Fin de Siècle

Fin de Siècle

A tiny spaceship traverses vast distances across the Universe, subverting laws of dimensionality and time. In size - at rest at least - the vehicle is no larger than the average small rodent that may be found on any life-supporting planet, its inhabitants no bigger than the average insect, though insects they are not. Their technology is so advanced, their journeys cannot be measured in time spent or distance travelled. One instant they are at the point they set out from, the next they are somewhere else, the journey terminating almost instantaneously. On board the craft are two beings from a planet known in many galaxies as Gradullia. Their names, transposed from their own language, which has neither words nor sounds, into one that is more universally expressible, are Farfallax and Tarigullan.

Farfallax and Tarigullan are what might be called multi-psyches. Within themselves they incorporate multiple beings, each with its own set of skills and emotional competences. Tarigullan is a triploid, incorporating three beings; Farfallax is a quadroid, incorporating four. In this way, a crew of two is all that is required to operate such a technologically advanced and sophisticated vehicle. In the general sense, as it is understood throughout the Universe, both Farfallax and Tarigullan are hermaphrodite. However, the fourth being co-habiting inside Farfallax is entirely female, and all of Tarigullan’s inner beings all exhibit decidedly masculine traits. For this reason Farfallax is the commander of the mission they are on; if the need for sex, or procreation should arise on their travels, she - being the one most impacted upon by this action - is given ultimate control. Tarigullan is happy with this situation: he gets to travel the Universe, plot and navigate the routes they take, and tinker with the ship’s chrono-plasma drive from time to time, although to his mind this happens all too infrequently, the vehicle is so reliable. On top of that he is the ship’s armourer and gunner - a skill again too infrequently called into use in his estimation - all of this without the responsibility of command.

Then there is the occasional consolation of sex with Farfallax, though so far on their travels there has been no procreation. Throughout their time together he has developed ways of persuading her that sex is necessary, almost imperative, even though, within the terms of their mission it is not. Farfallax does not seem to mind, and for her there is the added benefit that Tarigullan is always more deferential towards her after they have conjoined.

The planet they have arrived at is one known in the language of its only fully sentient inhabitants as Earth. The Gradullians call it, for purposes of their own classification, R-101. They have been studying this planet for hundreds of its orbits around its Sun. It is a small planet, located in an unremarkable galaxy spatially far distant from their own, but given the rapid increases in sophistication of technology they have detected on the planet recently they have decided it might be time to pay a visit, and if conditions are favourable, to make their presence known. There has been much debate, often heated, on Gradullia over how such an unexpected manifestation might be received on the planet. The species they are interested in, the ones who have been making all the technological advances, are free-standing bipeds with highly advanced manual dexterity that enables them to skillfully manipulate the material world, with sophisticated communication and information transmission abilities, and with a relatively large cranial capacity compared to their body mass, though most of the information the Gradullians have gathered indicates this capacity is greatly under utilised in the majority of the species. Furthermore, they are frequently prone to irrational and aggressive behavior, both against each other and against other, less advanced Earth species. This, despite the wisdom, sophistication and compassion that has been detected in the finest of their minds, although the evidence indicates that mostly these individuals are not listened too, and instead are often denigrated or reviled, or even exterminated. The final consensus on Gradullia - the reason why the mission of Farfallax and Tarigullan has been approved - has been the assumption that, once confronted by the presence of an obviously superior and more advanced species, the spirit of the Earth’s wise and compassionate will prevail.

The spacecraft has come to rest above a large body of water, high above the surface of the planet, in the upper levels of its atmosphere, its keel aligned with the planet’s magnetic poles. They have arrived on the dark side of the planet, hoping the darkness will help conceal their presence until they have determined whether it is safe to reveal themselves. It is a clear, cloudless night, with visibility to the surface of the planet below unimpaired. Below, to their right, a large landmass wraps around the curve of the globe, its meandering shores dark against the body of water, its surface pierced and veined by splashes and threads of lights. There is a dull corona of light above its far horizon, cast by this solar system’s distant sun. To their left, are two islands; the larger of these, though its coastline is irregular, is shaped roughly like a twisted triangle. It too is covered in a tracery of twinkling lights.

- Let’s try down there. Make for that large conglomeration near the lower coast. Approach along the waterway, Farfallax commands. Tarigullan nods, turns the craft towards the island and eases it into a steep though steady descent. As they come closer and level out, they begin to make out the numerous structures the Earthlings have constructed along the edges of the waterway, and as they approach the centre of a large conurbation they see how these illuminated structures, of many configurations and sizes, spread out vast distances on either side of the water.

- Shit! There must be millions of them, Tarigullan observes, somewhat redundantly.

- Billions, actually! There are significant populations spread over most of the planet, Farfallax corrected. Haven’t you read the mission brief? It is why we are here.

- Better hope they’re friendly then. It’s just you and me, baby! Us, against the billions! Farfallax, taking refuge in the superiority her position affords, elects not to respond.

Ahead of them, near the centre of the conurbation, a huge circular structure looms up against the sky. It is brightly lit, and ovoid pods are arranged at regular intervals along its perimeter. Below, on the opposite side of the water, large crowds of the bipeds are gathered along its banks.

- What do you make of that, Tarigullan?

- Possibly a communication device. Or maybe a shrine to whatever gods they worship. That would explain the crowds.

- I’d favour a communication device, Farfallax declares.

- Or a weapon, Tarigullan jokes. Or maybe a tracking device and they’ve all come out to welcome us.

- You think so? Farfallax hopes this is the case, but she is not convinced. She is well aware of the dangers inherent in this mission, few though they may be.

- Activate the external audio sensors, she orders. Let’s see if we can make out anything.

Tarigullan blinks his right eye, and immediately both of their heads are filled with the babble of a host of humanoid voices. None of it makes any sense to them; there seems to be, to their unaccustomed ears, many more than one language being spoken. It is clear though, from the rapid tempo of their speech, the high frequencies of the sounds they are making, that the bipeds below are all in a state of heightened excitement, but then the hubbub stills discernibly as a series of loud, rhythmic sounds begin to emanate from a tall tower located at the corner of a grand assemblage of buildings on the bank of the water opposite the giant wheel. A large disc of light, with two slowly rotating armatures and marked with hieroglyphics, adorns the top of each face of the tower. The rhythmic sounds cease, but after a brief pause they are replaced by a sonorous, regular beat.

One…Two…Three…

- Is that a countdown? Farfallax and Tarigullan query together. They both fall silent, counting. The voices below are echoing its steady pulse.

Seven… Eight… Nine… Ten…

At the twelfth beat, before its reverberations have died fully away, the air is suddenly filled with light and sound as massive explosions burst brilliantly all around the tiny craft. The whole sky is ablaze with streams of colour. The air seethes and turns, buffeting their tiny craft in all directions. The giant metallic wheel is now a torus of fire, walls of brightly coloured flame cascading to the ground behind it.

- No, definitely not a communication device, Tarigullan offers.

- What the...! What’s happening? Farfallax queries, choosing to ignore his impertinence.

- Simple! The bastards are attacking us! The pilot, and gunner in Tarigullan both respond together, the former fighting mentally with the controls of the ship.

- What? Shit! The data indicated they didn’t have the capability to harm us.

- This feels like a pretty strong capability to me.

- I don’t know. It could be their way of welcoming us. A little exuberant perhaps, but… More explosions of light burst across the sky directly ahead of them. The shockwaves tip the small craft backwards through a series of somersaults. Fortunately, they are both strapped in.

- Does this feel like a welcome? Tarigullan queries once he has managed to get the spaceship back on a more or less even keel, though this is becoming increasingly difficult for him to maintain. Explosions continue to burst around them, pushing them around like a feather in the wind. Ahead, plumes of multi-coloured flame still pour from the rim of the giant wheel. The whole far bank of the body of water is aflame. Above that, great rising trails and starbursts of light continue to illuminate the sky.

- Permission to go to battle-stations? Armourer Tarigullan requests above the rumble of the explosions reverberating against the hull.

Farfallax hesitates. She still isn’t sure. She knows she has to draw on all of the emotional maturity and reserve of the feminine part of her. It is why she is in command of this mission, not Tarigullan. Is this really an attack or just an overly enthusiastic welcome celebration? She is well aware their own weapons capability far outweighs whatever armaments the Earthlings possess, and that a single discharge would be sufficient to destroy this tiny planet in an instant. It is also the only means of attack they possess. All they have is one big, all destructive weapon. They have nothing small, or personal; nothing in between, nothing to deploy as a warning, or merely disable. Gradullia has learned from experience over the millennia that the best form of defence is attack. And the best form of attack is one that ends all discussions, once and for all time. And it is a highly cost effective strategy, preventing wars from becoming prolonged. Preventing wars, full stop. But what would it do to her career if she called the decision to destroy a planet and every creature on it? Would she be crowned a hero, or vilified as a coward who had panicked unnecessarily? On the positive side, there could be never be any comeback – no evidence remaining, only scattered cosmic dust and fading radiation; no record of the Earthlings, or what their true intention had been - as long as she and Tarigullan stuck to a coherent version of what had happened.

- Sir? Repeat! Requesting permission to arm? Tarigullan interrupts her thoughts. She can sense he is itching for battle, and believes she knows why, or at least part of the reason, beyond the simple fact of his being a triploid. She had seen through his most recent attempt at persuading her they needed to have sex, and had graciously declined. Ever since, he had been responding to her orders, even polite requests, with bad grace. On her next mission – if there was going to be one after this – she was going to ask for a fellow quadroid as crew. Forget about sex…and anyway, their voyages were so short, relatively, there was rarely any real necessity for procreation. It was just an archaic convention; a throwback to a time when their technology had been less advanced and when some interstellar journeys had lasted the larger part of a Gradullian lifetime. She knew there were quadroids who possessed the same skill sets as triploids, and without the less constructive of triploid attributes. It was a new movement on Gradullian, one that was gaining wide acceptance – equal opportunities. Each to their own!

- Sir! Repeat! Requesting permission to arm?

- No! Wait! I don’t want to get this wrong.

- You’re kidding me. Look at this. The sky all around them is still filled with bursts of lights, explosions; the ship still bounces around on their rapidly reverberating blasts.

- Sir! We could be atomized at any instant.

- Are you having a problem with my authority? Tarigullan simply glares at her, his body hunched eagerly above the weapons activation control.

- No! Just with the possibility of my existences coming to an end because of some quadroid’s misplaced sensitivities!

- Tarigullan, stand down! That’s an order! The ship jars and is again thrown from its course as one of the projectiles fired from the ground strikes against its outer skin.

- Go fuck yourself! Is Tarigullan’s response, though whether in response to her command or to the efforts of the Earthlings below, Farfallax will never know. She can however sense bitterness in his reaction, the result, possibly, she thinks, of accumulated resentments built up against her, against all of her kind. She is surprised; she had always, despite their relative positions in the chain of command, looked upon Tarigullan as a friend.

- If only I could! She thinks to herself, ultimately taking his remark as personal, knowing well enough he will know what she was thinking.

There is a sudden surge of noise, like a release of pressure, coming from within the ship, not from the disruptive forces of the pyrotechnics outside, as the craft jumps into chrono-plasma drive and almost instantaneously arrives back in orbit above the surface of its home planet. A few nanoseconds later, in a far distant corner of the Universe, the planet known as Earth is obliterated.

Tarigullan, if nothing else, is a skilful pilot, an adroit gunner too.

Around the universe, amongst those galaxies where sentient life had evolved, where intra-species communication had developed to a level where complex thoughts and emotions could be held, expressed, and thrown open for debate to other beings, the destruction of the tiny planet known as Earth or R-101 was met with varying reactions. Some thought it was a crime that the Gradullians had acted so precipitously against a species that so obviously could do them no harm. The Gradullians, despite their advanced technology, their multi-psyche physiology, their no-argument weaponry – or possibly, precisely because of this latter - were generally held to be not so bright. Some among those who thought this way, also thought it was an hilarious joke, one demonstrating perfectly how stupid and cowardly the Gradullians were. There were even rumours that the Commander of the vessel had been promoted - in a purely political, face-saving gesture, many thought, or to remove her from flying off-planet missions - to the rank of General.

Others thought it was a good thing; that the Earthlings might one day have come to pose a threat to every other life form in the Universe. Look what they had being doing to other species, even to harmless plants, on their own planet. The Universe was therefore fortunate to be rid of them now. Others could not have cared less; it was a tiny planet, in an inconsequential solar system, a mere dot in a not so great galaxy. Nothing significant had been lost, or for that matter gained. Sure, there had been mathematical, and hence ecological implications to some, but the catastrophic effects of these had been limited largely to the planet’s own otherwise largely uninhabited solar system. For most other life forms, those aware of it, it had happened so far away; the changes of gravitational fields, the realignment of orbits to most other galaxies had amounted to minute fractions of a degree. Some planets had become a tad cooler, and their inhabitants were glad of it; others had become slightly warmer, and their inhabitants were not. Or vice versa. There was no pleasing some!

The overriding sentiment however had been not one of outrage or approval, or even of amusement or blithe indifference, but of disappointment. Most - or so a later intergalactic survey revealed - had been looking forward with anticipation to the spectacle of the stupid Earthlings obliterating themselves.