Event Horizon

## **Bio**

☁To M

To Mars

After millennia of earthbound foreplay, Mankind’s achievements on a noteworthy  level began with its political unification and the gradual colonization of Mars. While the  technology to colonize this world had existed for some time, political bickering, shifting  agendas  and  the  sheer  inertia  of  comfortable,  terrestrial  usurping  had  made  this  step  seem more distant than it actually was.

Only  when  the  risks  clearly  began  to  present  themselves,  only  when  Earth’s  environment began to buckle under the strain of twelve billion industrialized souls, did  Mankind finally take up the momentous task.

All  through  the  decades,  traveling  to,  and  later  settling  on  Mars  had  been  envisioned as quick, relatively easy affairs; complicated but feasible and manageable in  short term. As the push finally came to a shove, it was realized that this was not the case.

It  had  to  go  step  by  step.  Atmospheric  bombardment  by  genetically-tailored  microbes slowly generated a breathable atmosphere in a cycle that took centuries. Later,  a  few  cometary  fragments were  knocked  off-course  to  bring  forth  seas,  oceans; water.  When the wait was finally over, remnants of Earth’s flora and fauna were introduced as  specially-modified Martian remakes.

When everything was ready, *people* came  from their crowded world. They came  in  one-way  ships;  fusion  rockets  and  atmospheric  gliders,  packed  to  the  brim  with  colonists, sleeping in dreams of a new beginning.

The first steps on Mars were taken not by astronauts, but by barefoot children on  lush, biosynthetic grass.

The Martian Americans

For  several  hundred  years  Mars  remained  as  a  backwater;  prospering  but  still  dim  compared  to  the  splendor  of  Earth, which was glowing  brighter  than ever  before.  Thanks to the relocation of environmentally demanding industries to Mars, Earth could  usurp *everything*, without having to damage its tired biosphere. This was the Terrestrial  Heyday; the climax of economic, cultural and social development on old Earth.

This, however, was not  to last. Like  the gradual separation of America  from her  European  mother,  the  governments  of  Mars  adopted  a  new,  Martian  identity.  They  became the Martian Americans.

The difference  between  Earth  and  the  Mars  was  not  only  political.  A  few  generations  in  the  lighter  gravity  gave  the  new  Americans  a  spindly,  lithe  frame  that  would look surreal in  their old home. This, combined with a certain amount of genetic  engineering, took the Martians’ separation to a new level.

For a while the silent schism between the two planets was mutually accepted, and  the  balance  of  power  hung in an edgy equilibrium. But  the Terra-Martian  standoff  did  not,  could  not last  forever. With limitless  resources and an energetic  population, Mars  was bound to take the lead.

Civil War

The Martian  turnover was  expected  to  occur in  two ways;  either  through long term economical gains or by a much shorter but painful armed conflict. For almost two  hundred  years,  the  former  method  seemed  to  take  effect,  but  this  gradual  stretch  eventually *did* break in a most destructive way.

Almost  since  its  establishment,  Martian  culture  was  suffused  with  an  explicit  theme of rebellion against Earth. Songs, motion pictures and daily publications repeated  these notions again and again until they became internalized. Earth was the old, ossified  home that held humanity back, while Mars was *new*; dynamic, active and inventive. Mars  was *the future*.

This ideology eventually reached its semi-paranoid, revolutionary apex. Roughly  a  thousand  years  from  now,  the  nations  of  Mars  banned  all  non-essential  trade  and  travel with Earth.

For Earth, it was a death sentence. Without the resources and industries of Mars,  the  Terrestrial Heyday  would  quickly  devolve  into  a  pale  shadow  of  its  former  glory.  Since a trade of essential goods continued, nobody would starve. But for every citizen of  Earth, the Martian boycott meant the loss of up to three fourths of their yearly income.

Earth  had  no  choice  but  to  reclaim  its  former  privileges,  by  force  if  necessary.  Centuries after her political unification, Terra geared up for war.

Most thinkers (and fantasists) of previous times had imagined interplanetary war  as  a  glorious,  fast  paced  spectacle  of  massive  spaceships,  one-man  fighters  and  last minute heroics. No fantasy could have been further from the truth. War between planets  was a slow, nerve-wracking series of precisely timed decisions that spelled destruction  on biblical scales.

Most  of  the  time  the  combatants  never  saw  each  other.  Most  of  the  time  the  combatants were not there at all. War became a duel between complicated, autonomous  machines programmed to maximize damage to the other side while trying to last a little  longer.

Such a conflict caused horrendous destruction on both sides. Phobos, one of Mars’  moons, was shattered, and rained down as meteorite hail. Earth received a polar impact  that killed of one third of its population.

Barely  escaping  extinction,  the  peoples  of  Earth  and  Mars  made  peace  and  re forged a united solar system. It had cost them more than eight *billion* souls.

7

ALL TOMORROWS – C. M. KOSEMEN

Star People

The survivors agreed that massive changes were necessary to ensure that such a  war never occurred again. These reforms were so comprehensive that they entailed not  political, economical but biological changes as well.

One  of  the greatest  differences  between  the  people  of  the  two  planets was  that  over  time,  they  had  almost  become  different  species.  It  was  believed  that  the  solar  system could never completely unify until this discrepancy was overcome.

The answer was a new human subspecies, equally and better adapted not only to  Earth and Mars, but to the conditions of most newly terraformed environments as well.  Furthermore,  these  beings were envisioned with larger  brains and  heightened  talents,  making them greater than the sum of their predecessors.

Normally, it would be hard to convince *any* population to make a choice between  mandatory  sterilization and parenting a newfangled  race  of  superior beings. However,  memories  of  the  war  were  still  painfully  fresh,  and  it  was  easier  to  implement  these  radical procedures in the wake of such slaughter. Any resistance to the birth of the new  species did not extend beyond meager complaints and trivial strikes.

In only a few generations, the new race began to prove its worth. Organized as a  single  state  and  aided  by  the  technological  developments  of  the  war,  they  rapidly  terraformed and colonized Venus, the Asteroids and the moons of Jupiter and Saturn.

Soon  however,  even  the  domain  of  Sol  grew  too  small.  The  new  people  who  inherited  it  wanted  to  go  further,  to  new  worlds  under  distant  stars.  They  were  to  become the Star People.

Colonization and the Mechanical Oedipi

Even  for  the  Star  People,  interplanetary  travel  was  a  momentous  task.  Early  minds had boggled over  the problem and  fantasies such as  faster  than light  travel and  hyperspace emerged as the only “solutions”.

Simply  put,  it  was  impossible  to  take  a  large  number  of  people  with  enough  supplies to even the closest star to make colonization feasible. The existing technologies  could only slug along at mere percentages of lightspeed, making  the journey an epoch spanning affair. Enormous “generation ships” were conceived and even built, but these  succumbed to technical difficulties or on-board anarchy after a few cycles.

The solution was to  first go there, and *make* the colonists later. To this end,  fast  and  small, automated  ships were  sent  forth  to  the  stars. On  board were  semi-sentient  machines  programmed  to  replicate  and  terraform  the  destination,  and  “construct”  its  inhabitants from the genetic materials stored on board.

A bizarre problem plagued  such attempts. The  first generation  of humans  to be  manufactured  sometimes  developed  a  strange  affection  for  the  machines  that  made  them. They  rejected  their  own  kind and  perished after  the massive identity  crisis  that  followed. This technological Oedipus complex was not uncommon; nearly half of all the  colony-founding attempts were lost through it.

Even then, however, the remaining half was enough to fill Humanity’s own spiral  arm of the galaxy.

The Summer of Man

Right  after  Mankind’s  colonization  of  the  galaxy  came  its  first  true  golden  age.  Reared by machine prophets, the survivors of the Oedipal plagues built civilizations that  equaled and even surpassed their Solar forbears.

This diffusion across  the heavens did not mean a loss of unity. Across  the skies,  steady  flows  of  electromagnetic  communication  linked  Mankind’s  worlds with  such  efficiency that there was no colony that did not know about the goings on of her distant  siblings.  The  free-flow  of information meant,  among  other  things;  a  vastly  accelerated  pace of technological growth. What couldn’t be figured out in one world was helped out  by another, and any new developments were quickly made known to all in a realm that  spanned centuries of light.

Not  surprisingly, living  standards  rose  to  previously  unimaginable levels. While  this did not exactly mean a galactic utopia, it was safe to say that people of the colonized  galaxy  lived  lives  in  which  labor;  both  menial  and  mental,  was  purely  compulsory.  Thanks to the richness of the heavens and the toil of machines, each person had access  to material and cultural wealth greater than that of some nations today.

During  all  this  development,  a  curious  phenomenon  was  observed. While  alien  life  was  abundant in  the  stars,  no  one  had  encountered  any  signs  of  true intelligence.  Some  attributed  this  to  an  overall  rarity, while  others went  as  far  as  divine influence;  resurrecting religion.

Regardless  of  the  theorizing,  one  question  went  truly  and  utterly  unanswered.  What *would* really happen, if mankind ever ran into his equals or superiors in space?

An Early Warning

During those times, a small discovery of immense implications warned humanity  that it might not be alone.

On  a  newly  colonized  world,  engineers  had  stumbled  across  the  remains  of  a  puzzling creature, considered so because it had every hallmark of terrestrial animals *on  an alien planet*.  Justifiably named *Panderavis pandora*,  the colossal  fossil belonged  to a  bird-like  creature  with  enormous  claws.  Later  research  determined  it  to  be  a  highly  derived *therizinosaur*, from a lineage of herbivorous dinosaurs that died out millions of  years ago on Earth.

While  every  other  large  land  animal  on  that  colony  world  had  three  limbs,  a  copper  based  skeletal  system  and  hydrostatically  operated  muscles; *Panderavis* was  a  typical  terrestrial  vertebrate  with  calcium-rich  bones  and  four  extremities.  Finding  it  there was as unlikely as finding an alien creature in Earth’s own strata.

For  some,  it  was  irrefutable  proof  of  divine  creation.  The  religious  resurgence,  fueled  at  first  by  mankind’s  apparent  loneliness  in  the  heavens,  got  even  more  intensified.

Others  saw it  differently. *Panderavis* had  shown  humans  that entities; powerful  enough to visit Earth, take animals from there and adapt them to an alien world, were at  large in  the galaxy.  Considering  the  time gulf  of  the  fossil itself,  the mysterious  beings  were millennia older than humanity when they were capable of such things.

The  warning  was  clear.  There  was  no  telling  what  would  happen  if  mankind  suddenly  ran  into  this  civilization.  A  benevolent  contact  was  obviously  preferred  and  even expected, but it paid to be prepared.

Silently, humanity once again began to build and stockpile weapons, this time of  the interplanetary  potency.  There were  terrible  devices,  capable  of  nova-ing  stars and  wrecking  entire  solar  systems.  Sadly,  even  these  preparations  would  prove  to  be  ineffectual in time.

Qu

The  first  contact  was  bound  to  happen.  The  galaxy,  let  alone  the  Universe  was  simply too big for just a singular species to develop intelligence in. Any delay in contact  only meant a heightening of the eventual culture shock. In humanity’s case, this “culture  shock” meant the *complete extinction* of mankind as it had come to be known.

Almost a billion years old,  the alien species known as Qu were galactic nomads,  traveling  from  one  spiral  arm  to  another  in  epoch-spanning  migrations.  During  their  travels they constantly improved and changed themselves until they became masters of  genetic  and  nanotechnological  manipulation.  With  this  ability  to  control  the  material  world,  they  assumed  a  religious,  self-imposed mission  to  “*remake  the  universe  as  they  saw fit.*” Powerful as gods, Qu saw themselves as the divine harbingers of the future.

This  dogma  was  rooted  in  what  had  been  a  benevolent  attempt  to  protect  the  race from its own power. However, blind, unquestioning obedience had made monsters  of the Qu.

To  them  humanity,  with  all  of  its  relative  glories,  was  nothing  more  than  a  transmutable  subject.  Within  less  than  a  thousand  years,  every  human  world  was  destroyed,  depopulated  or  even  worse;  changed.  Despite  the  fervent  rearmament,  the  colonies could achieve nothing against its billion-year-old foes, save for a few flashes of  ephemeral resistance.

Humanity,  once  the  ruler  of  the  stars, was  now extinct. However,  humans were  not.

Man Extinguished

The  worlds  of  humanity,  gardens  of  terraformed  paradise,  seemed  strangely  empty  to  the Qu. Often  there were no  raw materials available  other  than people,  their  cities and a  few basic niches of ecology, populated by genetically modified animals and  plants  from Earth. This was because humans had erased  the original alien ecologies in  the first place.

Offended  by  another  race  trying  to  remake  the  universe,  the  Qu  set  forth  to  punish these “infidels” by using *them* as the building materials of their vision. While this  led  to  a  complete  extinguishment  of  human  sentience,  it  also  saved  the  species  by  preserving its genetic heritage in a myriad of strange new forms.

Populated  by  ersatz  humans,  now  in  every  guise  from  wild  animals to  pets  to  genetically modified tools, Qu reigned supreme  for  forty million years on the worlds of  our galaxy. They erected kilometer-high monuments and changed the surfaces of entire  worlds, apparently to whim.

One  day,  they  departed  as  they  had  come. For  theirs was  a  never-ending  quest  and they would not, could not stop until they had swept through the entire cosmos.

Behind them the Qu left a thousand worlds, each filled with bizarre creatures and  ecologies that had once been men. Most of them perished right after their caretakers left,  others  lasted  a  little  longer  to  succumb  to  long-term  instabilities.  On  a  precious  few  words, descendants of people actually managed to survive.

In  them  lay  the  fate  of  the  species,  now  divided  and  differentiated  beyond  recognition.

Worms

Their world lay under a scorching sun, its intensity made monstrous through the  interventions of the bygone Qu. The surface lay littered with husks of dead cities, baking  endlessly like shattered statues in a derelict oven.

Yet  life  remained  on  this  unforgiving  place.  Forests  of crystalline  “plants”  blanketed  the  surface,  recycling  oxygen  for  the  animal  life  that  teemed  underground.  One such species, barely longer than the arms of their ancestors, was the sole surviving  vertebrate. Furthermore, it was that planet’s last heir of the star people.

Distorted  beyond  recognition  by  genetic  modification,  they  looked  for  all  the  word like pale, overgrown worms. Tiny, feeble feet and hands modified for digging were  all that betrayed their noble heritage. Aside from these organs, all was simplified for the  life  underground.  Their  eyes  were  pinpricks,  they  lacked  teeth,  external  ears  and  the  better half of their nervous system.

The lives of these ersatz people did not extend beyond digging aimlessly. If they  encountered  food,  they  devoured  it.  If  they  encountered  others  of  their  kind,  they  sometimes devoured  them  too. But mostly  they mated and multiplied, and managed  to  preserve a single shred of their humanity in their genes. In time, it would do them good.

Titans

On  the  endless  savannah  of  a  long-extinguished  colonial  outpost,  enormous  beasts roamed supreme. More than forty meters long by terrestrial measurements, these  behemoths were actually the transmuted offspring of the Star People.

Several  features  betrayed  their  human  ancestry.  They  still  retained  stubby  thumbs on their elephantine front feet, now useless for any sort of precise manipulation  except for uprooting trees. They compensated this loss by developing their lower lip into  a muscular, trunk like organ that echoed the elephants of Earth’s past.

As  bestial  as  they  seemed,  the  Titans  were  among  the  smartest  of  the  reduced  sub-men that remained in the galaxy. Their hulking stance allowed for a developed brain  and gradually, sentience re-emerged. With their lip-trunks they  fashioned ornate wood  carvings, erected hangar-like dwellings and even began a  form of primitive agriculture.  With settled life came the inevitable flood of language and literature; myths and legends  of the bygone, half-remembered past were told in booming voices across the vast plains.

It  was  easy  to  see  that,  within  a  few  hundred  thousand  years,  Humanity  could  start  again with  these  titanic  primitives. Sadly,  as  a  catastrophic ice-age  took  over  the  Titans’ homeworld the gentle giants disappeared, never to return.

Predators and Prey

Devolved  predators  were  common  among  humanity’s  feral  worlds.  Most  of  the  time  they  resembled  the  vampires,  werewolves  and  goblins  of  bygone  lore;  hunting  equally sub-human prey with a combination of derived weaponry. Some had enormous  heads with large,  killing  teeth. Others  tore  their  victims  apart with  talon-like  feet. But  the most  common  kinds  bore modified  fingers  and  thumbs,  bristling with  razor-sharp  claws.

The  most  efficient  of  these  predators  lived  on  one  of  mankind’s  first  off-world  colonies.  In addition  to paw-like hands with switchblade  thumbs  they also had gaping,  tooth  studded  jaws  on  disproportionate  heads  with  large,  sensitive  ears.  All  of  these  served to make them the dominant predators on their home planet.

They  ran  the  prairies,  stalked  the  forests and  ranged  through  the mountains in  pursuit  of  different  people;  herbivorous  saltators  with  bird-like  legs. While  their  prey  lapsed into complete animosity,  the hunters managed  to keep  the spark of intelligence  alive in their evolutionary honing.

Mantelopes

Not  all  devolved  people  lapsed  into  complete  bestiality.  Some  held  on  to  their  minds, while losing all of  their physiological advantages  to  the genetic meddling of  the  Qu.

A  singular  species  was  a  prime  exemplar.  They  had  been  bred  as  singers  and  memory-retainers, acting much like living recorders during the reign of Qu. When their  masters left they barely survived, reverting into a quadrupedal stance and occupying a  niche  as  grazing  herd  animals.  This  change  was  so  abrupt  that  the  newly  evolved  Mantelopes endured only due to the forgiving sterility of their artificial biosphere.

The  Mantelopes,  equipped  with  full  (if  slightly  numbed)  Human  minds  and completely disabled animal bodies, lived agonizing lives. They could see and understand  the world around them, but due to their bodies they could do nothing to change it. For  centuries,  mournful  herds  roamed  the  plains,  singing  songs  of  desperation  and  loss.  Entire religions and oral traditions were woven around this crippling racial disability, as  dramatic and detailed as any on bygone Earth.

Fortunately, the selective forces of evolution made their agony a short-lived one.  Simply put, a brain was not advantageous to develop if it could not be put into good use.  A dim-witted, half minded Mantelope grew up faster than a smart one, and grazed just as  efficiently.  The  Mantelopes’  animal  children  overtook  them  in  less  than  a  hundred  thousand years, and their melancholic world  fell silent  for good. Nothing was sacred in  the evolutionary process.

Swimmers

Perhaps  because  their  life  cycle  involved  an  aquatic  larval  stage,  the  Qu  had  transmuted a large number of their human subjects into a bewildering array of aquatic  creatures.  Taken  care  of  by  specially-bred  attendants,  these  post-human  water  babies  came in every shape and size imaginable. There were limbless, ribbon like  varieties of  eel-people, huge, whale like behemoths, decorative people who swam by squirting water  out of their hypertrophied mouths and horrifying multitudes of brainless wallowers that  served as food stock.

All  of  them  were  perfectly  domesticated.  All  of  them  went  extinct  when  their  masters  left.  All  save  a  few  lightly  mutated,  generalized  forms.  These  swimmers  still  resembled  their  human  ancestors  to  a  large  degree;  they  had  no  artificial  gills,  their  hands were still visible  through  their  front  flippers,  their  feet were splayed affairs  that  functioned  like  a  pair  of  tail  flukes.  Recognizably  human  eyes  peeked  through  their  blubbery  eyelids  and  they  spoke  to  each  other,  though  not  in  words  and  never  in  sentient understanding.

For millennia  they swam  the oceans of  their ecologically stunted world,  feeding  on  diversifying  kinds  of  fish  and  crustaceans;  survivors  of  the  food  stock  originally  imported  from Earth. With  the intervention of  the Qu gone, natural selection resumed.  The  swimmers  became  more  streamlined  to  better  catch  their  fast  prey.  The  prey  responded by getting even faster, or evolving defensive countermeasures such as armor,  spikes  or  poison.  Their  evolution  back  on  track,  the  swimmers  drifted  further  and  further away  from  their  sentient ancestry.   They would wait  for a long  time indeed  to  taste that blessing again.

Lizard Herders

They were the lucky ones. Instead of unrecognizably distorting them as they had  done to most of their subjects, the Qu had merely erased their sentience and stunted the  development of their brains.

Distantly  resembling  their  ancient  forebears  on  Earth,  the  primitives  led  feral  lives  for  an  unnaturally  long  time.  They  never  regained  sentience  after  the  Qu  left,  despite  having every incentive  to  do  so.  This was  partially  due  to  the  total absence  of  predators  on  their  garden  world,  resulting  in no  advantage  for  intelligence.  Furthermore, the Qu had made some small but integral changes to their brains, tweaking  with  the  structure  of  cerebellum  so  that  certain  features  associated  with  heuristic  learning  could  never  emerge  again. Once  again,  the  reasons  for  these  baffling  changes  remained known only to the Qu.

The  dumb  people  eventually  settled  in  a  symbiosis  with  some  of  the  other  creatures  that  inhabited  their  planet.  They  began  to  instinctively  “farm”  some  of  the  large, herbivorous reptiles, ancestors of which were brought from Earth as pets.

Soon the balance of this mutualism began to tip in the reptiles’ favor. The tropical  climate  of  the  planet  gave  them  an  inherent  advantage,  and  they  underwent  a  spectacular  radiation  of  different  species.  They  encountered  no  competition  from  the  only  large  mammals  on  the  planet;  the  brain-neutered  descendants  of  the  starfarers.  Faced with a  reptilian  turnover,  the  only adaptation  the sub-men could muster was  to  slip quietly into bestial oblivion.

Temptor

In  the  Temptors’  case,  the  remodeling  was  done  with  an  almost  artistic  enthusiasm.  How  they  managed  to  survive  in  their  bizarre  form  was  not  clear;  their  ancestors were used as sessile decoration and through some miracle of adaptation they  had endured.

No human would have recognized *them* as  their descendants. The  females were  beaked  cones  of  flesh  some  two  meters  tall,  rooted  in  soil  like  grotesque  carnivorous  plants. The males on the other hand, resembled contorted, bipedal monkeys. Unlike their  mates they were perfectly ambulatory; dozens of them ran around the females’ mounds  like so many imps. Some would gather food, others would clean the females while others  would  stand  on guard  for  danger. Although  their actions looked  purposeful,  the males  had no will of their own.

In Temptor society,  females controlled everything. Using a combination of vocal  and  phermonal  signals,  they  guided  the  masculine  hordes  into  any  number  of  menial  tasks, while mating with  the strongest,  the most obedient and  the dumbest  to produce  even  better  drones.  On  certain  periods  they  would  also  give  birth  to  a  few  precious  females, who would be carried away by subservient males to root themselves.

It was a  terribly efficient hegemony  that would certainly give rise  to civilization  in  a  matter  of  centuries  had  fate  not  intervened.  As  a  stray  comet  obliterated  the  Temptors’ mound forests, one of Humanity’s best chances for re-emergence was cruelly  swept away.

Bone Crusher

Through  the  deliberate modifications  of Qu and  the  blind molding  of evolution,  the  heavens  came  to  be  populated  with  creatures  that  would  put  the  myths  of  their  ancestors to shame.

Their ancestors were pint-sized pets of Qu that were bred for the dazzling colors  of their tooth-derived beaks. When their masters left, most of these pampered creatures  died, with no one or nothing left to take care of them.

But  some,  belonging  to  the  hardiest  breeds,  survived.  In  less  than  a  geological  eyeblink  of  a  few  million  years,  the  descendants  of  such  creatures  radiated  into  the  evolutionary  vacuum  of  their  garden  world.  One  lineage  led  to  a  profusion  of  human  herbivores.  These  were  preyed  upon  by  a  variety  of  enamel-beaked  raptors,  each  evolved  to  deal  with  a  specific  prey.  Among  these  generalized  niches  were  entire  assemblages of specialized animals, resembling anything from ibis-billed swamp sifters  to splendorous forms with bizarre crests that flared out of their toothy beaks.

There were even  secondarily  sentient  forms, in  the  shape  of  the  ogre-like  bone  crushers. To an  observer  of  today  they would indeed be  the stuff  of nightmares;  three  meters  tall  and  hairy,  sporting  vicious  thumb  claws  and  enormous  beaks  that  suited  their scavenging diet.

Despite  their shortcomings,  these corpse eating primitives were one of  the  first  species  to  attain  *intelligence,* and  although  primitive,  a  level  of  civilization.  All  of  this  proved the fallacy of human prejudice in the posthuman galaxy. A creature could feed on  putrefying meat, stink like a grave and express its affection by defecating on others, but  it might as well be your own grandchild *and* the last hope of mankind.

In eventuality, however, not even the bone crushers  fulfilled this promise. Their  dependency  on carrion  for  food limited  their population  severely, and  their mediaeval  civilizations crumbled after a few uneventful millennia.

Colonials

Their world had given the toughest resistance against the Qu onslaught. So tough, in fact, that they had turned back two successive waves of the invaders, only to succumb  to the third.

The  Qu,  with  their  twisted  sense  of  justice,  wanted  to  make  them  pay.  Even  extinction would be too light a punishment for resisting the star gods. The humans of the  rogue  world  needed  a  sentence  that  would  remind  them  of  their  humiliation  for  generations to come.

So they were made into disembodied cultures of skin and muscle, connected by a  skimpy  network  of  the  most  basic  nerves.  They  were  employed  as  living  filtering  devices, subsisting on the waste products of Qu civilization like mats of cancer cells. And  just  to  witness  and  suffer  their  wretched  fate,  their  eyes,  together  with  their  consciousness, were retained.

For forty million years they suffered; generation after generation were born into  the most miserable of lives while absorbing the pain of all that they were going through.

When the Qu left, they hoped for a quick extinction. But their lowliness had also  made  them  efficient  survivors.  Unchecked  by  the  Qu,  the  colonials  spread  across  the  planet in quilt-like  fields of human  flesh. After an eternity of  tortured lives,  the human  fields tasted something that could almost be described as hope.

Flyers

They  were  not  uncommon  at  all  in  the  domain  of  Qu.  At  least  a  dozen  worlds  sported human-derived  flying species of one kind or another. Most resembled  the bats  or  the  pterosaurs  of  the  bygone  past,  dancing  through  the  aether  like  angels.  (Or  demons,  depending  on  the  point  of  view.)  There  were  a  few  bizarre  kinds  relied  on  swollen gas glands for floatation as well.

Sadly,  most  of  these  creatures  were  already  too  specialized  to  be  anything  but  flyers.  They  had  forsaken  their  humanity  for  the  conquest  of  the  sky;  they  had  little  potential for further radiation beyond their limited roles.

The  only  exception  proved  out  to  be  a  monkey-like  species  that  flew  on  wing  membranes stretched across the last two fingers. Their advantage was a unique, turbine  like  heart,  artificially  developed  during  the  regime  of Qu. No  other  human  flyer in  the  galaxy  had  such  an  adaptation.  The  starfish  shaped  organ  sat  in  the  middle  of  their  chests,  directly  funneling  oxygen  from  the  lungs  to  the  bloodstream  in  a  supremely  efficient way. This meant  that  the  Flyers  could  develop energy-consuming adaptations  such as large brains without having to give up their power of flight.

Not that the flyers were going to reclaim their sentience right away. Instead, they  literally exploded into skies, filling the heavens with anything from bomber-sized sailors  to impossibly  fast predators that raced with sound. Their world was pristine and there  were plenty of niches to play in. Intelligence could wait a little more.

Hand Flappers

Some  flying  posthumans  re-approached  sentience  in  an  entirely  different  way.  Without the augmented metabolisms or the gravitational advantages of their siblings on  distant  planets,  they  had  no  choice  but  to  give  up  their  power  of  flight  in  order  to  develop further.

The Hand Flappers were one such species. Their wings, once used  for butterfly like  flutters in  the unearthly gardens of Qu, had shrunken and reverted back into  their  manual  condition.  Their legs  were  likewise  re-adapted,  but  they  bore  a  splayed  awkwardness from their perching ancestry.

Only  a  singular,  and  an  almost  sadistically  simple  flaw  held  them  back  from  developing civilization. In the course of their secondary atrophy, the wings of the Hand  Flappers  had  become  useless  as  *hands* as  well.  Their  flag  like  appendages  were  very  useful in signaling and mating dances, but they couldn’t hurl missiles, construct shelter  or even manufacture  basic  stone  tools. All  that  they  could  do with  their  useless  hands  was  to  display  each  others’  sexual  availability,  so  the  Hand  Flappers  did  just  that;  flashing and dancing their way to oblivion.

Blind Folk

When  the Qu came  they dug in, and dug in deep.  Inside several continent-sized  shelters under their besieged world, they waited for the invaders to pass them by. It was  a  futile gamble. The Qu located the shelter-caves and remade their inhabitants without  effort.

The shelters became home  to an entirely different ecology, a realm of perpetual  darkness,  fueled  by  the trickle  of  water  and  nutrients  from  the  world  outside.  A  surprisingly complex ecology developed on this scant resource; gigantic pale insects; the  descendants of common household pests, competed with Dali-esque birds and rodents  over  fields of overgrown  fungi. Predators were not uncommon; almost crocodilian  fish  patrolled  the  underground  streams  and  vast  blind  bats,  echolocating  with  unnerving  precision, took their toll on the residents of the cave floor. The kilometer-high ceilings of  the shelters glowed in the dark with protean constellations of bioluminescent fungi, and  in some cases, animals.

People  were  present  here  as  well,  albeit  in  unfamiliar  forms.  They  were  more  often  heard  than  seen,  as  they  tried  to  find  their  way  in  the  dark  with  banshee-like  screams.  These  albino  troglodytes  lived  in  a  realm  where  sound  and  touch,  not  sight,  was  the  gateway  of  perception.  They  had  developed  long,  tactile  fingers,  enormous  whiskers and mobile ears to live in the dark. Where their eyes should have been, there  was nothing but a patch of haunting, flawlessly smooth skin. Their perfect adaptation to  the world of darkness had erased the most basic feature of human recognition.

As adapted as they were, they were doomed. Before the Blind Folk could develop  any kind of intelligence to crawl out of their geographical graves, the glacial constriction  of their World’s continental plates snuffed out the shelters one by one.

Lopsiders

The  Qu  were  grotesquely  creative  in  their  redesign  of  the  human  worlds.  One  group  of  misfortunate  souls  they  transported  to  a  planet  with  thirty-six  times  the  amount  of  “normal” gravity, and made  them  over  for life in  this  bizarrely inhospitable  realm.

The results of these experiments resembled nightmare sketchings of Bosch, Dali  or  Picasso.  They  looked  like  cripples  squashed  between  sheets  of  glass.  Three  out  of  their  four  limbs  had  become  paddle-like  organs  for  crawling;  only  one  of  their  arms  remained as spindly tool of manipulation. This singular, wizened limb also doubled as an  extra sensor, like the antennae of an insect.

Their  faces  were  different  horrors  altogether.  All  pretensions  of  symmetry;  the  hallmark of terrestrial animals  from jawless  fish onwards, were completely and utterly  done away with. One bulging eye stared directly upward while the other scanned ahead,  in  the  direction  of  the  creature’s  vertically-opening  jaws.  The  ears  were  likewise  distorted.

Monstrous  as  they  looked,  these  ex-men  *thrived* in  their  heavy-gravity  environment. Once again  there was  the usual explosion  of  species into every available  niche, and the Lopsiders consolidated their chances for a renewed sentience.

Striders

While  the  Lopsiders  were  redesigned  to  live  under  extreme  gravity,  another  species had been adapted for life under the exact opposite conditions; on a Jovian moon  with one fifth of Earth’s gravity.

It was a world of wonders, where even the grass grew almost ten meters tall and  the  trees  were  beyond  belief,  towering  to  sizes  attained  only  by  the  skyscrapers  of  antiquity.  In  these  surreal  forests  lived  equally  spectacular  fauna;  the  descendants  of  pets, pests and livestock of humans, who in turn had been reduced to animosity as well.

One could see them in the league-tall forests, almost dancing among the trees as  they reared higher and higher to browse. Their arms, legs, and necks had been stretched  impossibly thin, great flaps of skin blossomed throughout their bodies to dispense waste  heat. Sometimes  they would even  change  their  color in  order  to  reflect light and  keep  cool. Overheating was a great problem for their grotesquely tall, thin bodies.

Although  imposing,  these  Giacomettian  wraiths  were  over-developed  as  to  be  sickeningly  fragile.  Even  on  their  gravitationally  forgiving  world,  a  fall  could  shatter  their bones, and slipping down from a branch would prove to be fatal. Sometimes, on the  open plains, even a  strong wind  could  bring  them  down like  the  toppling masts.  They  survived entirely due to the merciful conditions of their garden world, which were about  to change drastically.

About  two million  years  after  the Qu left  their  towering works of  human  art,  a  lineage of fearsome predators evolved from the terrestrial poultry that had gone feral on  the  planet.  Resembling  attenuated  versions  of  their  dinosaur  ancestors,  the  predators  swept  through  the garden world like wildfires, extinguishing any species  too  fragile  to  escape, or resist. The peaceful, delicate striders were among the first to go

Parasites

Humanity had diverged into  two separate lineages on  their world. On one hand  there were  several  races  of  almost Australopithecine  cripples,  degraded  by  the Qu  for  managing to turn back their initial wave of invasion. Yet simple atavism was too light a  punishment for them. Their twisted relatives, the parasites, made up the second part of  their sentence.

There were actually  several  kinds  of  parasitic ex-people,  ranging  from  tortoise sized ambulatory vampires to the more common fist-sized variety that lived attached to  their hosts. There was even a  tiny, endoparasitic kind  that infested  the wombs of  their  female victims like ghastly, living abortions.

All of  these evolutionary  tortures were played out under  the careful scrutiny of  the Qu for forty million years. The punishment was so baroque, so elaborate that most of  the artificial parasite-host relationships died out when the Qu left. Some sub-men learnt  to cleanse their tick-like relatives by drowning, burning or even eating them. Others, like  the  vaginal  parasites,  died  out  as  their  aggressive  method  of  parasitism  effectively  sterilized their hosts.

Yet  one  or  two  varieties  did  manage  to  cling  on  to  their  hosts  with  abdominal  suckers, muscular, gripping limbs and sterile, pain-soothing saliva. But their success did  not  lie  entirely  in  the  strength  of  their  parasitical  advantages.  They  also  learnt  to  regulate  their dumb hosts, not killing  them by over-infestation and  thus ensuring  their  own long-term survival as well.

In  any  case,  totally  single-sided  relations  were  rare  in  any  ecology,  natural  or  artificial.  In millennial  cycles,  the  cousin  species’  vicious  parasitism  began  to give way  into something more beneficial for both sides.

Finger Fishers

Their ancestors were  trapped  on an archipelago world; a  planet  sprinkled with  many  small  continents  and  countless  islands  over  interconnected  networks  of  calm,  swallow  seas.  Like  a  magnified  Aegean,  this  place  was  a  terrestrial  paradise  in  many  respects. Except that after the Qu, no minds were left to enjoy it.

On  this vacant biosphere, evolution was quick  to begin her blind, unpredictable  dance. Once  feral,  the descendants of degenerate humans adapted  themselves  to every  available  niche,  no matter  how  exotic,  how  outlandish.  One  group  learnt  to  pluck  fish  from  the  lazy  shores.  Millennia  passed  and  they  settled  more  into  their  piscatorial  lifestyle.  Elongated  fingers  became  ambulatory  fish-hooks,  teeth  modified  for  a  generalized diet became needle-like affairs, lined up neatly in a long, thin muzzle. In less  than  a  few  million  years,  the  Finger  Fishers  established  themselves  as  a  prominent  lineage. There was scarcely a beach, an island or an estuary that was devoid of their pale,  lanky forms.

As  prolific  as  they  were,  the  Fishers  were  still  no  better  than  animals.  Their  “humanity” would come only after another spasm of outlandish adaptations.

Hedonists

Even the blissful existence of the Finger Fishers would have seemed bothersome  to the Hedonists; for their kind was not evolved, but *designed* for a life of pleasure. The  Qu  had  kept  them  as  pampered  pets;  set  loose in  a  tropical island-world  of  succulent  fruits,  bountiful  trees  and  calm,  lapping  lakes  full  of  sweet,  bacterial  manna.  Furthermore,  the Hedonists were left as  the *only animal life* on  this place. They had no  choice but to enjoy it to the fullest.

In normal conditions, any given species would quickly crowd out such an utopian  environment. But normal conditions had never been the point of the Qu redesign. They  had  altered  their  subjects  so  that  they  could  conceive  only  after  mating  an  enormous  number of potential suitors, continually over a period of decades. While this took care of  the  population  problem, it  also made  the  species less  adaptable. Without  any  point in  sexual competition, natural selection would progress only at a glacial pace. Fortunately,  their stable microcosm remained  free of environmental catastrophes even after  the Qu  left.

All these changes had also made the Hedonists’ day. Their lives were juxtaposed  routines of browsing, sleeping and mind-blowing sex; troubled neither by the concerns  of disease or pregnancy. Aloof and carefree, they enjoyed the most pleasurable times of  all mankinds, albeit with the intellectual capabilities of three-year-olds.

It  didn’t  really  matter,  though.  Who  needed  to  *think* when  having  such  a  nice  time, after all?

Insectophagi

Nondescript, quaint human species abounded in the post-Qu galaxy. Hundreds of  them  lived  out  simple,  unnoticed  lives,  never  developing  to  become  sentient,  never  learning their true heritage as star-born human beings. Most of them went extinct, not to  be missed  or  even remembered.  Those  that lingered  on managed  to  survive in  shady,  quiet niches, never again making any impact on the celestial scheme of things.

One such species was the Insectophagi. They had quietly adapted themselves for  a diet of colonial insects and small animals; they had faces covered with leathery plates,  claw-like hands to dig out prey and worm-like tongues to scoop them up.

All in all, they weren’t special in any particular way. But a combination of galactic  invasions, coincidence and pure luck would later make them the longest-enduring of all  ur-starmen.

The  meek  would  inherit  the  cosmos,  though  not  just  yet.  For  now,  the  Insectophagi were concerned only with the location of insect colonies, and the onset of  the mating season.

Spacers

It must be remembered  that  the Star People did not succumb entirely  to  the Qu  invasions. While their worlds fell away one by one, some Star People took refuge in the  void  of  space.  One  after  another,  entire  communities  scrambled  into  generation  ships  and cast themselves off into the darkness, hoping to go unnoticed by the beings that had  overrun their galaxy.

Desperate  times  made  for desperate  measures.  As  the  Star  Men  had  observed  during  their initial colonization of  the galaxy, life in generation ships inevitably lead  to  mass insanity and anarchy. This time however, humans *had* to adapt themselves -or face  extinction.

Entire asteroid  fields were confiscated and hollowed out to make space-ships of  unseen  size.  These  hollow  shells  cradled  bubbles  of  precious  air  and  water,  but  no  artificial gravity of any kind.  It was discovedred that a purely ethereal existence would  ease the stress of interstellar exhile, provided that its inhabitants were adapted  for life  inside such an environment.

Furthermore,  *people* were  forced  to  change  themselves.  In  an  atmospherically  sealed,  gravity-free  environment,  their  bones  were  left  free  to  grow  longer,  thinner,  spindlier.  The  circulatory  and  digestive  systems  were  pressurized  to  avoid  heart  problems  and  congestion.  The  latter  change  had  another  advantageous  side  effect;  humans could navigate through the void with jets of air -expelled from modified anuses.

Such experiments were numerous, and usually plagued with failure. Yet they did  succeed  in  creating  a  future.  Sealed  tight  in  their  moon  sized,  air  filled,  weightless  havens, the descendants of the Star People managed to evade the scourge of Qu.

It was an endless diaspora. Even after the Qu left, they would find themselves too  divergent  to  have  anything  to  do  with  their  ancestral  lifestyles.  The  survivors  of  the  initial hurdle would never set foot on a planet again.

Ruin Haunters

A particular human species, singled out by its lucky access  to  the heritage of its  stellar  ancestors, would  eventually  get  to  play  a leading role in  the  shape  of  things  to  come.

They had gotten  through  the Qu invasion with  relatively little degradation;  yes,  they  *had* been  reduced  to  the  level  of  apes,  but  their  recovery  had  been  quick.  Apparently,  the Qu  had  not worked  as  hard  at  suppressing their intelligence. Nor  had  they made a comparable effort  to wipe away  the material  traces of  the Star Men. Even  after millions of years, enormous ruins of the global urban spaces littered the continents  of their world. Thus did the Ruin Haunters earn their names.

With  developed  minds  and  unrestricted  access  to  the  wisdom  of  the  ancient  cities,  the  exponential  pace  of  their  development  was  only  natural.  One  by  one  they  deciphered  and  built  upon  the  secrets  of  the  bygone  Star  People,  until  they  almost  equaled their galactic ancestors in wisdom and skill.

All  of  this  development  happened  in  an  unnaturally  short  period  of  time,  and  sometimes  the  old  technologies  were  not  even  understood  as  they  were  blindly  replicated. Needless  to say, such a pace of development put premature stresses on  the  social  and  political  structures  of  the  Ruin  Haunters.  They  barely  survived  the  five  consecutive  world  wars  that  raked  their  planet,  two  of  which  were  thermonuclear  exchanges.

They made it through, their baptism with fire had hardened and awakened them.  The  wars  united  them  politically  and  pushed  their  technological  capabilities  even  beyond the level of the Star Men. Co-incidentally, they also developed a dangerous form  of autochthonous madness. The Ruin Haunters had come  to believe  that  they were  the  sole descendants and the true heirs of the Star People. And they were ready *and* willing  to do *anything* in order to claim their fictitious, bygone Golden Age.

Sentience Reborn

If any sort of periodical arrangement can be brought  to  the history of mankind,  the post-Qu era of emerging human animals can be likened to a series of millennial dark  ages. However, like any “dark age” situation, these periods of silence had finite life spans.  One  by  one,  like  stars  emerging  from  the  fog,  new  civilizations  were  born  out  of the  shattered remnants of mankind.

In  some  rare  cases,  the  recovery  was  swift  and  straightforward.  In  most  other  situations,  it  came  only  after  a  lengthy  series  of  adaptive  radiations,  extinctions  and  secondary  diversifications.  Within  these  lines  of  descent,  there  was  as  much  distance  between  the initial post-humans and  their intelligent descendants as between  the  first  Cretaceous fuzzballs and *Homo sapiens*.

Sooner or later, human intelligence returned to the cosmos. But except from their  shared  ancestry,  these  new  people  had  nothing in  common  with  “people”  of  today,  or  even each other.

Extinction

Not  all  human  animals  made  it  through.  In  fact,  it  must  be  realized  that  the  *majority* of post-Qu humans died out during the eras of transition. Extinction, the utter  and absolute death of an entire family, entire community, entire species, was rampant in  the galaxy.

There was nothing cruel or dramatic in all of this. Extinction was as common, and  as natural as speciation. Sometimes a species simply  failed to adapt  to competition, or  the  abrupt  change  of  conditions.  In  other  occasions,  their  numbers  dwindled  across  imperceptible gulfs of time. This way or the other, human animals faded out.

In all of this death, however, there was new life. As one species vacated a certain  niche,  others  would  soon  step  in  to  take  its  place.  Adaptive  radiations  would  follow,  filling in the blanks with myriads of diverse and varied forms. Despite the fallen, the flow  of life would proceed, blazing in constant turnover.

Snake People (Descendants of the Worms):

The  scorching  sun eventually  cooled  down, and life  flooded  back  to  the  surface  from her subterranean stronghold. As animals of all kinds exploded into the terrestrial niches that had been left vacant for millennia, so did the descendants of the worms. On  the surface,  they  found new opportunities as entire assemblages of serpentine grazers,  swimmers, predators…

…and  people.  One  form,  descended  from  tree-climbing  mammalian  snakes,  re evolved  the  human  intelligence  that  had  lain  dormant  for  so  long.  They  observed,  contemplated  and  philosophized  with  novel,  spirally  coiled  brains  and  handled  the  world with a singular pelvic “hand”, borne out from the remnants of their ancestors’ feet.

They  looked  nothing  at  all  like  their  distant  human  ancestors,  but  their  social  development  followed  a  similar  path;  several  agricultural  world  empires,  followed  by  industrial revolutions, social experiments, world wars, civil wars and globalization. But  then again,  socio-political  parallelism in  history  did  not  necessarily imply a  similar,  or  even recognizably human world.

Modern  cities  of  the  global  Snake  world  were  tangles  of  pipe  like  “roads”,  branching,  three  dimensional  railroads  and windowless,  hole-like  buildings.  Though  their  knotted  architecture  differed  from  region  to  region,  these  settlements  generally  looked like kilometer-wide balls of glass, metal, plastic and cloth, wrapped so tightly that  a human of today would  find it impossible to move inside them. Plazas and open areas  were  totally  absent,  as  they  presented  navigational  obstacles  and  areas  of  insecurity.  Their evolutionary background in the trees had made the Snake People into borderline  agoraphobes.

None of  these, of course, was unusual  to  the Snakes in any way. Their relatively  “alien”  lifestyle  was  as  particular  to  them  as  ours  is  to  us.  All  across  their  world,  the  arterial cities throbbed with *people,* each with their own joys, sorrows and chores, living  out lives as human as any other intelligent beings’.

Killer Folk (Descendants of the Human Predators)

The carnivores also rebounded into civilization. Their journey involved a series of  changes during which they lost the adaptations that had allowed them to endure as the  top predators of their world. The saber teeth, once used for slashing through sinew and  trachea,  became  fragile and  thin,  useful  only as  organs  of  social  display. The  hook-like  thumb  claws  were  also  reduced,  but  not  deleted.  In  their  place,  the  last  two  digits  rotated perpendicularly to become newfangled graspers. All this gracility, however, did  not  mean  weakness.  Although  they  were  no  longer  specialized  for  hunting,  the  Killer  Folk  could  still  kill  with  their  bare  hands,  but  only  if  they  really  wanted  to.  What  enormous  claws  and  teeth  could  not  do,  they  could  easily  achieve  with  bow, arrow,  flintlock repeater or gas rifle.

Their descent from predators gave the Killer Folk a unique social profile. Almost  all  of  their  religions  had  rituals allowing  for  periods  of  completely  natural, animalistic  hunts and duels. This necessity of venting these atavistic urges also led to the formation  of  religious  “hunter  nobilities”;  privileged  warriors  who  were  skilled  in  the  arts  of  hunting,  war  and  murder.  Entire  societies  were  assembled  underneath  these  ruling  classes;  orderly  communities  that  erupted  once  every  year into  an  orgy  of  death,  sex,  and prayer. For thousands of years nomadic warriors, together with their vast herds of  once-human livestock, chased and battled each other across a chessboard of continents.

All  of  this  chaos  was  to  be  swept  apart  with  the  advent  of  modernity.  In  a  development comparable to an industrial revolution, one nation-pack of Killers devised  methods of settled, intensive factory farming. Organized state structure, secularism and  technological leap-frogging were quick to follow.

Needless  to  say,  such  developments  polarized  the  world  into  bands  of  progressive,  developed  “factory  herders”  and  increasingly  fanatical  “hunting  states.”  While one side condemned  their old, animal ways,  the other side embraced  them with  blind zealotry. This was  their  crisis  of modernity;  the  balkanization  of  the  progressive  and conservative  factions on  the road  to global unity. Fortunately,  the Killers managed  to  pull  themselves  through,  even  after  drifting  dangerously  close  to  global  conflict  at  certain points.

Tool Breeders (Descendants of the Swimmers)

They  used  to  be  simple  creatures,  descendants  of  a  battered  people  that  had  taken  to  the  sea.  Their  remote  *sapiens* ancestors  would  have  given  such  beings  no chance  of  a  sentient  comeback,  for  they  thought  that  technological  advances  were  impossible  in  the  fluid  medium  of  the  oceans.  But  the  Swimmers  disproved  such  predictions by founding one of the most advanced and most outrageously alien cultures  of the entire human lineage.

Fire, the cornerstone of industrial engineering, was almost impossible to sustain  and  use  underwater.  But  the  Breeders  simply  choose  another  path  when  complex  toolmaking  proved  impracticable.  They  began  to  *breed* their  tools  and  machines  for  them.

It had started long before the species was even intelligent. In the endless variety  of life in the seas, the Swimmers always adopted and controlled the organisms that were  useful  in  some  way.  Once  domesticated,  these  creatures  were  willingly or  unintentionally modified  through artificial selection and conditioning. The process was  slow, but once underway, its effects were formidable.

A modern city of  the Breeders was a sight  to behold. Huge, heart-like creatures  pumped  out  nutritious  fluids to  a  network  of  self-repairing,  living  conduits.  This  was  their equivalent of a power grid, and it reached every single one of the Breeders’ huge,  exoskeletal  dwellings;  “powering”  bioluminescent  lights,  flickering  cephalopod  skin

televisions, medicinal sea-squirts and countless other devices  that had been bred  from  living  creatures.  The  advances  in  biology  had  risen  exponentially,  until  genetic  engineering  was  completely  mastered.  Modern  Breeders  did  not  even  need  to  use  animals; a simple manipulation of cultured tissues and stem-cells could give solutions to  any problem at hand.

The  mastery  of  genetics  had  conquered  many  obstacles.  The  yawning  ocean  depths,  as  well  as  the    Planet’s  few  tiny  landmasses  were  now  firmly  within  the  Breeders’  grasp. However, they were  not  contempt with mere  planetary  dreams. New  forms and  bizarre  creatures were  still  being developed, in daring attempts  to  conquer  the one realm that was most hostile to life.

Sealed in their living ships, the Breeders wished to return to the stars.

Saurosapients (Livestock of the Lizard Herders)

One of humanity’s eventual inheritors was not even human. They came from the  reptilian stock that had proliferated during the demise of the Lizard Herders.

Theirs  was  a  true  case  of  a  world  turned  upside  down.  As  the  humans  degenerated  into  witless  animals,  the  cold-blooded  reptiles  prospered  in  the  tropical  climate of their planet. Millennia passed and they began to produce increasingly smarter  forms,  one  of  which,  distantly  resembling  featherless  versions  of  the  predatory  dinosaurs  of  the  past,  actually  crossed  over  the  threshold  of  sentience  and  built  up  a  series civilizations.

These  fledgling  cultures  were  quick  to  understand  the  true  origin  of  the  monstrous ruins littering their planet, ruins that until then had been considered natural  aberrations or timeless memorabilia of gods. Now, however, they saw the intermingled  ruins  of  the  Qu  and  the  Star  People  for  what  they  really  were.  It  was  through  this  understanding  that  the  biologically  unrelated  Sauros’  took  up  the  cultural  identity  of  humanity.

In  their archaeological efforts,  the Sauros began  to understand  that  the animals  they used for food and labor were descended from the founders of their very existence.  And somewhere in the stars lurked the forces that malformed them, forces greater than  the Star People, dark forces that might someday return. The human animals served as a  remainder,  just  as  *Panderavis* had,  that  if  the  Saurosapients  wanted  to  assure  their  continued existence in the cosmos, they had to be watchful.

The  pressure  of  such  a  reality  put  their  cultures  under  enormous  stress.  Some  factions  turned  to  made-up  religions  and  remained  ignorant  under  an  umbrella  of  comforting  fantasies. Others acknowledged  the  threats  of  the galaxy,  but  reverted  to a  paranoid rhetoric of conservationism. The galaxy had scared them greatly. Finally, there  were those who saw the galactic redoubt and acted to face the odds, however great they  might be. Conflicts and even wars were not uncommon between these three factions.

In  the  end,  the  centuries-long  dispute  began  to  resolve  in  the  progressive  factions’ favor. As they expanded their spheres of knowledge, influence and activity, the  Saurosapients became as “human” as any other civilization opening up to the galaxy.

Modular People (Descendants of the Colonials)

The blind workings of evolution  followed  the unlikeliest paths, made use of  the  most fleeting opportunities. The very existence of the Modular People was testimony to  this  fact.  Their  ancestors,  the  Colonials,  would’ve  been  seen  as  hopeless  cripples  by  almost  any  observer;  they  lacked  coherent  organs  and  their  existence  was  limited  to  carpeting water shores like mats of algae. But as degenerate as they were, the Colonials  were resilient survivors, able to hold on to life in the harshest of conditions.

As  time  passed,  they  began  to  organize  themselves  in  differentiated  colonies  instead of homogenous mats. In the colonies, each human “cell” could perform a singular  function and benefit from the union of others. Thus began the great age of organization,  during  which  different  colonies  competed  with  each  other  by  developing  specialized  human-cells  that would give  them an edge in  the  struggle  for life. Some colonies grew  enormous  tap-roots  that  were  able  to  siphon  resources  from  far away.  Others  abandoned  roots  altogether  and  began  to  move  themselves  on  starfish-like  foot  segments. Some  colonies  came  up with  units equipped with  claws and  poisons,  taking  competition  to a  brand-new,  deadly level. Others  responded  to  the  threat with armor plating, or watcher-cells equipped with enormous eyes.

The eventual winner of this Colonial arms race was a sentient colony; organized  around  hyperspecialized  units  whose  entire  purpose  was  to  direct  the  others.  These  colonies spread around  the planet as  they adapted  the parts  of  their  rivals  to  function  within themselves. Thus were the Modular People born.

Living in fully-industrialized megalopoli, they came in an indescribable variation  of  shapes and  sizes. Anything  from castle-like guardian  forests  to diminutive,  scuttling  couriers was a member of the Modular whole. They could combine with each other and  split up, or exchange parts as needs presented themselves. The only thing constant in all  of their protean existence was their mental and cultural unity.

Due to their biological structure, these people had managed the impossible. They  were  actually  *living* in  a  world  of  peace  and  utopian  equality,  where  everybody  was  happy to be parts of greater, united wholes.

Pterosapiens (Descendants of the Flyers)

The  flyers’  supercharged  hearts  had  given  them  an  evolutionary winning  hand,  and they diversified to  fill up the heavens. It was only a time before the competition in  the skies got too intense, even for their souped-up metabolisms.

Some lineages gave up their wings and returned to the ground, living as differing  sorts of predators, herbivores and even swimmers. Their aerial adaptations gave  them  an edge  on  the ground and  they produced  forms  of  stupendous  size and agility. There  were wonderful beings, but no sentience came out of the terrestrial sky-beasts. Instead,  civilization  flowered  in  the  skies.  One  species,  from  a  line  of  wading,  stork-like  predators,  evolved  a  brain  that  was  large  enough  to  imagine  and  act  upon  the  world.  Their  feet,  already  versatile  to  catch  slippery,  swamp-dwelling  prey,  got  even  more  articulate  and  assumed  the  role  of  hands.  As  a  compensation  they  lost  some  of  their  aerial streamlining, but what they could not do with their bodies, they were more than  able to make up with their minds.

Their  power  of  flight  made  the  Pterosapiens  a  global  folk,  before  they  could  invent nations and borders. With such an inherent ease of travel, ideas and individuals  diffused too fast for social differences to ossify. Acting with a planetary awareness, they  farmed  their  gigantic,  terrestrial  relatives,  raised  cities  of  perches  and  fluting  towers,  harnessed  the  atom  and  began  to  gaze  up  to  the  stars,  without  having  to  compensate  (too  much)  from  the  average  individual’s  social  welfare,  and  without  dividing  up  into  quarrelsome factions.

As  egalitarian  as  their  life  seemed,  they  paid  a  stunting,  inevitable  price.  Their  hearts,  even  in  its  boosted  state,  had  trouble  supporting  their  power  of  flight  and  grotesquely  large  brains  at  the  same  time.  As  a  consequence,  their  species  had an  ephemeral lifespan. A Pterosapien was sexually mature at  two, middle-aged by sixteen  and  usually  dead  by  twenty-three  years  of  our  time.  This  grim  cycle  caused  them  to  appreciate  every  moment  of  their  existence  dearly,  and  they  pondered  upon  it  with  feverish intensity. A shelf of scrolls by Pterosapien philosophers would’ve been the envy  of every human library. In their cities, life blazed away with unreal speed, rushing past  to meet fleeting deadlines.

As a species, the angelic flyers were victims of heart disease.

Asymmetric People (Descendants of the Lopsiders)

Although contorted by gravity, the Lopsiders managed to regain their sentience,  and  develop  a  civilization  in  a  short  few  million  years.  Squat,  pancake-like  buildings  spread  all  over  their  planet.  These  constructs looked like  squashed  bunkers,  and  they  were  never  more  than  a  few  meters  high.  They did  not  seem  like  much,  but  such  structures  were  entrances  to  underground  homes,  schools,  hospitals,  temples,  universities but also embassies, prisons, asylums, command centers and arsenals. They  lived strange lives, but the Lopsiders were human in all of their virtues and evils. Thus, it  was  only  natural  for  them  to expand  outwards and look  for  new  frontiers  to  colonize.  Fortunately,  their  solar  system  harbored  other  planets,  similar  to  the  Lopsider  homeworld in almost all respects, all respects except gravity. But they weren’t willing to  let such trivial details stop them.

Throughout  their  history,  humans  had  always  risked  changing  themselves  to  preserve  their  future.  It  was  a  risky  gamble,  but  it  had  paid  off  since  the  days  of  the  Martian-Americans. But re-engineering the flattened Lopsider body for a benign gravity  was  a  monumental  task  indeed.  Suffice  it  say  that  the  experiments  took  millennia  to  achieve  even  limited  success.  After  countless  attempts,  the  Asymmetric  People  were  born, or rather made. Their bodies were changed considerably; what had been shovel

like  toes  to  slither  through  the  high-gravity  dirt  had  become  centipedal  legs,  and  the  singular, grasping hand was elongated to an extreme degree. Their grotesque faces had  been  inverted  and  turned  upside-down  after  reverting  from  a  flounder-like  existence.  Twisted as  they were, members of  this new race enjoyed  tremendous advantages over  their flattened forefathers.

Their social development also parallelled that of the bygone Martian-Americans.  Once again  there was a golden age,  followed by increasing  tensions and interplanetary  war. But unlike the Martians, the Asymmetrics ruthlessly exterminated their parent race  and  went  on  to  rule  the  solar  system  alone.  On  the  way,  they  stumbled  across  the  remains  of  the Qu and  the Star  People and advanced immensely. Triumphant  on  their  own realm, they turned to the heavens for further exploits.

Symbiotes (Descendants of the Parasites)

As  time  passed,  the  relationships  between  the  parasites  and  their  hosts  got  connected  to  such  a  degree  that  it  began  to  involve  a  *co-operation* of  the  individuals.  These  were  no  longer  single-sided  relationships;  in  exchange  for  the  hosts’  nutritious  blood, the parasites offered their heightened senses as early warning against predators  and other hazards.

A  great  “arms  race”  of  symbiotic  relationships  thus  commenced.  Certain  ‘parasites’  offered  their  hosts  larger  eyes,  others  sharper  senses  of  smell,  hearing  or  even additional defensive weapons in the shape of venomous saliva, malodorant sprays  or an extra bite. The hosts returned the favor with longer running legs, stronger bodies,  and specialized, ergonomic nesting sites rich in blood vessels and covered in insulating  fur. Different complexes of parasite and host species evolved, compatible only amongst  themselves.

The  development  of  such  creatures  was  in  a  way  reminiscent  of  the  great  Modular  colonies,  thriving  on  their  own  world  light-years  away.  But  unlike  the  Modulars,  the  components  of  the  Symbiotes  belonged  to  different  species,  instead  of  modified variations of the same basic organism. In eventuality, both relationships led to  the same point: Sentience.

In the secluded forests of a certain continent, a new parasitic species developed.  They  did  not  have  the  ballistic  poison  sprays,  infectious  stings  or  the  grossly  hypertrophied  arm-claws of  their  relatives.  Instead,  these  parasites  offered  a  simpler  bargain; an ability  to  think in return of  total submission.  Initially  this relationship was  more like a horse and its rider, but after a  few hundred  thousand years  the Symbiotes  could manipulate their hosts like puppets through a combination of tactile and olfactory  signals.

A few more millennia and these combined beings developed an order not unlike  our  own,  complete  with  countries,  politics  and  even  war,  albeit  reduced  in  the  newly  globalizing world-culture. In this age technology filled most functions of the hosts, but a  thriving  husbandry  of  these  creatures  still  remained  due  to  tradition  and  simple  efficiency.  An  average  Symbiote  would  begin  the  day  on  his  business  host,  and  move  onto a more comfortable domestic one when he returned home after work.

And perhaps, on the olfactory television, he would smell news of the excavations  of  the  million-year-old  Qu  ruins,  of  the  marvelous  discoveries  salvaged  from  the  Star  Men wrecks, or of the enormous radio arrays that rose everywhere to listen to the stars.

It was a pattern that was being repeated all over.

Sail People (Descendants of the Finger Fishers)

The  Finger  Fishers  were  already  among  the  most  divergent  of  the  post-human  races. With harpoon-like digits and almost crocodilian muzzles, they looked nothing like  their  parental  stock.  But  even  this  form  would  look  conservative  to  their  sentient  descendants.  With  many  small,  scattered  islands,  isolated  sub-continents  and  differentiated  niches,  their  homeworld  was  an  evolutionary  cauldron  where  isolated  members  of  certain  species  could,  under  the  right  circumstances,  evolve  into  wildly  different  forms.  This  condition  was  similar  to  the  island-realms  of  Madagascar,  Galapagos, or Hawaii on old Earth, except that this time, it was on a global scale.

Some  descendants  of  the  Fishers,  trapped  on  lonely  islands,  grew  smaller  and  developed  their  fishing  claws  into  graceful  wings.  Others  took  directly  to  the  sea  and  became  the  analogues  of  whales,  dolphins  and  mosasaurs.  Within  this  evolutionary  bubbling, one particular lineage gave rise to the ancestral Sail People.

They  too  elongated  their  fingers into  wings,  but  these  were  not  used  for  flight.  Instead,  they became sails  that drove  them effortlessly across  the oceans. With  fingers  turned  into  sails,  they  used  their  mouths  and  extended  tongues  to  catch  their  pelagic  prey. These organs eventually assumed the role of the Fishers’ long atrophied, dexterous  hands. The need to better navigate the endless seas put an inevitable pressure on their  memories,  and  the  Sailors’  brains  grew  correspondingly.  It  was  only  a  matter  of  time  until one of these navigators became smart enough to think.

Even when sentient, the Sail People still needed a long time to achieve any sort of  social  stability.  Their  scattered  world  made  for  a  tremendous  diversity  of  cultures,  which  competed  and  fought  just  as  resiliently.  Across  generations,  untold  flotillas  of  tribal  warriors  battled  each  other  in  epoch-spanning,  pointless  conflicts.  Nomadic  warriors and pirate societies inevitably came into being, prolonging  the uncontrollable  cycle of violence.

Only when a certain warrior tribe developed warfare on an industrial scale, and  the state society needed to support it, and then, only when this notion of modernity gave  rise to an idea of peace did the Sail People finally manage to unify. Generations of blood  had stained the oceans for far too long.