I cheated a little this week. This is something I wrote many years ago, but took the opportunity to revise and re-work.
Is that an excuse if it’s not good? “Why, I wrote this a while ago, before I became the brilliant artist I am now!”
No. It’s corny, cliche, and overly sincere, but I enjoyed revisiting (and correcting) my past self. As they say, there’s no accounting for taste.
Thank you for checking it out…
The ship pulled into a low orbit just above one of the more populated continents. They were low enough now, below the layer of satellite debris, that the inhabitants below might be able to detect the ship’s presence via their primitive astronomical instruments, though the aforementioned flotsam of commsats made that unlikely. The time on the screen now showed seventy minutes remaining.
This was the worst part of the job; the paperwork. The captain sighed as he brought up the data screen and began filling out the details.
- Galactic Union Designation: L01.V782.B09.003
- Planet Type: Terrestrial class 7D
- Suitable Species Colonization Type(s): D
- Approximate Total Sapient Inhabitants: Eight billion
- Method of Extermination: Nanobiotic Consumption
He tapped his fingers against the corner of the screen, and it vanished from his field of view in an instant. He watched as the local star’s rays receded from eastern end of the continent, the light from the population centers below vainly pushing away the coming darkness.
“That will be your last sunset.”, he muttered.
For the moment, he didn’t feel like bothering with all the red tape. He just wanted to relax and enjoy the peace before the real work had to be done. This wasn’t his first extermination, it was actually his specialty. This was just another day at the office.
For one hundred and twenty of the local planet’s cycles, several teams of Galactic Union ships had watched planet L01.V782.B09.003. The observation began when a scout ship detected controlled flight. Through thousands of years of observation and study, they had found most species leapt from rotational thrust flight to rocket propelled flight within seventy five years, that is assuming the planetary rotation wasn’t significantly longer or shorter than the GU standard, and this particular planet varied only slightly. In another twenty-five years after rocketry, most species began space exploration, and in another one hundred years, technology would emerge to propel them beyond their own solar system.
This planet didn’t fit the standard progression. Within fifteen cycles after discovering rotational thrust flight, they were employing artificial fliers in mass warfare, and within twenty years of that, the science of rocketry began, as did another massive global conflict. These discoveries did not prompt war, but were accelerated by war. This was not unheard of, in the thousands of years of study, but it was not common.
What was unique was that this species managed to place an artificial object in space slightly more than fifty of its years after conquering artificial flight. All of this was accomplished while massive global conflicts raged on.
Less than fifteen years after the first artificial satellite, they had successfully placed some of their species on their natural satellite. There were millions of people living on the planet born to an age where they were told only birds could fly, and now they looked to the sky and knew one of their own was standing on an alien world.
But almost as soon as they had made it into space they gave up, finally overcome by the burdens of their terrestrial discord. Their great accomplishments in exploration were quickly overshadowed by the more practical technology of launching world destroying radioactive payloads from one end of the globe to the other.
This came as no surprise to the generations of observation teams that monitored the planet. Most species had spread their wars and destruction across hundreds of cultural sub-groups. Historical research on this planet placed no less than five major cultural groups that had committed mass extermination events of their fellow sapients within the past two hundred rotational cycles alone. Most surprisingly, all of those groups were still major powers.
As recently as eighty years prior, a global conflict claimed over seventy million of the planet’s sapient inhabitants, approximately four percent of the total population. In the thousands of years of GU research, the historians noted that only plagues were more deadly than this planet’s wars. Even in times of proclaimed peace, the native sapients of this planet would torture or starve tens of millions for selfish interests.
For this reason, the decision had been made. This planet, like so many before it, was to be wiped of native sapient life, and then repopulated as a Galactic Union colony.
This was usually not an easy decision. The planet had to be monitored and a determination made on whether they were a threat to the galaxy. As far as the natives knew, they were no threat to space. With their current technology, it would take thousands of years to reach the next civilized star system. But something new had emerged.
Their scientists were on the verge of faster than light travel. Only, they didn’t know it yet. A recent breakthrough, by scientists researching more efficient radioactive weapons, was the first stepping stone to eventual space folding technology. Most species would make this leap within another fifty years, but given this species record of accelerated evolution, it might be less than twenty years before they were leaving for other star systems. This is what prompted the meeting of the GU Sector L01 Parliament on the matter of Planet L01.V782.B09.003.
The decision was selective extermination. If this species were to travel beyond their own system, they would bring their barbarism to a thousand worlds. They had to be stopped before it was too late. The decision to release nano-bots, designed to specifically target the native sapient life and break them into base elements, came without any real debate in the Parliament.
The captain looked at his display to see that sixty five standard minutes now remained before the nano deployment would commence. Ships had been positioned all around the planet prepared to release nanos into every major populated area. From there wind patterns would spread the nanos to all corners of the planet within one quarter rotation. Tests had shown that the nanos could destroy one of the native sapients in about fifteen standard seconds, first targeting the pain receptors so the being would not suffer as its entire body was consumed. Early projections based on population densities and nano reproduction had a ninety percent destruction of the native sapients within two rotations, with the final ten percent, most of them isolated hunter-gather population, being consumed within the following ten rotations. If any had managed to outlast the reproduction cycle of the nanos, or were somehow immune, they would be dealt with manually.
The captain started to feel uneasy. Five minutes of not being productive felt wrong. Under the psychological ruse of continuing the observation mission, he opened the receiver and filtered through some of the planet’s broadcasts. Most of the broadcasts were informational. The vast majority of these informational broadcasts were designed to promote fear. Most of this boiled down to two primary categories; the fear of other sapients, usually from other regions, and the threat they posed, either physically or financially. And then the fear of being an outsider for not owning some particular, unnecessary, item.
One cultural anthropologist for L01.V782.B09.003 had suggested these broadcasts a means of controlling the populations, and that there really were no inherent differences between the regional variations of the species. Their powerful convinced the disempowered that around every corner was a violent, unseen, unstoppable enemy plotting their destruction, and the only ones able to defend them from these omnipresent enemies were the wealthiest among them.
The captain always found this theory fascinating. He wondered if it was possible their entire perception of the sapient population was based on this psychological warfare and not on the actual physical violence they perpetrate on one another. The thought was not pleasant, because it gave him doubts about his duty. Whenever these doubts passed through his mind he would flash through some images from previous conflicts on the planet, showing millions massacred in the name of manufactured cultural dividing lines. This was enough to help him see past all the psychobabble, and get right to the heart of the matter.
The native sapients of this planet were dangerous and needed to be eliminated.
The remainder of the broadcasts were for entertainment. In the past seventy years, the majority of broadcasts had become visual, but still there were audio only broadcasts of ordered sounds usually accompanied by a voice speaking to a rhythm. This “music”, as it was once called for many GU cultures, thousands of years before, was not unique to this planet. Most civilizations created musical art at some point, but as reason and enlightenment prevailed, the arts vanished almost entirely. There was no need for distraction when everyone had a purpose to fulfill in life. Art was not banned; it was simply irrelevant.
The captain found most of the music irritating: heavy thumping rhythms, crunching mechanical sounds, repetitive bleeping noises, and usually someone muttering petty nonsense. In some cases, despite their advanced understanding of the native languages, the words in the music were indiscernible. Not that it mattered much. What they could discern was nothing more than a distraction to pacify a fearful society.
The captain cycled between audio channels, finding nothing of interest to pass the time while he watched the numbers on his screen whittle down. Then he stumbled on something unique he had never heard before. The instruments were known to him, but the lack of thumping beat caught his attention. The instruments worked together to form a melody, instead of clashing or fighting to make the “thump” louder. First a group of low strings and then another, higher, came into play. The instruments worked apart, but came together in a roaring sound along with wind and brass. It got quiet again, and then repeated, only broader and with more intensity. The sound would not let up and continued in this fashion, rising and falling.
As the piece continued, he looked over at his display to see less than fifty-five standard minutes remained before the nano deployment. It amazed him that so much time had passed. He hadn’t realized how absorbed he was in the music. More amazing was that no music he had come across previously continued at such length. Most pieces lasted less than four of the local minutes, this had gone on now for over ten, but had done so with such variety that he had come in five minutes after it started, he wouldn’t have recognized it from the initial few measures.
Finally, it seemed as if the piece had come to an end with as much force as it had begun. He placed his hands on his chest, he could feel his heart was racing. He checked the receivers to determine from where the broadcast had originated, thinking it may have actually been a trick, or even some complicated means of communication, now that their fleet had been spotted. It was nothing so elaborate. It was a standard amplitude modulated radio transmission from one of the more densely populated areas. It was not focused in any direction, particularly the heavens, just sent out for all in range to hear.
He had no sooner gathered this information before the music continued. It was the same collection of instruments for sure, but now the sound was so chaotic. Quick bursts of stringed instruments accented at the end by the banging of some impossibly loud drums. Again, he was lost in the music, pulling himself out only briefly to re-broadcast the music to all the ships in the fleet.
No one on the ship said anything. Each and every person ceased whatever they were working on and stopped to listen. The chaotic piece went on for another ten standard minutes before another brief pause, and then a different theme emerged. This one was lighter and more passive.
In the GU society everyone had a purpose and duty to perform, to the point of having no time or desire to daydream. For the first time in the captain’s life, he found himself lost in his own imagination. He thought back to the previous musical themes and then this new one. He saw so many beautiful images in his head. He was reminded of the windblown fields of his home world, and a heavy rain pelting the windows of the living module in which he was raised. The images soon became more tangible. He remembered his mother, who had long since passed, and sitting in that grassy field with her having a picnic right before it began to storm.
He had never missed his mother, what purpose would missing her serve? Now there, in that moment, his only thought beyond the music was of her, and that desire to somehow see her again. There she was, as clear as that day in the field, and with him again. He had been teleported a thousand light years away from his charge and lost himself in memory. The notes of the music transformed themselves into fantasy and gave his heart an unconsciously desired peace.
As the third piece came to an end a fourth began, this one starting in chaos again, recalling pieces of the previous three parts, but quickly dismissing them. He imagined himself like a newborn, experiencing all of these things, only to find they were not what his adult heart desired, so he sought something new. And then came the new theme, something he could only describe as the mourning of something great. Slowly this sound came, piece by piece, until finally a lone deep stringed instrument played it entirely. Then the other instruments came in until at last in all its glory it crashed across the ship’s broadcast system. It was then he understood this not to be sound of mourning, but a triumph of hope.
The captain looked around and could see the confusion on the crew’s faces. After several repetitions of the instrumental theme, a voice came in, singing. To the captain’s surprise it was not in the language of the area from which it was broadcast, but was still in one of the language cultures marked as genocidal. He scrambled to run it through the translation calibration unit, but abandoned the process for fear of losing his concentration on the music.
As he absorbed the music, he found he didn’t need the translation. Somehow, he knew what was being said. The music was its own language, likely a language understood in every corner of the planet below as sure as it was being understood by thousands of non-native species hovering above.
The music spoke of hope and unity. It spoke of a bond beyond cultural divisions. It spoke in the voice of a power long since abandoned by the enlightened species of the GU. In that moment the captain felt a presence not known to any space faring race for millennia. The creatures below might have called it God, but in his mind, he understood it as a transcendent compassion.
Like the previous pieces, the themes shifted and the sounds varied intensities. Finally, it became so quiet he wondered if that is how it would end, with a slow fade out, almost prophetic in its description of what would happen to the people below. But then it came back, with so many individual voices, singing different parts, but coming together in an unprecedented harmony, so loud, so triumphant.
He wondered how a species so bent on destruction could create such a miraculous thing. He wondered if the creator of the music was on that planet at the very moment, or if it was something so old, from before monitoring began. Either way, he saw in that moment the potential of the species below. He knew if one among them was capable of creating something so luminous, then surely more of them would do the same thing, assuming more of them hadn’t done so already. He would not rob the universe of their gift.
Then his heart fell, and the tears came. How many other great gifts had he destroyed? On how many worlds had inspiring messages of hope like this been extinguished? How could he pass judgment on barbarians when he was the most barbaric of all?
For all the GU’s reason and enlightenment, they had lost their passion and in doing so had lost their compassion. This musical voice spoke beyond the barriers of language, culture, and even the vastness of space. It spoke of something all species could come to understand. These people had yet to truly take to the stars, but already some among them loved existence more than the creatures hovering above, who had, themselves, been to the edges of creation. From this primitive past came the blueprint for the future of all life.
As the final notes faded from the captain’s ears, he looked up at the countdown and saw less than five minutes remaining. He wiped the tears from his eyes and quickly entered the abort code, bringing the scrolling numbers to a halt. Finally, he turned off the receivers and then opened a channel to the rest of the fleet. “All ships stand down. Return to safe monitoring distance. I am instituting emergency protocol. The preceding transmission is to be interpreted as an attempt to contact us and thus this planet should no longer be considered as a candidate for pacification due to evolutionary interference by GU presence.”
He knew this was just a temporary legal roadblock. He would need to take this before the Parliament, but he was certain once they heard the music they would see as he did. The inhabitants of L01.V782.B09.003 would likely have to be monitored for decades to come, making sure once they did perfect faster than light travel, they didn’t cause any problems.
But for now they were safe.
* * *
“That was, of course, Beethoven’s Symphony Number Nine in D-Minor, Opus 125, Berlin Philharmonic, Ferenc Fricsay conducting. I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you enjoyed all of the music we’ve played here throughout the years. Thank you again to all of our loyal supporters. May we meet again. This is Louis Marshall signing off.”
“What’s the matter, Lou,” A voice called out once the ‘ON AIR’ sign went dim. “Didn’t feel like doing any work for your last shift?” The tech laughed as he came in and flipped some switches.
The older gentleman stood up from his chair and removed his headphones. “Naw. That and I wanted to go out with a bang. Nothing beats Beethoven’s 9th.”
The tech smiled. “Yeah, if anyone was actually listening. There’s no room for this old crap on the air. Talk radio is the way to bring in the bucks now.”
Lou nodded as he picked up a box full of his personal things. “I know. Lord, don’t I know it. Still, if just one person out there was listening, I feel like I accomplished something.”
The tech walked over and took the box from Lou’s hands, offering to help him carry it. “Good old Lou; still trying to save the world with your boring old music. You’ll never learn.”
Be embraced, millions!
This kiss for the whole world!
Brothers, above the starry canopy
must a loving Father dwell.
Do you bow down, millions?
Do you sense the Creator, world?
Seek Him beyond the starry canopy!
Beyond the stars must He dwell.
Armchair Screenwriter 