I find joy here.
Pwanji was filled with her Goddess’s love. “How?” She felt the humble question slip from her lips before she could stop it. “You saw what humans are like; even now, with your blessings, we are flawed. We stand on the backs of others for fear of being insignificant. We are cruel to each other, so quick to kill and dominate. We distract ourselves with trivial things and refuse to look to the future with hope. We are so terrified of everything that we control or destroy everything we touch. Even your most faithful…even I once submitted to tyrants. How can you find joy among such imperfect things as us?”
The Holy Mother gently reached out to rest a clawed hand on Pwanji’s head. It was half a blessing, half a gentle caress. Pwanji closed her eyes as she felt the burning heat of her Goddess’s blood course through her skin. She could feel the Mother’s thoughts gently drift as they hunted for a human word, a word unused before.
You…you are…cute.
Pwanji blinked. She had not expected this. “Cute?”
This is…fun, the words were halting. My people…I want you all to live a good life. I want to feed you, protect you, play with you. I want to delight at your antics and become bemused at your mistakes. You think so differently from the Living, it is soothing to me. I have seen how some of your people have pets. It is like this. I want to take care of you. You are mine now, and I will see to it you do not suffer.
The clawed hand withdrew. Speak with the soldiers if you wish. I do not expect you will be successful, but if you have taught me anything, it is success is not the only reason to try. I wish you well.
Pwanji bowed, her skin tingling with holy blessing. She turned to leave but stopped before she reached the vestibule’s exit. “You say you are not our Holy Mother, but I cannot think of any Goddess with a more kindly or noble view of their followers than yours.” She looked back at the Holy Mother as she re-folded herself into her pod. “I love you, believe in you, and I will carry your word to the enemy. I have faith in its power to save us all.”