Translation: Part 3
This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules.
“They’re holding their hands up,” Horva reported. “It looks like they’re talking.”
“Damn it!” Ranthar snatched the com unit from the nearby operator. “Whoever reads me, tell Squad-Sergeant Wythe that Lord-Champion Ranthar wants to speak with him at once!”
Horva could only faintly hear the talking over the coms before Wythe’s steady voice became suddenly clear. “I’ve heard that roar before, Lord-Champion. I was stationed at Enek Powerstation. I was part of the bastion force sent to repel the Hive’s advances.”
“Sergeant Wythe,” Ranthar was furious, “What the devil are you —”
“I was there, sir!” Wythe shouted. Through the binoculars, Horva could see his hand was beginning to shake. “We managed to hole up, about twenty of us, in the lower levels. We were cut off from the command center. I was one of three sent out to scout and bring back intel on enemy activity. We reached the main power stacks, but a Hive Lord was already there along with a whole squad of crawlers. It looked around, like it was sniffing at things, and then gave… that howl and left. The whole squad just left. We got into the center and reconnected our coms to the computer, but…then…”
“Then?” Lot’nek’s voice was faint over the coms. “Then what happened?”
Wythe’s voice was suddenly quiet. “Then the soul-snatchers came.”
Lot’nek’s voice was disturbingly steady, considering the size of the gun pointed at their head. “Soul-snatchers? I maybe mistranslating. I do not know ‘Soul-snatchers…’”
“They tear it out of you,” Wythe continued, his voice more and more distant. “They dip it in dark fire. You feel alone, then hunted, then like you’re already dead. It’s torture, Lord-Champion, worse than anything I’ve ever felt.”
It all happened in an instant: Horva saw the Iron Blaster dip slightly, then jerk to the side as two dwarven soldiers pounced. They wrestled Wythe to the ground, then the gun out of his hands, all while he was shrieking, crying over the coms for Ranthar to kill the traitorous DAO who had doomed them all.
Horva reported everything to Ranthar as it happened. Orders were given swiftly and efficiently, and soon Wythe was being carried back to the camp, unconscious.
“Right,” Ranther rubbed his chin before switching on the com-unit again. “Acting Sergeant, please hold your com-unit out for the Sage to hear and answer.”
Horva told the Lord-Champion when it was done. “Sage Lot’nek,” Ranthar’s voice was cold as steel, “Do you have any idea what he was talking about?”
“Yes,” Lot’nek’s voice sounded almost joyful. “With luck, one be here shortly.”
Ranthar lowered the com-unit and stared out at Site A, as if he could see the Sage clearly from so far away. Horva trained her binoculars again on the site, watching the soldiers look at each other as they tightened the grip on their rifles. The DAO battle-suits looked no less threatening than before, but what Lot’nek had just said…
Ranthar’s voice came again, eerily calm: “Alright, DAO. I have two sniper-rifles pointed at your skinny skull. You’re going to tell me exactly what you’ve done, and why, before I execute you here and now.”
Lot’nek’s response was bright; “Champion Horva, you use pheromones to fight Hive, yes? You know Hive speaks through complex chemical network. Your scientists done good job making replacements; can repel, attract, calm, frenzy…”
“Ten seconds,” Ranthar’s voice and gaze were both steady as iron.
“That is only half lesson; with pheromones, you know Hive communicate through sound too. Yes, all species do some. You speak words, yes, but also tone, pitch. Information in bodies and sometimes smells too, though not every species has pheromone receptors.”
Horva’s raised her voice to be sure the com in Ranthar’s hand could pick her up. “You’re talking about Leyet.”
There was a pause. “Forgive. Do not know word.”
“It’s…we have a saying; ‘A book only tells half a story.’ Leyet is a…Hells, I don’t know how to explain it. It’s a kind of theatre, I guess. It’s telling a story, but you can’t write it down or record the sounds. It’s like…dancing and singing and poetry and…it’s more…Whole. True. It’s Leyet.”
“Applaud translate attempt,” Lot’nek answered. “Maybe suitable comparison. Hive communicate through everything. You see they move when speak? How nostrils flare? Not only pheremones, it whole being. Become information. Pure communication. Not just that, DAO scientists monitor individual Hive infestations for years, detected fluctuations in air density, electro-magnetic fields, and Thausophetic field. Hive communicates telepathically too!”
“They’re psychic?” Horva was dumbfounded. “How is that possible?”
“Never mind that,” Ranthar growled. “Are you telling us you can control these things?”
“Not control,” Lot’nek’s voice finally lost its excited edge. “Need Hive be curious, not defensive. Need it send thinker, not warrior.”
“You’re talking about the floating brains?” Horva moved closer to the com unit. “We’ve seen those things drifting around large infestations. We used to think they were the commanders, but if you take them out the Hive certainly notices.”
“We think, brains no more than computers. Stay in large groups of Hive, rarely venture to unusual areas. ‘Soul-snatchers,’ as sergeant say, appear when Hive…perhaps confused. Have highly developed receptors, cranial structures, incredible psychic field access, also best communication with whole Hive. Sages think breed most capable of communication, and comprehension.”
Ranthar rubbed a hand through his hair. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You figure out a way to communicate with the Hive, you get it to send one of these soul-snatchers here, and then you’ll…what, teach it tricks? Get it to fetch-and-carry?”
Lot’nek paused. It was too late; if one of these ‘soul-snatchers’ was on its way, there was no point in holding back information, was there? All the same, there was no telling with Dwarves; they acted out of emotion more often than not, and just because there was no value in Lot’nek’s death, xey wouldn’t put it past them to kill xem on a whim. For all xey had learned about Dwarven culture and behavior, there was still so much that xey simply didn’t understand.
Xey looked at the dwarf holding the com out to xem. Their face was strong, square, and steady. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill xem, but somehow xey knew that they wouldn’t kill xem if there was no order. Somehow, the dwarves had managed to instill a sense of service into their soldiers through emotion; They served not out of logic or suitability, like the DAO soldier caste, but because it wasn’t ‘proper’.
After a moment more of thought, Lot’nek spoke in DAO-speak. “Champion Horva, I wish to speak in my own language to explain. Can you translate for me?”
“I will endevor to try,” Champion Horva’s voice was impressively calm.
Lot’nek took a slow breath. “Let me tell you about slavery. You dwarves have your own history, and I must admit I do not know it well, but surely you must know of our…what is the best translation…Overminds?”
“The AIs that were in charge of and controlled the DAO Union?” Horva answered. “I am aware that the Residence Cascade caused them to start replacing your people with robots and automated machines.”
Lot’nek felt a sharp pang in xer heart. It was a well kept secret that the Overminds had already begun to replace the DAO people before the Cascade, but it was a convenient excuse for the DAO who wanted to think such a result was not inevitable, even with ‘properly controlled’ AI. “Suffice it to say,” they said, “most of the DAO know and fear the threat of an overlord that cannot be argued with, cannot be fought, and cannot be questioned. Some cultures embrace their Gods. We built and then destroyed ours.”
“What does your story have to do with our current events of the Hive?”
“Through our research we have reason to believe that the Hive is, in fact, a kind of Overmind in itself. While many of these aliens may never be more aware than animals, other more advanced forms — such as the floating brains, some of the warriors, the Hive Lords, and maybe the soul-snatchers — may each be slave to a superior will. There is a faction in the Council of Sages who believes this is but a mirror of the future we avoided, and wishes to…help.”
“Help? You perhaps are choosing a word that means…assist?”
A wave of exhaustion crashed on Lot’nek’s shoulders. “It has been a difficult position to hold, as you can no doubt understand. Nevertheless, we have gained support from other factions who, regardless of the end-goal, see our efforts as an alternative to ending the war through genocide. We can end the war through peace. This is merely the first step of a thousand solutions to war. This is little more than translating.”
“Translating? You mean you’ve learned the Alien Hive’s language? They have a language?”
“Of a sort, and we certainly haven’t ’learned’ it. Their language is completely different from ours, and may take years, even centuries, to develop a suitable lexicon. No, we still need to teach them that we have something worth learning. If we are patient and fortunate, then they will understand us when we ask for peace.”
“Then what? We ask for peace and the Hive grunts and warriors unite with us? We help them fight and overthrow their Hive Lords?”
“Unfortunately no, the domination property of the Hive appears to be genetically induced. The DAO were able to dismantle our Overminds in little less than a decade. For the Hive, it could take generations of genetic tampering. That result is, at best, a century-long project.”
“You still do not have the right amount of certainty that they are even a sentient species! How can you assume there is even a language to learn? Our first contact with the Hive aliens was unprovoked aggression on their part; if they even have a culture, they may not understand the very concept of peace; how will you ask for it?
“You’re missing the most horrible question of all,” Lot’nek smiled to xemself. “The Hive appears to have some kind of collective mind. The Psychic field flows around them and through them like a current. They operate along several layers of it at once. It’s quite likely that most of the smaller beasts don’t have a consciousness in the same way we understand it. In a very real way, it’s possible these Hive aliens share one gestalt mind.”
“Yeah? So?”
“So, if there is one mind, there is no such thing as orders, disobeying, uncertainty, or a difference of opinion. One’s thoughts are another’s thoughts. In such a society, what does it mean to wonder? To be uncertain? In all our studies of Hive communication, we have never seen dissent of any kind. You asked how we could ask the Hive for peace. The far more interesting question is; if they truly are a completely unified mind with no individuals, how can we explain the concept of asking a question?”
The brush shifted, and the soul-stealers arrived.
There were five of them, one with hook-shaped horns nearly twice the size of the others. They moved like a pack, the prime moving in front, then behind the others. It was strange how even this, such a familiar structure of superior and subordinates, was handled differently in this alien species. In most other cultures, those who were most experienced in a task were respected. Those who had more to learn kept to the rear to watch — except in dangerous situations where they were in the front. How much Lot’nek could have learned about the Hive if the prime had stepped forward first or stayed in back.
The pack stopped several yards away. The prime Soul-stealer moved its head from side to side, like a bird looking at Lot’nek with both its eyes. Again, the broad horns atop the soul-stealer’s head reminded Lot’nek of antennas. Were they being scanned? They immediately tried to clear their thoughts and focus on the concept of peace and curiosity.
After a moment of feeling only a little foolish, Lot’nek slowly opened their arms, hands bent and relaxed. Noting the established signal, their protege activated the machine.
There was a synthesized growl, a spray of mist…and did the breeze change? No, just a figment of their imagination. There was no way to feel the shifting of the psychic field without being connected to it. “Hello,” Lot’nek said as the growl ended.
The Soul-stealer reared back as if struck. Or shocked? Lot’nek paused for only a beat before speaking again.
“Hello.” They opened their arms again as another growl and spray of mist drifted through the air.
The Soul-stealer’s nostrils quivered up and down its muzzle. Its eyes stared deep into Lot’nek’s, inky pools of shimmering black.
Lot’nek lowered their arms, and rested them at their side with a bent angle. Another puff of mist followed a faint saw-tooth thrumming from the machine’s speaker. It was barely audible, even though the volume had been amplified seven-fold from their recordings. “Peace,” Lot’nek said over the buzzing sound.
A claw swiped through the air. Lot’nek reacted — too slow! — but there was no pain, no blood.
“Hold your Fire!” Lot’nek was shouting before xey had fully realized what had happened. The prime had certainly threatened xem, but it was too far away to actually strike xem…was it playing with xem? Testing? “Stop!” Lot’nek flung xer limbs about in a dance of translation. “Not food! Stop, please stop!” Xey weren’t sure why xey had included the word ‘please’. There was no parallel word or behavior they’d ever monitored in the Hive. “Please…stop…” xey spoke quieter, calmer, xer arms moving slower.
The Soul-stealer didn’t move. For minutes the two of them stared at each other, neither daring to move. Then, Lot’nek’s arms moved again. “Peace. Please…peace.”
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a gentle voice came over Lot’nek’s com. “Respected sage! Sensors are picking up a low-pitch saw-tooth wave. It’s thrumming!”
In spite of xer delight, Lot’nek felt xer eyes brim with tears. With a whisper too quiet for anyone to hear, xey answered: “we’ve done it!”
A war was being fought in the flow. There were imperatives, objectives, work to be done and stomachs to fill. The study of clever beasts would be an amusing diversion, yes, but a diversion none-the-less. A million young of the living were neigh to be born, and when they hatched they would starve if the Lord allowed the thinkers time to play.
It had happened a hundred times before. Even in this very sector, there were the strange bipedal animals in polished metal who smelled of genetic modification. They were far more likely to be sentient than these tool-using beasts, even if the tools were clever.
Yet these animals, they were unique in the billion years of the living’s history. They were similar in many ways to a thousand species, some consumed, others ignored…but it was not just their tools that were clever, they were using them in a clever way. They may have just been mimicking the living’s sounds, but they were also including their own growls and whines. That had never happened before…were they trying to teach the living?
And then the flow had changed. These…these beasts…these biomachines, had somehow managed to fumble their way into…
The thought was drowned in the current before it had the chance to breathe; there was no fumbling into the flow. The flow was life and soul, it was true breath, it was movement with purpose and presence of thought. Beasts changed their environment without changing themselves; even the most miraculous of animals had never pieced together some metal tool that could swim the sea of thought with the living.
Far off in the distant spaces, one of the living who would eventually accept the name Vradhez felt the change in the flow. A torrent of thoughts like a flood surged through their mind, threatening to drown them.
There was no word for the places on the edge of the flow. Eddies, perhaps, or tide-pools. When the flow was disturbed, more eddies were born where separate thoughts intermingled and clashed before rejoining. Far from the flow, the current was weaker and these eddies could survive for longer; a strong mind could even channel its own course. Some came to appreciate this distance, this control. It allowed them to consider possibilities that the flow had rejected. It was another way to protect the living from themselves: to test forbidden thoughts and study foreign possibilities.
Vradhez was one such thinker. Though the living had no single word for love, in time Vradhez would say that they (then he) loved the Hive. So much so that they had spent generations thinking about how to destroy it. The horrific fates that swirled in their own private eddy horrified the unprepared, and so they had learned how to keep most of these thoughts to themself.
This new flood of thought was so strong that it reached even to the most distant tide-pools. Before they were pulled along in the current, Vradhez pulled themself free to watch the billion thoughts clash, merge, and flow back and forth. For years the living had followed the Journey, acquiring resources where it could, taking the land from non-sentient animals and avoiding the more dangerous beasts. There had been many deaths, many cullings, and now the flow was different. It had been changed, and not by the living.
This left a far more dangerous thought to float on the current. Did the beasts now live? Had they risen to ride the flow with the living? Or worse, had they always been alive?
Trees, flowers, beasts, microbes, in the past they had all fallen to the living’s hunger, their bodies retooled to the living’s purpose. Even the beasts understood this simple behavior: some used sticks to hunt for insects while others sharpened stones to carve bark from trees. The successful ones used fire to harden metal, giving themselves stronger skin or sharper claws. A few even managed to fly or fight with light itself, but these were still the simple reflexes of beasts. Few had ever showed even the most meager signs of true sentience, and those had always been spared, allowed to grow in their own worlds without interference.
Now…had it finally happened? Were the living no longer alone in the vast sea of starlight?
The thought danced tantalizingly in the flow. What if some of the animals were not animals at all, but a new kind of living. An alien kind of living. Were there different ways of living? Were the living not the pinnacle of life, but merely a single kind of living? How many different ways of living were there, and what were they like? How many species were there that had fallen to the living’s tooth and flame? Fear and curiosity warred in the current as the living reeled at the staggering implications.
But Vradhez saw something else in the current, thoughts not even daring to be acknowledged. Thoughts of guilt and regret peeking out from the edges of awareness like timid children. Children that could grow big and strong.
Before Vradhez sank into the flow like a fish, a single thought flared bright in their mind, born somewhere in the umbra between fear and resignation: Were it true that the beasts were sentient beings; with thoughts, emotions, and cultures of their own; there would be no salvation.
That fact alone could easily be the death of the Hive.