“However, as your own people have begun to conjecture given the age of the ruins you found on Delta Pavonis Three, our people were in the stars before we lost that ability. Our races — yours and mine, certainly — were transplanted, much as we transplant biota to different worlds to achieve different ends. We have no concrete knowledge of that earlier epoch, or of what those ends were, but we conjecture that we were, in your vernacular, the preferred terraformers of that time.”
Caine discovered he was squinting. “And what was humanity’s function?”
“We can make even fewer conjectures about that, and those we have must wait for a later conversation. But be assured that it was not simply to be blood-drenched killers such as the Ktor. What evidence we do have suggests that the Ktor were a later aberration. You might call them the flawed result of a weapons development program.”
Yiithrii’ah’aash’s neck seemed to sag. “Sadly, what you uncovered on Delta Pavonis Three suggests that the Ktor were used to eliminate the enemies of one side in the great conflagration which ended that distant arc of history. Specifically, we believe that the human ruins you discovered belonged to the Ktor, who had been sent to exterminate us. And almost did so. Indeed, given the devolved subtaxon you encountered, the Ktor so damaged our population that it was unable to remain fully polytaxic; it regressed to a much earlier, simpler state. That is why you observed no discrete taxae there.
“I see you are eager to ask questions about this war, what caused it, what followed. It is in the nature of the way you narrativize the past to ask such questions. I must disappoint you. I have no such information. I doubt any of my species do. But this much is manifestly evident: the Ktor did not exterminate all Slaasriithi, everywhere.” He gestured around him at the high ceilings of the Third Silver Tower. “I do not know when we devised the defense spores that almost killed you, Caine Riordan. It might have been during that war. It might have been later, as a means of making our remaining planets too difficult and costly to invade. But the spores do date from those days.
“Our historical record, such as it is, commences well after that war ended. We found ourselves alone in a silent universe. Never overly concerned with machinery, we did not find our loss of technological acumen terribly distressing. Rather, we pursued our efforts to build harmony between our polytaxon and the biota with which we shared the biosphere of what we call our homeworld. In time, of course, we reexpanded to other systems — by slower-than-light craft, at first — and often discovered worlds which still had vestiges of our earlier bioforming. There was much work, and much purpose, and we throve, although the pace of our ‘thriving’ is very different from humanity’s.
“Well before the Dornaani recontacted us, we had progressed to the point where our synergistic balances had become so refined, so stable, that there were no longer any new regions to explore quickly, no crises that needed swift address, no species that required prompt suppression. In short, we had achieved the harmony we had sought. All the notes in the symphony of our many biospheres were in tune and consonant with the leitmotif we had heard and now, had created.”
Riordan rested his chin in his hand. “Why do I suspect that there is a problem in this paradise?”
Yiithrii’ah’aash’s voice was rueful but also gently agreeable. “Because you are the liaison, Caine Riordan; because you see the stories of other beings not from the outside, but from the inside. We have many words for this trait and its subtle shadings and variations. In your language, the closest term is ‘empathy,’ but that only touches the surface of a far more complicated matrix of phenomena. But to return to the problem in this paradise:
“Because conflicts, crises, and exploration had become uncommon, my species found itself confronted with a problem it had never faced: the existence of a taxon which had outlived its function. We called the members of this taxon the indagatorae, which comes closest to your term ‘explorers.’ That taxon had descended from our earliest days; they were our scouts, guards, trail-blazers. They were unique among us in that they sought challenge and uncertainty, conditions that the other taxae wished to avoid. They preferred rootless solitude or small groups over fixed communities. Furthermore, for the indagatorae to have optimal chances of survival and success, they required a trait that was also unique to their taxae: a pronounced self-preservation instinct that prompted them to be more innovative and more decisive than any other taxon when faced with a crisis.”
Yiithrii’ah’aash’s neck waggled slightly; his limbs drooped somewhat. Was it the onset of melancholy? “So here is the problem you foresaw in our paradise. In essence, the indagatorae had done their job too well. All Slaasriithi now dwelt in biospheres which held no threats, in which there were no undiscovered countries, and in which the only crises were natural disasters for which we had developed excellent contingency plans. The indagatorae’s innovation and boldness was no longer needful or pertinent, except in rare rescue operations.”
Riordan nodded. “But you still had a taxon with an acute self-preservation instinct and whose focus was as much, or more, upon the individual as upon the community.”
“Perceiving this problem, and what it portends, is why we hope you shall consent to be our liaison. As you no doubt conjecture, we reduced the indagatorae over time. It was not difficult. The demographic balance of our breeding is driven by chemistries more than cognitive determination, and the almost vanished need for the abilities of this taxon had already made it the smallest of our taxae. And, having had no contact with any other intelligent races for many millennia, we believed that the past wars had very possibly wiped out all the others. Meanwhile, the indagatorae were constantly disrupting our polytaxic harmonies, always pushing for faster solutions, deviations from protocols and norms, seeking challenges where the community sought tranquility.”
“And so they dwindled and were gone.”
“Just so. But recent events have swelled the number of voices which, as a few always had, caution that no species should willingly divest itself of any skills, that no state of existence is so permanent that once-useful traits may be said to have outlived their usefulness.”
“A point that no doubt became more pertinent at the last Convocation.”
Yiithrii’ah’aash emitted a weary hum. “We had noted the increasing Ktor aggressiveness for some time, but the events of the past two years exceeded our worst projections. Now, the wisdom of the most senior ratiocinatorae is that although the indagator did become a disruptive element of our polytaxon, it still had a purpose. And this purpose did not reside solely, or even primarily, in the utilitarian skills it possessed. Rather, the nature of the indagator itself was a reminder of what we are in toto: a harmony among all things, because all things do have their place. In the case of the indagatorae, the variables they introduced into our existence were, ultimately, more beneficial to the long-term health of our polytaxon than they were disruptive to its smaller, short-lived particularities. The indagatorae may problematize the overarching strategies whereby we hope to achieve a universal synergy among all biota, but they are also a reminder that surprise, serendipity, and chance are powers that ineluctably shape us — and require special management — over time.”
Riordan nodded. “So you are going to reintroduce the indagatorae.”
“That is our intent. But we need you in order to do it.”