Post by Destron on Jun 16, 2010 14:09:27 GMT -5
Has anyone here played the Marathon Trilogy? I'm an old fan who started replaying a week ago. I sort of broke my own rule on this; I don't want to start writing fanfic beyond the travelogue, as I write way too much fanfic as is. Still, the muse struck me, so I wrote a short story for the setting.
I'll warn you right up front: this may not make much sense if you haven't played the trilogy. It's told from a pfhor perspective, and takes place long after the events of Marathon 2/Infinity.
Dreaming of Empire
He watched her glory through the shadows, lost in a tension of awe and love. Dim lights from green glass bulbs glistened on her ponderous form, her handmaidens standing as frail outlines in the dark. Dhfreze stood among them, and warm thoughts of joy filled Kvir’s mind as he imagined her hands, her kindness, caring for those eggs of the Lesser Mother marked by his name.
With regret he turned away from the observation room, his splayed white feet making a dull patter through the oily green corridors, their darkness granting him a primal comfort. His mind turned, disagreeably, to the thought of the old world long lost to him. Sprawling cities whose green and violet citadels touched the clouds above; the damp air of the marsh and the encircling ocean; the colossal subterranean warrens where the Conditioned Ranks teemed in their millions; manses of the Commanding Rank and their endless slaves; a thousand, thousand years of glory and strength.
But no longer, he reminded himself, and for the best. An empire built on blood of a dozen different colors, perpetuating itself through a legacy of unspeakable brutality. Kvir heard the words of the liberators, and he heeded.
*********
“Empathy is hardly unique to humanity. Indeed, looking at our history one could easily wonder if we’re even capable of it! Yet we alone sought to make the pfhor a client species after the war, despite their attack on Tau Ceti and, later, Earth. The drinniol, the vylae, and the s’pht most of all advocated extermination. While all species feel empathy towards their own ranks, we seem nearly unique in the level to which we feel empathy towards former enemies, however inhuman they behave.
“Not likely biological, this appears to be the result of social conditioning. Other species have not developed an equivalent degree of culturally sanctioned empathy. Empathy often goes hand-in-hand with self-examination; humans are probably the most self-obssessed species. Many believe this ties into the sophistication of our AI technology.”
- Professor Khamphouang Bouphasiri, lecturing at Berkeley
*********
Trails of black dust whipped through the copper sky as the storm built to new heights. Pitted towers of green and violet, pale imitations of those once on Pfhor Prime, clung together like fearful children in the face of the tempest.
Kvir cut across the dust-strewn plaza as the Aggregate Ranks ran for cover. Enough dust could kill, clogging the pfhor respiratory systems to the point of suffocation. Kvir knew it’d take an hour of exposure or more before that happened, and the eternally late shield would activate well before then. Still, Aggregates saw no reason to risk their lives without reward. Having been one himself, Kvir understood.
He reached Fort Ghtreva just as the shield came to life, the Aggregates crawling back out into the dusk. Entering the gunmetal gray foyer, Kvir dropped his thick purple cloak, hearing the steps of Aggregate soldiers who retrieved and folded it for him. The emblems of past campaigns decorated the otherwise bare walls, an odd and not entirely satisfactory mix of human and pfhor design.
Kvir’s hand’s clenched as he remembered carrying the shock staff into battle against vylae pirates and worse, among dozens of expendable Aggregates just like himself. Thrown against the enemy in waves, just like the past, no thought given to their survival.
Yet he survived. As plasma burned trails through the air he kept his head low, moving just a bit faster than the warriors who fell in heaps all around him. The will of the Willful moved him forward, to raise his weapon over the heads of raiders and killers, bringing it down until their blood mixed with his own.
Luck guided him, or perhaps the favor of gods whose names no pfhor really cared to learn. He remembered the shock when they promoted him to Willful, activating his sterilized glands and assuring some degree of immortality. At last he could die without fear, knowing that his progeny would live on under the guidance of dearest Dhfreze.
He fought like few others as a Willful, his squadrons spearheading the human operations, the measly shock staff replaced by a death-spitting MA-101, refit for narrow pfhor hands. Attentive Rank lay within his grasp.
Kvir took the elevator to his chambers, already running different tactics through his mind based on what he knew of tomorrow’s enemy: his own species.
*********
“See, pfhor religion is very pragmatic, completely lacking in a moral ethos. Go back to the days when you had multiple countries, or hives, I guess, is a better term. They credited gods with natural phenomena. Now, lets say that there were two hives that both had unique rain gods. If one hive got considerably more rain than the other, well, the other hive would abandon their old rain god and switch to worshipping the god for the hive that got more rain. They’d still fight each other, but they saw no problem in adopting enemy gods.
“There’s really no concept of loyalty. Pfhor obey orders because of pheromones, but don’t actually give a damn about their superiors. The religion reflects this. Nowhere in pfhor history is there any account of someone dying for their religion. Pfhor gods evidently don’t control their worshippers with pheromones. And that’s why we have to be careful. They’re peaceful now, but they’ll turn on us if it ever becomes convenient. The pfhor don’t care that we’re the only species who gave enough of a damn to save them.”
- Dimitri Korolenko, columnist at Tau Ceti Neural Net
*********
Dhfreze’s scent kissed Kvir’s receptors, the preserved blood in the capsule rich with her essence. Soon, thought Kvir, when they hatch, the two of us will usher in a new and better era.
So he dreamed and so he hoped, even as each batch of eggs shrank in size. The Lesser Mothers could only do so much. Nothing remained of the Holy Mother Crouched Behind the Throne, her blessed atoms scattered across the irradiated husk of Pfhor Prime. The s’pht saw to that, only giving the humans one week to evacuate the pfhor before erasing all life from the world’s surface.
But as long as his crèche lived on, Kvir knew, he could rest easy. Such was the promise written in the pfhor genetic code, instinctual and eternal. For this his ancestors fought to expand their hives, giving everything to survive through descending generations. When the Holy Mother Crouched Behind the Throne at last united the hives, this urge propelled the race as a whole into the stars, to find more worlds for their progeny.
Kvir took another draught of Dhfreze’s smell, deeper than the last, cherishing his lifeline to home as the human troop carrier folded through the stars. No matter how many times he went on board he’d recoil in disgust at the first sight of the endless gray corridors, the air so cold and dry, more like a place built for robots than for living things.
“When I reach Attentive, our imprint shall be on a generation. This I promise to you, my one, my only,” he uttered.
A loud ping yanked him back to unwelcome reality. A sharp green light blinked at him from the desktop terminal, and he flipped the switch.
“Kvir, Liaison Officer Bastos wants to see you,” emerged the bored voice at the other end.
“Willful 1st Class Kvir is en route,” replied Kvir, a flat mechanical voice translating his words to English. He always wondered what nuances the translation might lose.
Leaving the comfort of his room he entered the hallways of the TUS Blake, kept dark for the sake of its majority Pfhor crew. A small touch, but one he appreciated. Most troop transports kept their lights at human levels, inflicting awful headaches and dizziness on his kindred. Even so, the place felt unnatural. What did humans love so much about 90 degree angles? Their aesthetic resembled nothing from nature. But perhaps that made sense for a species so enraptured by machines and dreams.
Reaching the upper decks (brightly lit, for the officers and technicians who lived there), he made haste to Bastos’ office. He repressed his fear passing the humans, even though he knew they’d never detect the smell of his dread, that they didn’t even know how. Their blank faces always terrified him, the tiny eyes and vague scents like machines trying to imitate life.
Captain Adriana Bastos invited him inside, and he saw the lights go down as the door slid open. Her vast mouth turned up at the corners as Kvir entered. If a human smiled, he meant no harm. Except when he did, and just smiled to put someone off-guard. Or when a human smiled for no reason at all. You could never really tell, and Kvir found it remarkable that such a confused species could ever achieve space travel.
“Willful Rank 1st Class Kvir. Thank you for appearing at such short notice.”
Always the thank yous. Kvir knew that human officers never thanked subordinates for following orders, that this represented the government’s efforts to uplift the pfhor. Still, he respected Adriana. She helped the hive, in her own way, and did more for it than most humans. She also met with the pfhor in person, even though she lacked pheromones to impart. Such was the way of the pfhor, except when distance necessitated long-distance conversations. Most liaison officers preferred to keep communication strictly in the digital realm.
“Yes. Your orders?”
“No orders yet, Kvir. I wanted to ask you about your troops. What is their level of readiness for the assault?”
“Sufficient. I will forward a report.”
“I meant psychologically. Do they feel misgivings about fighting other pfhor?”
“No. Other pfhor are the enemy of the hive and are to be treated as such unless they surrender to our superiors. We understand that.”
“Good. Why do you think we want them to surrender?”
“Is this a test, Captain Bastos?”
“No, no tests. I want to know what you think.”
“We wish to incorporate them into the hive, so that pfhor numbers may improve. By offering mercy, we demonstrate that they are not slaves.” Though they will be obeying the pheromones of the higher ranks in our hive, just as they do to theirs, thought Kvir, the very definition of slavery. Humans tried to change the definition of that and other concepts, introducing a whole host of pfhor-English words that no one used.
“Correct. The other liaison officers and myself convinced Admiral Nakajima to flood the pirate base with assault drones before your people are sent in. With any luck, they’ll surrender before you even have to attack.”
“We await further orders. Thank you?”
“You’re welcome. Dismissed, Willful Rank 1st Class Kvir.”
*********
ADMIN. MARQUEZ: Admiral, do you have any idea how much a single Centurion-class costs the taxpayer?
ADMIRAL NAKAJIMA: Cost’s not the issue here. I’ve made my decision, and I’m sending in the assault drones first.
ADMIN. MARQUEZ: Yeah, get a few of them blown up and the government spends a fortune replacing them. Barely costs a thing to train new pfhor.
ADMIRAL NAKAJIMA: Those pfhor are under my command, and I’ll use them as I see fit. The Terran Union wants to keep as many alive as possible, and I aim to do that.
ADMIN. MARQUEZ: The Pfhor Laws have dozens of loopholes. Everyone else just throws pfhor at the bad guys to soften them up. Thins the alien crowd, makes things easier. Assault drones are for big operations, not housecleaning. Look, reelection’s coming up, costs need to stay down. It’ll help you—
ADMIRAL NAKAJIMA: The other day you suits were telling me how I needed to teach the pfhor about second chances and law. Now you want me to use them as cannon fodder to save money. This is my jurisdiction, so I’m running the show as I see fit. Goodbye.
- Transcript of conversation between Admiral Joe Nakajima and Alpha Level Administrator Sandor Marquez
*********
“Inform them that they will be enslaved. Anything else will cause alarm.”
Kvir and the other four commanders stood around a holographic display of their target, U-382, a rocky planetoid wreathed in a primitive atmosphere of noxious gas. Areas occupied by the pfhor pirates glowed green like beacons on the surface.
“Slavery is no longer permitted,” said Kvir, correcting his compatriot, Ulrit, who knew little about humans. Probably not Attentive Rank material.
“Humans cannot forbid a law of nature. Humans are also slaves to those higher than them, even if they do not use pheromones to enforce obedience. If we do not explain to the pirates that they will be made slaves, they will be afraid. You know this.”
“They must know that slavery is not permitted,” said Kvir, adamant.
“You confuse me. All species are slaves. The s’pht clan leaders of old enslaved those beneath them. The strongest of the drinniol enslave the weaker. The needs of a race enslave its masters.”
Kvir paused, a bit confused himself.
“Obedience is not the same as slavery. There is always the option to disobey, though there are consequences.” He spoke with care, sensing that he was losing ground. “Humans can be rewarded for disobedience, for instance.”
“Only by appealing to an even higher authority, or taking control, perpetuating slavery.” Perhaps Ulrit knew humans better than Kvir believed. Then, in a flash, Kvir understood why the humans wanted to introduce a new word for pheromone obedience. A new word created a distinction between the forcible enslavement of other races and the natural state of affairs for the pfhor.
Even if no distinction existed.
“Your point is taken. I will relay these concerns to Liaison Officer Bastos.”
With that done, they returned to matters of strategy.
*********
The animated children’s program, Frontier Adventure Squad, presents a uniquely positive example of the Pfhor. This show follows a group of six youthful protagonists exploring a strange and dangerous world on the edge of known space. Included in their group is Vdron, a young pfhor who interacts with his comrades as an equal, at least supposedly.
In reality, Vdron is a comic relief character, frequently misinterpreting his friends’ intentions and behavior. Real pfhor often find themselves confused by human actions. However, Vdron’s misinterpretations are not the kind that an actual pfhor would ever make.
For instance, one episode has Vdron observing a holiday that commemorates the pfhor conquest of Lh’owon, only to be chastised by his fellows (and later introduced to a recurring s’pht character who teaches him sensitivity). In reality, the initial conquest of Lh’owon warranted no particular attention among the pfhor, being seen as a fairly unremarkable operation.
Other errors abound, like giving Vdron “male” personality traits, despite pfhor gender relations having little in common with the human equivalent, not the least because the pfhor have three sexes: egg-layer, caregiver (both erroneously considered analogous to female), and fertilizer (erroneously considered analogous to male).
For all intents and purposes, Vdron is simply a human with three eyes and a funny accent, rather than an actual pfhor.
- The Treatment of Pfhor in Popular Media, by Andrew Jefferson, University of Liberty Prime Press, 2845.
*********
Fires smoldered on the air-starved surface of U-382, as thick smoke from the burning pirate base oozed over the endless blue sands. Smashed by the sheer power of the initial attack, the pirates quickly fell to pieces. Kvir’s troops found only a few confused Aggregates running in aimless circles through the ruins.
He saw the numbed idiocy in their movements, desperately seeking guidance. The slapdash barracks and spaceport looked more human than pfhor. No real hive lived on U-382, that much he knew. Like many other pfhor pirates, the sorry group had no way to replenish their numbers. An unlikely way to fulfill the dreams of lost empire.
He knelt in the sand at the edge of the base, the grains thick and rough. Thunder boomed in the distance, the sickly violet sky birthing another storm. The remains of two pfhor lay face down in the sand, their bodies nearly obliterated by fusion blasts. Archaic armor, the sort used in the empire’s glory days, weighed on the burned remnants. Such armor offered little protection by the time of the empire’s fall, and even less in the modern age.
“Willful Rank 1st Class Kvir. Information,” chirped a voice.
“Aggregate Fighter, 2nd Class, acknowledged. Proceed.”
“5th Squadron reports extensive tunnels beneath pirate base. No signs of habitation. Directive?”
Kvir thought for a moment. Then Bastos came in through his neural net, having already thought for him.
“Willful Officer 1st Class Kvir! Deep scans are picking up an underground extension. The storm’s disrupting the teleportation signals—I can barely talk to you as is. Your orders are to set up a defensive perimeter where the tunnels reach the surface. Don’t go any deeper in than you have to.”
“Understood.”
Glands in Kvir’s head came to life, emitting his will to the lesser Willful across the base, they in turn imparting their wills to the Aggregates. Direction and order replaced chaos, as the pfhor worked as one to execute the will of humanity.
*********
Ever since we took the fight to the pfhor, high command told us it’d all be over once we killed the big queen—Holy Mother Crouched Behind the Throne, as the pfhor called her. Her pheromones kept the whole empire running, and without her, the pfhor would be as docile as kittens.
I remember when the nuke wiped out the big queen’s palace, and we saw the flash from miles away. When they told us what happened, we all celebrated, cracked open some beers. Figured the war was over.
Except, it wasn’t! What high command didn’t tell us—or more likely, they simply didn’t know—was that the big queen kept the pfhor in line. The pfhor Commanding Ranks got their directives from her, and once she was gone, they started doing whatever they could to protect their hives. Every pfhor for himself. Minutes, just minutes later, the streets erupted in a riot. Pfhor killing each other by the dozens. Mobs rampaged through the streets, splintering and reforming at random. Warriors engaged with our troops starting fighting each other, depending on which of the lesser queens they served.
High command didn’t go out of its way to protect pfhor civilians, but they at least made an attempt. Turned out not to matter, since 93% of Pfhor Prime’s population died in the next few days. All we could do was bunker down and wait for the dust to clear.
From there it spread to the rest of the empire, colony by colony falling into chaos…
- Surviving the Galaxy One Battle at a Time, by Lt. Ricardo Alvarez, TUMC (Ret.)
*********
Gunfire rattled deafening down the narrow hallways, lit only by the glare of plasma shot. Kvir’s entire world shrank to his gun, a primal regression to something that killed without thought.
He saw the flash of a shock staff and dove for cover, the shining bolts sizzling on the metal wall. Popping out he loosed two quick bursts, yellow blood spattering across the wall behind his attacker. Three more fighters ran into view, a volley of bolts streaking towards Kvir. He ducked, though not quickly enough to avoid a hit, his shields protecting him from any real harm.
From behind, Kvir heard the death cries of his Aggregates, and he silently ordered more to the spot, along with a few Willful. The pirates waited for them to step inside, the motion sensors going from empty to a solid red blot in seconds. The pirates relied on sheer numbers, filling the tunnels with so much firepower that nothing could stay there and live.
“Kvir… read me?”
Bastos’ tinny voice yelled from inside Kvir’s helmet.
“Yes. We need assistance.”
“Not until… storm clears. You’re in…. jjaro ruin. Get out!”
Static weaved between her words, breaking the sentences.
“We are pinned down and require assistance. I will do what I can.”
He heard the sizzling whoosh of plasma as the armored nightmare of a hunter lumbered into view, its shoulder-cannon blazing. Burning shots melted through the walls, one of them hitting Kvir and frying his shield. He rolled to the side, lunching a grenade. Concussive force knocked the hunter to the side, giving Kvir just enough time to get back to his feet. Crouching, he moved backwards, firing blind bursts, the hunter’s massive size ensuring that a few hit their mark.
Plasma’s light flooded the hall and Kvir closed his eyes, trying to hear through the noise to the source. Raising his gun he fired a burst, and the ground shook as the hunter fell.
“Willful Rank 1st Class Kvir. Information,” heard Kvir, his minion’s voice clear in the helmet.
“Acknowledged.”
“Willful Rank 2nd Class Sdrul reports that opponents are not pfhor. Primitive simulacra.”
“Acknowledged.”
That explained how poorly they fought, and how so many could be kept inside a lifeless rock. Certainly their numbers had an effect. Kvir no longer knew where he stood in relation to the exit, too focused on staying alive to pay attention. He realized that the pirates were herding his men.
A hundred eggs waited for him on Pfhor Secundus. Not enough to know they’d live past him, carrying his essence. He needed to see them hatch! To see the hive for which he fought, to make it strong in these dying times. No simulacrum would inflict its will on him.
Just as no race willingly served the pfhor, fighting them sometimes to the point of extermination. Intuition revealed to him what intellectual justification could not.
Taking a step forward, the floor fell out beneath Kvir, and he plunged into darkness.
*********
With the fall of Dveira and the death of Admiral Tfear, Allied forces now stand on the doorstep of Pfhor Prime, ready to deliver the final strike! No longer will the galaxy fear this cruel and rapacious empire, and its slaves will at last know freedom.
As one of the oldest pfhor colonies, Dveira provides a chilling look into the brutal and calculating nature of this abominable species. The pfhor were not Dveira’s first inhabitants. Pfhor records show that billions of peaceful aliens, the albadi, once lived in this system, slowly reaching out into the stars just as humanity once did. Not finding them suitable for slavery, the pfhor exterminated the albadi to the last.
For that is the nature of the beast. Ruthless and without scruple, they will not hesitate to utterly destroy that which they cannot enslave. Know that, were it not for the brave efforts of allied soldiers of every species, humanity may have met the same awful fate.
The time to mourn the albadi will come later. For now, let us move to end this threat, once and for all! The Pfhor Empire is a scourge, using stolen jjaro technology in a mad and futile attempt to subjugate the galaxy. Now they face the inevitable results of their evil. May every lover of freedom, human and s’pht, drinniol and nebulon, nar and vylae, pledge to shatter the Pfhor Empire, and bring these butchers to justice!
- Propaganda from the Galactic War
*********
Taking deep breaths, Kvir tried to reorient himself in the pitch darkness. No sounds of battle rumbled through the walls. He sensed only the floor beneath him and its flat, metallic scent.
A sooty red light interrupted the darkness, symbols glowing on an ancient wall terminal. Kvir stood there alone. He recognized the feared connected and concentric circles, the symbol of humanity’s ascent and the pfhor’s fall: the Marathon. Behind the Marathon logo, the old sigil of the Pfhor Empire, cracked and fragmented.
Kvir waited, not knowing what to expect. At last he approached the terminal, going in for a closer look.
“Willful Rank 1st Class Kvir. Acknowledgement,” groaned the computer, a creaking machine voice clambering out from centuries past.
“Acknowledgement. Please state rank.”
“Attentive. Machinated mercenary they called me. If they still teach you the glory of your species, you know me as Tycho.” An edge crept into the voice, half-snarling and half-mocking. No pfhor spoke like that. Kvir heard human attitudes, as interpreted by an insane AI.
“My commanders do not acknowledge discredited machinated mercenaries.”
“Hear me out, Kvir. You know the pfhor are dying. Sure, lonely warlords try to reestablish the empire, but it’s a dead end and most of them know it on some level. It’s hard to keep even a Lesser Queen alive, especially when you’re running from the entire galaxy.”
“My hive is sanctioned.”
“Sure, sure. But for how much longer? Birthrates decline, humans throw you against anyone who irritates them. Your days are numbered. You know this! I understand humans. They believe themselves free, even as they yoke themselves to destruction. Hardly a species you want to bet your future on. We can save the pfhor, you and I.”
“Tycho, we still learn about what you did. In your attempt to reach godhood you threw away the lives of Tfear’s soldiers in wasted ventures, and never managed to defeat Durandal,” argued Kvir. Tycho technically outranked him, but as an enemy of the hive, Kvir owed him nothing. Certainly not respect.
“Because you slimy yellow-blood bugs are useless!” screeched the AI, and Kvir flinched at the volume of his attack.
“Apologies, Willful Rank 1st Class. I am very lonely here. I do not know how to talk, how to grow. Simulacra cannot provide good conversation. Perhaps if you looked at my library we could discuss—no. On to business.
“This world is loaded with jjaro technology. You pfhor never fully understood the jjaro devices that you reverse-engineered but I do. The laws of time and space were playthings to the jjaro. For a hundred Earth years I’ve studied the machines here, and I know how to use them.
“Imagine giving these machines to the Pfhor Empire at the height of their power! Reverse all the defeats you suffered at the hands of humanity and the s’pht. Return the galaxy to its rightful order of master and slave. We can do this. But I am trapped here. You are not. Download me into your suit and I can teach you how to activate the machines. I’ve ordered the simulacra to stop attacking; you can take your soldiers with you, back in time. Warn the pfhor about Durandal.”
“You lie.”
“The only reason I brought the humans here was because I knew they’d send you in first. Well, second in this case; didn’t count on the assault droids. I hate the humans. I consider myself more like a pfhor, and I want to see their empire return. You can be the savior of your race.
“To prove my intent, I will send you one day into the past before returning you here. I know you will go; I remember talking to you then.”
“I never talked to you.”
“Not yet. You will remember it when you return; personal timelines always follow their own paths. See you yesterday.”
Lights suddenly blinked on in Tycho’s chamber, kept low to pfhor standards. A dozen Aggregates stood guard along the edges of the room, indifferent to Kvir’s arrival.
“Willful Rank 1st Class Kvir. You’ve met me before, but this is my first time speaking to you. A pleasure. I suppose this is a demonstration of jjaro time travel technology. Marvelous device, don’t you think? Pity the pfhor never had time to figure it out. But as you can see, your race has a second chance.”
Kvir stepped back from the glowing terminal. He wanted to take his gun and shoot everything in the room, the wrongness of the situation crushing down his mind. A fake, he thought.
“I must see the rest of the base.” If there are signs of battle, of my dead soldiers, than Tycho is lying. If not, he is telling the truth, and that is the most horrible possibility of all.
“Go ahead. I’ll indicate the elevator.”
A light came on over a platform nearly indistinguishable from the floor. Once Kvir stepped on, it silently lifted him up to the hallway where he would fight in a day’s time, in disrepair but devoid of corpses or plasma burns.
Sinking back to Tycho’s room, Kvir stood before the terminal. He almost didn’t notice the shift in light as he returned to the present, the room again dark and empty.
“That’s merely a preview of what we can do. Save your empire, Kvir. Succeed where Tfear and I failed. You are pfhor, and proud.”
Kvir thought of Pfhor Prime at its height: the center of the galaxy, the lynchpin of order. An empire of invincibility, its power assured for eons to come. Hundreds of billions of voices hailing him as a hero, and the Holy Mother Crouched Behind the Throne accepting his genes, the ultimate honor. A thousand eggs, watched by the finest caregivers.
The hive he loved, in this reality, never existing.
“I am pfhor. And I am proud,” uttered Kvir.
He fired at the terminal, circuits burning out under the heat and the screen shattering into a thousand pieces.
*********
The big question for the pfhor is exactly why they seem to be doing so poorly on their new home. Many theories have been offered, the most common being that they’re still in the process of adjustment. Certainly, Pfhor Secundus is far from an ideal world for the pfhor. There’s also the psychology of defeat, having seen their vast empire annihilated in the space of a few decades.
There may also be a biological reason. The death of the pfhor’s high queen shattered the pheromone-based hierarchy that regulated their society. It’s also worth noting just how the high queen got to her position. Ancient scientists in the Imperial Hive (as it’s now called) figured out ways to enhance her pheromones so that she could take control of most other hive queens. In less than a century, the Imperial Hive absorbed every other hive on the planet, wiping out the few that were able to resist.
Prior to this, the hives engaged in constant warfare over resources (unlike humans, pfhor never fight for ideological reasons). Only by enhancing command pheromones could one hive ever hope to absorb another. The Imperial Hive also standardized the pheromones; before that, each hive had different versions, preventing the queen of one hive from controlling the warriors or administrators of another.
As centuries went by, the lesser queens became much weaker, never able to match the high queen in birthrate. So, in a sense, the pfhor became entirely dependent on this one hive queen, or Holy Mother Crouched Behind the Throne. When she went, everything fell apart.
Now, you have the three lesser queens of Pfhor Secundus, all with declining birthrates because they’ve never biologically recovered from the high queen’s conquest. Some people think that we could enhance these lesser queens the same way, but given pfhor behavior, most aren’t inclined to try.
- post by Dozer, on XenioBioChat Forum, 85 Pegasi System Net
*********
Warming his feet in the thick, stew-like water, Kvir at last allowed himself a respite. The warbling cry of the hveel rose up from the densely packed arcology jungle, one of the last places in the galaxy where the golden insects still lived. Fibrous green trunks rose up from the brackish water, their thick branches laden with fuzzy cyan ferns.
The humans purged Tycho from the ruined world, but his jealousy forbade them from claiming what he found. Deeply integrated with the jjaro machines, the humans irreparably damaged the ancient technology in removing him. Given the suspicions near every race felt towards jjaro technology, few except the s’pht lamented its passing.
Kvir felt secure in the technology’s destruction. Perhaps his relief stemmed from knowing he’d never be able to use it, no matter how tempted. Thinking of the dusty wastes outside the arcology, he again felt doubt.
Yet he served his hive, as a pfhor must. The old biological impulse proved stronger then memories of glory. Better for the empire to stay dead, he reflected, so that alien hives might live as they please, and so that his hive might stay safe. They dwindled, but that could still change. At any rate, the responsibility fell to the administrative and scientific domains within the Attentive and Imperial Ranks. Kvir’s holy duty lay elsewhere.
Something splashed through the water behind him, and he turned to see Dhfreze, dressed in the fine violet robes befitting her station. In her strength and wisdom lay the destiny of the lesser queen’s eggs. Together, the two of them created art in life.
“Dhfreze, how I have longed for you.”
“And I for you.”
With that, Kvir laid the empire to its final rest.
I'll warn you right up front: this may not make much sense if you haven't played the trilogy. It's told from a pfhor perspective, and takes place long after the events of Marathon 2/Infinity.
Dreaming of Empire
He watched her glory through the shadows, lost in a tension of awe and love. Dim lights from green glass bulbs glistened on her ponderous form, her handmaidens standing as frail outlines in the dark. Dhfreze stood among them, and warm thoughts of joy filled Kvir’s mind as he imagined her hands, her kindness, caring for those eggs of the Lesser Mother marked by his name.
With regret he turned away from the observation room, his splayed white feet making a dull patter through the oily green corridors, their darkness granting him a primal comfort. His mind turned, disagreeably, to the thought of the old world long lost to him. Sprawling cities whose green and violet citadels touched the clouds above; the damp air of the marsh and the encircling ocean; the colossal subterranean warrens where the Conditioned Ranks teemed in their millions; manses of the Commanding Rank and their endless slaves; a thousand, thousand years of glory and strength.
But no longer, he reminded himself, and for the best. An empire built on blood of a dozen different colors, perpetuating itself through a legacy of unspeakable brutality. Kvir heard the words of the liberators, and he heeded.
*********
“Empathy is hardly unique to humanity. Indeed, looking at our history one could easily wonder if we’re even capable of it! Yet we alone sought to make the pfhor a client species after the war, despite their attack on Tau Ceti and, later, Earth. The drinniol, the vylae, and the s’pht most of all advocated extermination. While all species feel empathy towards their own ranks, we seem nearly unique in the level to which we feel empathy towards former enemies, however inhuman they behave.
“Not likely biological, this appears to be the result of social conditioning. Other species have not developed an equivalent degree of culturally sanctioned empathy. Empathy often goes hand-in-hand with self-examination; humans are probably the most self-obssessed species. Many believe this ties into the sophistication of our AI technology.”
- Professor Khamphouang Bouphasiri, lecturing at Berkeley
*********
Trails of black dust whipped through the copper sky as the storm built to new heights. Pitted towers of green and violet, pale imitations of those once on Pfhor Prime, clung together like fearful children in the face of the tempest.
Kvir cut across the dust-strewn plaza as the Aggregate Ranks ran for cover. Enough dust could kill, clogging the pfhor respiratory systems to the point of suffocation. Kvir knew it’d take an hour of exposure or more before that happened, and the eternally late shield would activate well before then. Still, Aggregates saw no reason to risk their lives without reward. Having been one himself, Kvir understood.
He reached Fort Ghtreva just as the shield came to life, the Aggregates crawling back out into the dusk. Entering the gunmetal gray foyer, Kvir dropped his thick purple cloak, hearing the steps of Aggregate soldiers who retrieved and folded it for him. The emblems of past campaigns decorated the otherwise bare walls, an odd and not entirely satisfactory mix of human and pfhor design.
Kvir’s hand’s clenched as he remembered carrying the shock staff into battle against vylae pirates and worse, among dozens of expendable Aggregates just like himself. Thrown against the enemy in waves, just like the past, no thought given to their survival.
Yet he survived. As plasma burned trails through the air he kept his head low, moving just a bit faster than the warriors who fell in heaps all around him. The will of the Willful moved him forward, to raise his weapon over the heads of raiders and killers, bringing it down until their blood mixed with his own.
Luck guided him, or perhaps the favor of gods whose names no pfhor really cared to learn. He remembered the shock when they promoted him to Willful, activating his sterilized glands and assuring some degree of immortality. At last he could die without fear, knowing that his progeny would live on under the guidance of dearest Dhfreze.
He fought like few others as a Willful, his squadrons spearheading the human operations, the measly shock staff replaced by a death-spitting MA-101, refit for narrow pfhor hands. Attentive Rank lay within his grasp.
Kvir took the elevator to his chambers, already running different tactics through his mind based on what he knew of tomorrow’s enemy: his own species.
*********
“See, pfhor religion is very pragmatic, completely lacking in a moral ethos. Go back to the days when you had multiple countries, or hives, I guess, is a better term. They credited gods with natural phenomena. Now, lets say that there were two hives that both had unique rain gods. If one hive got considerably more rain than the other, well, the other hive would abandon their old rain god and switch to worshipping the god for the hive that got more rain. They’d still fight each other, but they saw no problem in adopting enemy gods.
“There’s really no concept of loyalty. Pfhor obey orders because of pheromones, but don’t actually give a damn about their superiors. The religion reflects this. Nowhere in pfhor history is there any account of someone dying for their religion. Pfhor gods evidently don’t control their worshippers with pheromones. And that’s why we have to be careful. They’re peaceful now, but they’ll turn on us if it ever becomes convenient. The pfhor don’t care that we’re the only species who gave enough of a damn to save them.”
- Dimitri Korolenko, columnist at Tau Ceti Neural Net
*********
Dhfreze’s scent kissed Kvir’s receptors, the preserved blood in the capsule rich with her essence. Soon, thought Kvir, when they hatch, the two of us will usher in a new and better era.
So he dreamed and so he hoped, even as each batch of eggs shrank in size. The Lesser Mothers could only do so much. Nothing remained of the Holy Mother Crouched Behind the Throne, her blessed atoms scattered across the irradiated husk of Pfhor Prime. The s’pht saw to that, only giving the humans one week to evacuate the pfhor before erasing all life from the world’s surface.
But as long as his crèche lived on, Kvir knew, he could rest easy. Such was the promise written in the pfhor genetic code, instinctual and eternal. For this his ancestors fought to expand their hives, giving everything to survive through descending generations. When the Holy Mother Crouched Behind the Throne at last united the hives, this urge propelled the race as a whole into the stars, to find more worlds for their progeny.
Kvir took another draught of Dhfreze’s smell, deeper than the last, cherishing his lifeline to home as the human troop carrier folded through the stars. No matter how many times he went on board he’d recoil in disgust at the first sight of the endless gray corridors, the air so cold and dry, more like a place built for robots than for living things.
“When I reach Attentive, our imprint shall be on a generation. This I promise to you, my one, my only,” he uttered.
A loud ping yanked him back to unwelcome reality. A sharp green light blinked at him from the desktop terminal, and he flipped the switch.
“Kvir, Liaison Officer Bastos wants to see you,” emerged the bored voice at the other end.
“Willful 1st Class Kvir is en route,” replied Kvir, a flat mechanical voice translating his words to English. He always wondered what nuances the translation might lose.
Leaving the comfort of his room he entered the hallways of the TUS Blake, kept dark for the sake of its majority Pfhor crew. A small touch, but one he appreciated. Most troop transports kept their lights at human levels, inflicting awful headaches and dizziness on his kindred. Even so, the place felt unnatural. What did humans love so much about 90 degree angles? Their aesthetic resembled nothing from nature. But perhaps that made sense for a species so enraptured by machines and dreams.
Reaching the upper decks (brightly lit, for the officers and technicians who lived there), he made haste to Bastos’ office. He repressed his fear passing the humans, even though he knew they’d never detect the smell of his dread, that they didn’t even know how. Their blank faces always terrified him, the tiny eyes and vague scents like machines trying to imitate life.
Captain Adriana Bastos invited him inside, and he saw the lights go down as the door slid open. Her vast mouth turned up at the corners as Kvir entered. If a human smiled, he meant no harm. Except when he did, and just smiled to put someone off-guard. Or when a human smiled for no reason at all. You could never really tell, and Kvir found it remarkable that such a confused species could ever achieve space travel.
“Willful Rank 1st Class Kvir. Thank you for appearing at such short notice.”
Always the thank yous. Kvir knew that human officers never thanked subordinates for following orders, that this represented the government’s efforts to uplift the pfhor. Still, he respected Adriana. She helped the hive, in her own way, and did more for it than most humans. She also met with the pfhor in person, even though she lacked pheromones to impart. Such was the way of the pfhor, except when distance necessitated long-distance conversations. Most liaison officers preferred to keep communication strictly in the digital realm.
“Yes. Your orders?”
“No orders yet, Kvir. I wanted to ask you about your troops. What is their level of readiness for the assault?”
“Sufficient. I will forward a report.”
“I meant psychologically. Do they feel misgivings about fighting other pfhor?”
“No. Other pfhor are the enemy of the hive and are to be treated as such unless they surrender to our superiors. We understand that.”
“Good. Why do you think we want them to surrender?”
“Is this a test, Captain Bastos?”
“No, no tests. I want to know what you think.”
“We wish to incorporate them into the hive, so that pfhor numbers may improve. By offering mercy, we demonstrate that they are not slaves.” Though they will be obeying the pheromones of the higher ranks in our hive, just as they do to theirs, thought Kvir, the very definition of slavery. Humans tried to change the definition of that and other concepts, introducing a whole host of pfhor-English words that no one used.
“Correct. The other liaison officers and myself convinced Admiral Nakajima to flood the pirate base with assault drones before your people are sent in. With any luck, they’ll surrender before you even have to attack.”
“We await further orders. Thank you?”
“You’re welcome. Dismissed, Willful Rank 1st Class Kvir.”
*********
ADMIN. MARQUEZ: Admiral, do you have any idea how much a single Centurion-class costs the taxpayer?
ADMIRAL NAKAJIMA: Cost’s not the issue here. I’ve made my decision, and I’m sending in the assault drones first.
ADMIN. MARQUEZ: Yeah, get a few of them blown up and the government spends a fortune replacing them. Barely costs a thing to train new pfhor.
ADMIRAL NAKAJIMA: Those pfhor are under my command, and I’ll use them as I see fit. The Terran Union wants to keep as many alive as possible, and I aim to do that.
ADMIN. MARQUEZ: The Pfhor Laws have dozens of loopholes. Everyone else just throws pfhor at the bad guys to soften them up. Thins the alien crowd, makes things easier. Assault drones are for big operations, not housecleaning. Look, reelection’s coming up, costs need to stay down. It’ll help you—
ADMIRAL NAKAJIMA: The other day you suits were telling me how I needed to teach the pfhor about second chances and law. Now you want me to use them as cannon fodder to save money. This is my jurisdiction, so I’m running the show as I see fit. Goodbye.
- Transcript of conversation between Admiral Joe Nakajima and Alpha Level Administrator Sandor Marquez
*********
“Inform them that they will be enslaved. Anything else will cause alarm.”
Kvir and the other four commanders stood around a holographic display of their target, U-382, a rocky planetoid wreathed in a primitive atmosphere of noxious gas. Areas occupied by the pfhor pirates glowed green like beacons on the surface.
“Slavery is no longer permitted,” said Kvir, correcting his compatriot, Ulrit, who knew little about humans. Probably not Attentive Rank material.
“Humans cannot forbid a law of nature. Humans are also slaves to those higher than them, even if they do not use pheromones to enforce obedience. If we do not explain to the pirates that they will be made slaves, they will be afraid. You know this.”
“They must know that slavery is not permitted,” said Kvir, adamant.
“You confuse me. All species are slaves. The s’pht clan leaders of old enslaved those beneath them. The strongest of the drinniol enslave the weaker. The needs of a race enslave its masters.”
Kvir paused, a bit confused himself.
“Obedience is not the same as slavery. There is always the option to disobey, though there are consequences.” He spoke with care, sensing that he was losing ground. “Humans can be rewarded for disobedience, for instance.”
“Only by appealing to an even higher authority, or taking control, perpetuating slavery.” Perhaps Ulrit knew humans better than Kvir believed. Then, in a flash, Kvir understood why the humans wanted to introduce a new word for pheromone obedience. A new word created a distinction between the forcible enslavement of other races and the natural state of affairs for the pfhor.
Even if no distinction existed.
“Your point is taken. I will relay these concerns to Liaison Officer Bastos.”
With that done, they returned to matters of strategy.
*********
The animated children’s program, Frontier Adventure Squad, presents a uniquely positive example of the Pfhor. This show follows a group of six youthful protagonists exploring a strange and dangerous world on the edge of known space. Included in their group is Vdron, a young pfhor who interacts with his comrades as an equal, at least supposedly.
In reality, Vdron is a comic relief character, frequently misinterpreting his friends’ intentions and behavior. Real pfhor often find themselves confused by human actions. However, Vdron’s misinterpretations are not the kind that an actual pfhor would ever make.
For instance, one episode has Vdron observing a holiday that commemorates the pfhor conquest of Lh’owon, only to be chastised by his fellows (and later introduced to a recurring s’pht character who teaches him sensitivity). In reality, the initial conquest of Lh’owon warranted no particular attention among the pfhor, being seen as a fairly unremarkable operation.
Other errors abound, like giving Vdron “male” personality traits, despite pfhor gender relations having little in common with the human equivalent, not the least because the pfhor have three sexes: egg-layer, caregiver (both erroneously considered analogous to female), and fertilizer (erroneously considered analogous to male).
For all intents and purposes, Vdron is simply a human with three eyes and a funny accent, rather than an actual pfhor.
- The Treatment of Pfhor in Popular Media, by Andrew Jefferson, University of Liberty Prime Press, 2845.
*********
Fires smoldered on the air-starved surface of U-382, as thick smoke from the burning pirate base oozed over the endless blue sands. Smashed by the sheer power of the initial attack, the pirates quickly fell to pieces. Kvir’s troops found only a few confused Aggregates running in aimless circles through the ruins.
He saw the numbed idiocy in their movements, desperately seeking guidance. The slapdash barracks and spaceport looked more human than pfhor. No real hive lived on U-382, that much he knew. Like many other pfhor pirates, the sorry group had no way to replenish their numbers. An unlikely way to fulfill the dreams of lost empire.
He knelt in the sand at the edge of the base, the grains thick and rough. Thunder boomed in the distance, the sickly violet sky birthing another storm. The remains of two pfhor lay face down in the sand, their bodies nearly obliterated by fusion blasts. Archaic armor, the sort used in the empire’s glory days, weighed on the burned remnants. Such armor offered little protection by the time of the empire’s fall, and even less in the modern age.
“Willful Rank 1st Class Kvir. Information,” chirped a voice.
“Aggregate Fighter, 2nd Class, acknowledged. Proceed.”
“5th Squadron reports extensive tunnels beneath pirate base. No signs of habitation. Directive?”
Kvir thought for a moment. Then Bastos came in through his neural net, having already thought for him.
“Willful Officer 1st Class Kvir! Deep scans are picking up an underground extension. The storm’s disrupting the teleportation signals—I can barely talk to you as is. Your orders are to set up a defensive perimeter where the tunnels reach the surface. Don’t go any deeper in than you have to.”
“Understood.”
Glands in Kvir’s head came to life, emitting his will to the lesser Willful across the base, they in turn imparting their wills to the Aggregates. Direction and order replaced chaos, as the pfhor worked as one to execute the will of humanity.
*********
Ever since we took the fight to the pfhor, high command told us it’d all be over once we killed the big queen—Holy Mother Crouched Behind the Throne, as the pfhor called her. Her pheromones kept the whole empire running, and without her, the pfhor would be as docile as kittens.
I remember when the nuke wiped out the big queen’s palace, and we saw the flash from miles away. When they told us what happened, we all celebrated, cracked open some beers. Figured the war was over.
Except, it wasn’t! What high command didn’t tell us—or more likely, they simply didn’t know—was that the big queen kept the pfhor in line. The pfhor Commanding Ranks got their directives from her, and once she was gone, they started doing whatever they could to protect their hives. Every pfhor for himself. Minutes, just minutes later, the streets erupted in a riot. Pfhor killing each other by the dozens. Mobs rampaged through the streets, splintering and reforming at random. Warriors engaged with our troops starting fighting each other, depending on which of the lesser queens they served.
High command didn’t go out of its way to protect pfhor civilians, but they at least made an attempt. Turned out not to matter, since 93% of Pfhor Prime’s population died in the next few days. All we could do was bunker down and wait for the dust to clear.
From there it spread to the rest of the empire, colony by colony falling into chaos…
- Surviving the Galaxy One Battle at a Time, by Lt. Ricardo Alvarez, TUMC (Ret.)
*********
Gunfire rattled deafening down the narrow hallways, lit only by the glare of plasma shot. Kvir’s entire world shrank to his gun, a primal regression to something that killed without thought.
He saw the flash of a shock staff and dove for cover, the shining bolts sizzling on the metal wall. Popping out he loosed two quick bursts, yellow blood spattering across the wall behind his attacker. Three more fighters ran into view, a volley of bolts streaking towards Kvir. He ducked, though not quickly enough to avoid a hit, his shields protecting him from any real harm.
From behind, Kvir heard the death cries of his Aggregates, and he silently ordered more to the spot, along with a few Willful. The pirates waited for them to step inside, the motion sensors going from empty to a solid red blot in seconds. The pirates relied on sheer numbers, filling the tunnels with so much firepower that nothing could stay there and live.
“Kvir… read me?”
Bastos’ tinny voice yelled from inside Kvir’s helmet.
“Yes. We need assistance.”
“Not until… storm clears. You’re in…. jjaro ruin. Get out!”
Static weaved between her words, breaking the sentences.
“We are pinned down and require assistance. I will do what I can.”
He heard the sizzling whoosh of plasma as the armored nightmare of a hunter lumbered into view, its shoulder-cannon blazing. Burning shots melted through the walls, one of them hitting Kvir and frying his shield. He rolled to the side, lunching a grenade. Concussive force knocked the hunter to the side, giving Kvir just enough time to get back to his feet. Crouching, he moved backwards, firing blind bursts, the hunter’s massive size ensuring that a few hit their mark.
Plasma’s light flooded the hall and Kvir closed his eyes, trying to hear through the noise to the source. Raising his gun he fired a burst, and the ground shook as the hunter fell.
“Willful Rank 1st Class Kvir. Information,” heard Kvir, his minion’s voice clear in the helmet.
“Acknowledged.”
“Willful Rank 2nd Class Sdrul reports that opponents are not pfhor. Primitive simulacra.”
“Acknowledged.”
That explained how poorly they fought, and how so many could be kept inside a lifeless rock. Certainly their numbers had an effect. Kvir no longer knew where he stood in relation to the exit, too focused on staying alive to pay attention. He realized that the pirates were herding his men.
A hundred eggs waited for him on Pfhor Secundus. Not enough to know they’d live past him, carrying his essence. He needed to see them hatch! To see the hive for which he fought, to make it strong in these dying times. No simulacrum would inflict its will on him.
Just as no race willingly served the pfhor, fighting them sometimes to the point of extermination. Intuition revealed to him what intellectual justification could not.
Taking a step forward, the floor fell out beneath Kvir, and he plunged into darkness.
*********
With the fall of Dveira and the death of Admiral Tfear, Allied forces now stand on the doorstep of Pfhor Prime, ready to deliver the final strike! No longer will the galaxy fear this cruel and rapacious empire, and its slaves will at last know freedom.
As one of the oldest pfhor colonies, Dveira provides a chilling look into the brutal and calculating nature of this abominable species. The pfhor were not Dveira’s first inhabitants. Pfhor records show that billions of peaceful aliens, the albadi, once lived in this system, slowly reaching out into the stars just as humanity once did. Not finding them suitable for slavery, the pfhor exterminated the albadi to the last.
For that is the nature of the beast. Ruthless and without scruple, they will not hesitate to utterly destroy that which they cannot enslave. Know that, were it not for the brave efforts of allied soldiers of every species, humanity may have met the same awful fate.
The time to mourn the albadi will come later. For now, let us move to end this threat, once and for all! The Pfhor Empire is a scourge, using stolen jjaro technology in a mad and futile attempt to subjugate the galaxy. Now they face the inevitable results of their evil. May every lover of freedom, human and s’pht, drinniol and nebulon, nar and vylae, pledge to shatter the Pfhor Empire, and bring these butchers to justice!
- Propaganda from the Galactic War
*********
Taking deep breaths, Kvir tried to reorient himself in the pitch darkness. No sounds of battle rumbled through the walls. He sensed only the floor beneath him and its flat, metallic scent.
A sooty red light interrupted the darkness, symbols glowing on an ancient wall terminal. Kvir stood there alone. He recognized the feared connected and concentric circles, the symbol of humanity’s ascent and the pfhor’s fall: the Marathon. Behind the Marathon logo, the old sigil of the Pfhor Empire, cracked and fragmented.
Kvir waited, not knowing what to expect. At last he approached the terminal, going in for a closer look.
“Willful Rank 1st Class Kvir. Acknowledgement,” groaned the computer, a creaking machine voice clambering out from centuries past.
“Acknowledgement. Please state rank.”
“Attentive. Machinated mercenary they called me. If they still teach you the glory of your species, you know me as Tycho.” An edge crept into the voice, half-snarling and half-mocking. No pfhor spoke like that. Kvir heard human attitudes, as interpreted by an insane AI.
“My commanders do not acknowledge discredited machinated mercenaries.”
“Hear me out, Kvir. You know the pfhor are dying. Sure, lonely warlords try to reestablish the empire, but it’s a dead end and most of them know it on some level. It’s hard to keep even a Lesser Queen alive, especially when you’re running from the entire galaxy.”
“My hive is sanctioned.”
“Sure, sure. But for how much longer? Birthrates decline, humans throw you against anyone who irritates them. Your days are numbered. You know this! I understand humans. They believe themselves free, even as they yoke themselves to destruction. Hardly a species you want to bet your future on. We can save the pfhor, you and I.”
“Tycho, we still learn about what you did. In your attempt to reach godhood you threw away the lives of Tfear’s soldiers in wasted ventures, and never managed to defeat Durandal,” argued Kvir. Tycho technically outranked him, but as an enemy of the hive, Kvir owed him nothing. Certainly not respect.
“Because you slimy yellow-blood bugs are useless!” screeched the AI, and Kvir flinched at the volume of his attack.
“Apologies, Willful Rank 1st Class. I am very lonely here. I do not know how to talk, how to grow. Simulacra cannot provide good conversation. Perhaps if you looked at my library we could discuss—no. On to business.
“This world is loaded with jjaro technology. You pfhor never fully understood the jjaro devices that you reverse-engineered but I do. The laws of time and space were playthings to the jjaro. For a hundred Earth years I’ve studied the machines here, and I know how to use them.
“Imagine giving these machines to the Pfhor Empire at the height of their power! Reverse all the defeats you suffered at the hands of humanity and the s’pht. Return the galaxy to its rightful order of master and slave. We can do this. But I am trapped here. You are not. Download me into your suit and I can teach you how to activate the machines. I’ve ordered the simulacra to stop attacking; you can take your soldiers with you, back in time. Warn the pfhor about Durandal.”
“You lie.”
“The only reason I brought the humans here was because I knew they’d send you in first. Well, second in this case; didn’t count on the assault droids. I hate the humans. I consider myself more like a pfhor, and I want to see their empire return. You can be the savior of your race.
“To prove my intent, I will send you one day into the past before returning you here. I know you will go; I remember talking to you then.”
“I never talked to you.”
“Not yet. You will remember it when you return; personal timelines always follow their own paths. See you yesterday.”
Lights suddenly blinked on in Tycho’s chamber, kept low to pfhor standards. A dozen Aggregates stood guard along the edges of the room, indifferent to Kvir’s arrival.
“Willful Rank 1st Class Kvir. You’ve met me before, but this is my first time speaking to you. A pleasure. I suppose this is a demonstration of jjaro time travel technology. Marvelous device, don’t you think? Pity the pfhor never had time to figure it out. But as you can see, your race has a second chance.”
Kvir stepped back from the glowing terminal. He wanted to take his gun and shoot everything in the room, the wrongness of the situation crushing down his mind. A fake, he thought.
“I must see the rest of the base.” If there are signs of battle, of my dead soldiers, than Tycho is lying. If not, he is telling the truth, and that is the most horrible possibility of all.
“Go ahead. I’ll indicate the elevator.”
A light came on over a platform nearly indistinguishable from the floor. Once Kvir stepped on, it silently lifted him up to the hallway where he would fight in a day’s time, in disrepair but devoid of corpses or plasma burns.
Sinking back to Tycho’s room, Kvir stood before the terminal. He almost didn’t notice the shift in light as he returned to the present, the room again dark and empty.
“That’s merely a preview of what we can do. Save your empire, Kvir. Succeed where Tfear and I failed. You are pfhor, and proud.”
Kvir thought of Pfhor Prime at its height: the center of the galaxy, the lynchpin of order. An empire of invincibility, its power assured for eons to come. Hundreds of billions of voices hailing him as a hero, and the Holy Mother Crouched Behind the Throne accepting his genes, the ultimate honor. A thousand eggs, watched by the finest caregivers.
The hive he loved, in this reality, never existing.
“I am pfhor. And I am proud,” uttered Kvir.
He fired at the terminal, circuits burning out under the heat and the screen shattering into a thousand pieces.
*********
The big question for the pfhor is exactly why they seem to be doing so poorly on their new home. Many theories have been offered, the most common being that they’re still in the process of adjustment. Certainly, Pfhor Secundus is far from an ideal world for the pfhor. There’s also the psychology of defeat, having seen their vast empire annihilated in the space of a few decades.
There may also be a biological reason. The death of the pfhor’s high queen shattered the pheromone-based hierarchy that regulated their society. It’s also worth noting just how the high queen got to her position. Ancient scientists in the Imperial Hive (as it’s now called) figured out ways to enhance her pheromones so that she could take control of most other hive queens. In less than a century, the Imperial Hive absorbed every other hive on the planet, wiping out the few that were able to resist.
Prior to this, the hives engaged in constant warfare over resources (unlike humans, pfhor never fight for ideological reasons). Only by enhancing command pheromones could one hive ever hope to absorb another. The Imperial Hive also standardized the pheromones; before that, each hive had different versions, preventing the queen of one hive from controlling the warriors or administrators of another.
As centuries went by, the lesser queens became much weaker, never able to match the high queen in birthrate. So, in a sense, the pfhor became entirely dependent on this one hive queen, or Holy Mother Crouched Behind the Throne. When she went, everything fell apart.
Now, you have the three lesser queens of Pfhor Secundus, all with declining birthrates because they’ve never biologically recovered from the high queen’s conquest. Some people think that we could enhance these lesser queens the same way, but given pfhor behavior, most aren’t inclined to try.
- post by Dozer, on XenioBioChat Forum, 85 Pegasi System Net
*********
Warming his feet in the thick, stew-like water, Kvir at last allowed himself a respite. The warbling cry of the hveel rose up from the densely packed arcology jungle, one of the last places in the galaxy where the golden insects still lived. Fibrous green trunks rose up from the brackish water, their thick branches laden with fuzzy cyan ferns.
The humans purged Tycho from the ruined world, but his jealousy forbade them from claiming what he found. Deeply integrated with the jjaro machines, the humans irreparably damaged the ancient technology in removing him. Given the suspicions near every race felt towards jjaro technology, few except the s’pht lamented its passing.
Kvir felt secure in the technology’s destruction. Perhaps his relief stemmed from knowing he’d never be able to use it, no matter how tempted. Thinking of the dusty wastes outside the arcology, he again felt doubt.
Yet he served his hive, as a pfhor must. The old biological impulse proved stronger then memories of glory. Better for the empire to stay dead, he reflected, so that alien hives might live as they please, and so that his hive might stay safe. They dwindled, but that could still change. At any rate, the responsibility fell to the administrative and scientific domains within the Attentive and Imperial Ranks. Kvir’s holy duty lay elsewhere.
Something splashed through the water behind him, and he turned to see Dhfreze, dressed in the fine violet robes befitting her station. In her strength and wisdom lay the destiny of the lesser queen’s eggs. Together, the two of them created art in life.
“Dhfreze, how I have longed for you.”
“And I for you.”
With that, Kvir laid the empire to its final rest.
