//------------------------------// // Mousseux // Story: Speak Not Of The End Of The World // by Shaslan //------------------------------// The Taelo was the largest spaceship ever grown in an algae pool, the culmination of millions of minds pulling together in pursuit of one goal and one goal only. Survival. The work had been an undoubted success; over twenty percent of the inhabitants of Home were safe on board. Another twenty percent had made it to the Leonaria, but contact with the Leonaria had been lost two generations before Laotyn’s parents had merged to spawn him and his siblings. It wasn’t clear whether there had been a communications malfunction or an outright disaster, but the Leonaria was lost, and only the Taelo was left. Sailing on alone through the vast cold ocean of an empty universe.  But now, after generation upon generation had lived and merged within the confines of the algae spheres, the Taelo was finally nearing its destination.  Issia. A pinprick of light in an endless universe of dark. The focal point of all poetry, all song, all hope for the last seven generations. The very future of all known life.  When the extinction event came, every denizen of Home scrambled to find a solution. The probes and the sensors sent out by the ancients had yielded nothing – lightyear after lightyear of dead empty space punctuated only by fading stars and barren lumps of stone. There were young stars out there, blazing hot stars that would have burned the delicate gaseous biospheres of Home to a crisp, but there was nothing like the gentle mellow light of Home’s sun. Until finally, the little star named Issia was found. A hydrogen-rich star just small enough to allow for a geocentric solar system, just like the star that had once orbited Home.  In fevered haste, the great starships had been constructed. Only two of them, and all the wealth and beauty of a dying world was used in their creation. The finest scientists, thinkers and artisans were sent aboard, based purely on merit. Those who did not make the cut were matched with other rejected applicants and merged to produce a bright new generation who could carry the hope of their dead parents forward. And those remaining, who were not talented enough to be welcomed either in their own right or through their spawn, dedicated themselves to the work of equipping the two starships with every scrap of knowledge and and history that Home had to offer. Extinction made people selfless. By the time the two starships left, Home was a barren wasteland populated only by the dying. Everything of worth had been crammed into the Taelo and its sister-ship. Nothing that could be saved was left behind for the extinction event.  Seven generations followed. Long, long lives lived within the Taelo’s confines, ending in song and sharing and Parenthood. Most of the memories Laotyn’s parents had given to him were of these lives. Only a very few snatches of Home remained, the gift of his long-dead ancestors. Open vistas, purple skies. Great gas clouds and slow-swirling storms. Huge flocks of people flying together through the eternal sky, lit by the watery light of the star that orbited the planet. Lives lived and loves lost, shapes and tendrils so blurred that Laotyn had no clue what the names of these ancient people had been.  But it had been beautiful. Home had undoubtedly been beautiful. And it had given the Taelo everything it possessed. From the algae that kept their breathable air safe inside to the gas clouds that sustained them, the people owed everything to Home. The historians taught its story, and Laotyn had projected his own ancestral memories to the class in school when he was young.  But Home, alluring and nostalgic as it was, did not hold the same charm for Laotyn as Issia did. Home was the past, and Issia was the future.  Five annual cycles had passed since he had first applied for the observer role. He had always known what he wanted to do with his life. The very day after he officially matured into an adult, he submitted his request – and then every day of the next five long cycles, had worked disconsolately at the roles the Council of Elders had appointed him to, always hurrying away to scrape what gleanings he could of Issia from the publicly released recordings. And they were always the same. Issia draws closer. Our new home. The little planet that the star orbits shows every sign of being an excellent core around which we can plant the spore-seeds and grow our atmosphere. Before three generations have merged we will be flying through the gas storms again. It will be perfect. A new Home.  A new Home.  All Laotyn had ever wanted was to see it for himself.