Abbalar Tales ~ 14

 Abbalar Tales ~ 14 Jellonan 

By Len Morgan

“I think you realise by now that I am not a native of Abbalar?   My people have only ever lived here in our capacity as caretakers.   We were sent here as guardians to ensure the wellbeing of the inhabitants of Abbalar.   I am a Jellonan, my people have travelled throughout the Universe for aeons, trading with any civilisation that has developed beyond a certain level.   We buy and sell technology and help to bring about environmental changes and improvements on the worlds we visit.   We claim empty worlds on occasions and turn them into habitable worlds, using 'Wash & Wipe techniques' known to some as 'terra-forming'.   We came to Abbalar at a time when the universe was booming.   But, it was a time of need for the remnants of a once-proud race, the Karaxen.   They were engaged in a losing battle to restore the ecological balance of this world.   Their technology had outstripped their ability to control the environment.  When we arrived they had ravaged Abbalar, the effects were sadly beyond our ability to reverse in the short term.   They could not live with the consequences of their actions in the long term and had to face hard facts, the world was dying.   Since our initial visit they had been obsessed with emulating us, by leaving their planet, we were you see, by virtue of contact, responsible for their demise.  Despite the high price they had paid, they had not been able to develop the technology that would allow them to journey into space.   We, therefore, felt morally obliged to come to their aid.   The Universal Council commissioned us to build this place, the Ark, to house the remnants of their once-proud race, together with as many other endangered native species as we were able to house.   None would otherwise have survived in that poisoned environment.   We could in fact, have left them to their own devices and returned in fifty thousand years to terra-form a newly dead world, but the Council would not allow us to do that.   Instead, we offered the Karaxen the benefit of our expertise.   We planned to keep them here for two hundred thousand years, the length of time we estimated it would take for the ecosystem to recover.   We housed them in stasis, in the halls of this ark, where they would sleep - frozen in time - barely ageing while the conditions outside slowly improved, becoming capable of sustain life once more.”  Orden paused, considering how best to frame his words.   It wasn't the first time he'd told the tale but it didn't become any easier with repetition or the passage of time.

Aldor took advantage of the pause to put a question.   “How long have you personally been here on Abbalar?”

"Roughly six thousand years, give or take a decade."

"Six!   How long then do you intend to live?"

"On Jellona I would be considered a juvenile.   I could live twenty-five, thirty?   Here on Abbalar, where the conditions are not ideal, a mere fifteen or twenty; mayhap a little more."

Aldor was silent, numbed by the sheer size of the numbers.

Assuming Aldor was waiting for him to continue, Orden went on.   "We would normally visit this sector of the galaxy every fifty thousand years.   We set up this secure place, this Ark, with a complement of five Jellonan’s to ensure that its systems would not fail.  We Jellonan’s take our commitments very seriously.   The custodians were to encourage the steady recovery of the ecosystem tweaking it here, suppressing it there, ensuring everything ran smoothly until our next scheduled visit when the progress would be reviewed.   It was necessary for only one Jellonan to be awake at any given time, the others slept in stasis, not ageing appreciably, the watches would be shared equally, each awake for just ten thousand years.   But, the first guardian met with a freak accident, he was killed in a rock slide.    Even so, there was an alarm that should have awakened the others in an emergency but, it too was disabled by the rock slide.   So with nothing to awaken them the other four just slept on.   It was a real tribute to the builders of the Ark that nothing serious happened."

"So, they slept the whole time." Aldor asked.

"Yes."

"Fifty thousand years and nothing went wrong?"

"Nothing, leastwise not on Abbalar," said Orden.

"What does that mean?"

"There was a terrible Galactic war, out amongst the stars, whole worlds and civilisations were destroyed, wiped from existence in an instant.   All our resources were diverted to protecting our homeworlds.   The drain on our resources was phenomenal; we ourselves were almost wiped out."

"So you didn't return for how long?"

"There were so many things to be taken care of and so few resources."

"How long," Aldor repeated.

"Almost a million years passed."

Aldor was silent, totally dumbfounded.

Orden took his silence as leave to continue.

“In the long period the Karaxen were in stasis, other life forms developed and populated Abbalar, species so unlike them, well they would have been totally incompatible.”

“So when you returned, you wiped out the new life forms and released us?   So why is this not part of our history, why do we not know who we are, and what happened to our technology?”   He asked question after question in rapid succession.

“Aldor, you are not the Karaxen!   They are all still in here, at the lower levels of the Ark, waiting to be released.   You are the new life…” 

“If what you say is true they may not live very much longer.   If they are far below level 120, for there is prodigious pollution at that level.   The air is so foul I was forced to return to the higher levels or succumb to that vile noxious soup."

“It is down that far?" said Orden, a look of dismay on his face, "seventy years ago the pollution was at level 50.   There are sensors attached to an automatic unlocking mechanism, which will be triggered when conditions at the lower levels of the Ark become acceptable.   When normal air reaches level 500 the creatures down there will start to revive and will be released automatically.   The simpler life forms nearer the surface will be released first, then when they have had time to become established, the intelligent species housed in the lower levels between four and five hundred will be released.   The upper twenty levels have always been left empty, for use by off-worlders, and helpers."

Aldor considered carefully before answering.

"Then why were they not released earlier?   You have been here six thousand years if the pollution levels had not changed in almost a million years, what happened recently to accelerate the process?"

"As far as we could ascertain, there was a volcanic eruption, sometime in the past.   It sealed the Ark from the surface, probably early on; it may even have caused the death of the original guardian.   The blockage was only cleared on our return."

"If what you say is true, we may have less than 500 years to formulate a plan of action.   What would happen if they were not released?   How long could they remain in stasis?” Aldor asked.

“In theory, they could remain there indefinitely,” said Orden.   “But this place has to be kept provisioned and in a reasonable condition, it was in serious disrepair, on our return, though most of it has subsequently been restored.   It could now, in theory, continue without further assistance, for several hundred thousand years or until some major event takes place…”

“Then I would suggest you start working on a way to reseal it or at least ensure the pollution levels remain high enough to prevent their release.   Or you will be responsible for a disaster far worse than you were originally protecting them from, a disaster of epic proportions, for Humans and Karaxen alike.   Humanity will not yield one inch." 

"You have read the situation well sprout.   When they emerge, they will expect to reclaim their world, which is what they were promised when they were incarcerated.   With their relatively advanced technology, they would surely be capable of overwhelming mankind.   They may even consider you are vermin and exterminate your civilisation out of hand," said Orden.

"We could perhaps release them a few at a time, transport them to a distant part of Abbalar?” Aldor voiced his thoughts aloud.   “But, how long would they stay there…”

Orden nodded “Myself, I could not in truth envisage this world being big enough to support two intelligent species and so, seventy years ago, I fixed the sensors to open only on a methane atmosphere, a state that could never exist on Abbalar, it would kill all existing life including the Karaxen.   The Galactic Hive Matrix found out about it and I have been sentenced to imprisonment, here on your world.   For the rest of my natural life, I must live as its custodian.   I was also ordered to realign the sensors, so the threat is still immediate.”

"Then your fate is closely bound with ours.   How did they learn of your action?"

 

"When the war ended, all the surviving races were absorbed into the Galactic Alliance.   We embraced and became one with 'The Galactic Hive', our minds and thoughts becoming part of the Hive Matrix.   Now, as we sleep all our knowledge and experience is passed on, in both directions, what I know becomes common knowledge to all other members of the HM."

"I'm sorry," said Aldor, "It must be terrible to have no privacy…"

"Ha ha!   Tad's Breath sprout, it’s exhilarating!   To be able to close your eyes, and sally forth into the heart of the universe, through the HM, to retrieve anything: information, knowledge, the experiences of others, of long-dead races, whatever you require is there for the asking.   It would have been far worse had my punishment been ex-communication.   It must be terrifying being alone with just your own thoughts.   I cannot imagine what it must be like for your, short-lived, race with no means of sharing.   It's a miracle you ever developed intelligence let alone sentience, or feelings."

"Does that have anything to do with my inability to stay awake in the room you have allotted me?" Aldor asked.

"There is a mild sedative in the atmosphere which is conducive to sleep and aids you in your training.   I teach you what I can whilst you are awake then, as you sleep, the groundwork for future lessons is being laid down subliminally," seeing the look of alarm on Aldor’s face he added, "of course the contact is non-invasive, they are able only to access surface thoughts and certainly not against your will, the process is passive, not active.    When you join with 'the HM', you contribute of your own free will, there is no possibility of invasive techniques and this is absolutely necessary to the success of your training.    You gain years of experience, and knowledge, in a dream state which lasts but an instant.  Each night you may have hundreds, maybe thousands, of similar encounters…"

“Mayhap their minds could be altered, to erase all memory of their technology," Aldor suggested, changing the subject.   "We could release them, a few of at a time, into our communities, and integrate them?”

Orden shook his head vigorously, despair evident on his face.  “They are not human, if you saw them you would understand, you would call them monsters.”

“Transfer them to another planet?”

“Beyond our existing resources, if it had been possible it would have been our first option, but physical travel in space is so prohibitively expensive.   Anyway, all planets capable of sustaining carboxy life forms are currently occupied.   Carboxy life is the most common throughout the Universe and in this Galaxy specifically.    This is a problem that must be resolved here on their homeworld, Abbalar.”

“No Orden, it is not that simple, it is a problem of Jellonan making!   You should have left nature to find its own course, hard as that may seem.   Now, you will have to raise us up to their level…”   He stopped his tirade, the light of understanding registering in his eyes.   “You really should walk away from the problem now, as you should have done then, but, it is obvious your race is not capable of such action.”   He smiled and slapped the stocky Jellonan on the back, an action he instantly regretted, it felt like he’d hit a granite wall.

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan