The Iris (Gravity, Space, and Time: Book 1) by Patkós Csaba - HTML preview

Chapter 29 - First Contact

Date: July 1, 2856

"Just to be clear, Captain," Collins said as he and Peterson approached the observation lounge, leading the rest of the bridge crew, "I haven't met these aliens either. My knowledge is barely a step ahead of yours. I've never been to this part of

the ship, so I can't tell you exactly what's on the other side." He continued, stepping in front of Peterson and turning, enthusiasm making him walk backward. "But," he said, a finger raised, "they assured me we're safe. They told me we'll meet a representative of the alien race that inhabits this place and that we might find some things strange, maybe even perceive them as dangerous."

Collins stopped abruptly, facing a set of closed double sliding doors. The bridge crew, mirroring their captain's silence, looked on. Some faces held excitement, others a touch of apprehension. Throughout the short speech, Peterson remained passive, listening intently but revealing no emotion.

"You seem uncharacteristically relaxed and joyful, Commander," Peterson finally remarked, suspicion lacing his voice. He intentionally emphasized the word

'commander', a reminder of Collins' military discipline. This sudden shift of personality in the always-stoic Collins was unsettling.

"Are you..." Peterson began, his gaze sweeping over Collins, "...younger?"

"Well, it seems those doctors were a bit too eager to make me the picture of perfect health." Collins grimaced as Peterson raised an eyebrow. "Turns out, their concussion-healing cocktail was a bit stronger than either of us anticipated." He paused. "I informed them as soon as I noticed, Captain, and they stopped the age-reversal process." Another sigh escaped him. "Unfortunately, they can't reverse it now. Internally, I'm at the biological age of thirty. My outward appearance, luckily, hasn't changed much."

"Right, closer to my age now," Peterson stated. "Does that mean your brain's reverted to that of a thirty-year-old? If so, remember your place and your usual demeanor."

"Oh, I remember," Collins assured him. "It's just that I have a bit too much energy to control at times. I'll be fine." He then half-turned towards the doors with a slight bow and an outstretched hand. "Shall we proceed?"

Peterson entered the observation lounge first, stopping abruptly after only two steps.

His eyes widened, his mouth agape. The immense windows on the sloping ceiling bathed his face in the eerie purple light of this alien universe, reflecting a stunned awe in his eyes.

Beside him, Collins stood speechless as well. Yet, his expression, returned to its usual stoic mask, held the calculating look of a mind struggling to comprehend the impossible sight before him.

One by one, awestruck and confused, the rest of the bridge crew slowly edged into the room, drawn by the view that had frozen their captain and commander in place.

Gone was the inky blackness of space, the sporadic twinkle of distant stars. Instead, an ocean of luminescent, pinkish-purple light stretched endlessly into the distance.

This wasn't liquid or gas; it was as if space itself radiated a strange, unsettling beauty. Swirling currents of darker and lighter shades danced through the purple expanse – some immense and nearly black, others thin and pale pink. Seemingly coming from nowhere and disappearing into the distance, these streams moved in a hypnotic, cosmic ballet.

No solid objects broke the horizon. Despite the lack of familiar reference points, a profound sense of calm washed over the crew. It was coupled with an uncanny feeling of connection, not just to each other, but to the very universe pulsating outside the station. There was no exchanging of thoughts, yet somehow, on a deeper level, their souls brushed against one another.

"I..." Collins stammered, breaking the silence. "...I think... we should sit."

The observation lounge was wide rather than deep, dominated by a large rectangular table positioned in the middle. Ten chairs faced the expansive windows, while another ten lined the side opposite the door.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" A familiar female voice echoed across the room. Ala stepped from the shadows near the left wall, her gaze fixed on Peterson, who sat center stage, flanked by Collins on his right, Dr. Jovier on his left, and the rest of his bridge crew.

"Almost every species I've met reacts the same way upon their first encounter," she continued. "And did you know, you can control the swirls, make them form different shapes?"

Time itself seemed to blur. Seconds, minutes, perhaps hours slipped by before their overwhelmed senses slowly returned. A lingering sense of profound peace remained, but it was now manageable. As the fog in their minds receded, a ripple of confusion washed over them.

"Ala?" Peterson asked, turning in his seat.

"Yes."

"What did you mean, we can control them?"

"Think of something specific and watch the swirls." By now, everyone was focused on Ala, then turned back to the breathtaking scene beyond the windows.

Instantly, the streams outside shifted and swirled. A flower bud flickered into existence, only to vanish and become a half-formed tree. A woman's face appeared, morphing into a man's, then dissolving into the form of a dog.

Confusion rippled through the crew. Ala, to the left, wore an amused smile. "No, not like that. Choose a leader and follow their thoughts." Her words prompted a flurry of discussions as the crew scrambled to agree on something to focus on.

"Stop talking!" Ala's normally calm voice cut through the din at a startling volume.

"Don't discuss it. That's not how it works." Her focus returned to Peterson.

"Benjamin, think of something pleasant – a place, a person, even something unknown to the rest of the crew."

Peterson closed his eyes and pictured his daughter.

"Now, everyone else, close your eyes and think about the same thing. Don't try and guess. Just let your minds relax and wander," Ala instructed.

One by one, they obeyed. Somehow, they could feel Peterson, sense the focus of his thoughts: the image of his daughter's face.

"Now, slowly open your eyes."

Outside, the streams had coalesced into a breathtaking three-dimensional sculpture

– the face of Peterson's daughter rendered in every shade of purple imaginable. It wasn't a still image like a photo; every strand of hair was visible, her features animated with life. Details even Peterson himself had forgotten were present with startling clarity, the product of their combined memories.

"You see, together, with a leader guiding your shared focus, you can recall each other's memories in extraordinary detail." Ala said. Once again, shock and awe spread through the room. "I will stay with you while we wait for the emissary. Feel free to experiment with the streams until then."

The crew reveled in their newfound control over the swirling purple streams. Hours slipped by, filled with laughter, debate, and the creation of fantastical shapes within the cosmic ocean. They lost themselves in the moment, oblivious to the passage of

time, until the doors behind them opened and two assistants wheeled in trolleys laden with steaming, fresh meals.

Everyone was served, and they eagerly dug in. "This food is amazing, exactly what I wanted," Anita exclaimed.

"What did you just say?" Dr. Jovier asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"That this food is amazing," Anita repeated, confused by the question.

"No, the other part of your statement," Dr. Jovier pressed.

"That... it's exactly what I wanted..." Anita trailed off, her gaze sweeping across the other crew members' plates.

"Captain, is this exactly the meal you would have wished for?" Dr. Jovier questioned.

"Now that you mention it... yes, I think I would've chosen this exact dish."

The confusion spread as everyone examined their individual meals – each one different, yet perfectly tailored to their desires. Slowly, all eyes turned to Ala, who sat calmly enjoying her own food.

"Yes, this room possesses some unique technology. I don't fully understand how it works, as it's not ours, but the principle is this: it can't read your minds, but it senses your thoughts and needs. When you collectively focused on a single concept, it helped to clarify even those thoughts you weren't consciously aware of. Similarly, when your unconscious minds began to register basic physical needs, it was able to anticipate the kind of food or drink you would crave. My assistants were ready to provide whatever the 'room' requested."

"So, these abilities are limited to this specific room?" Dr. Jovier inquired, scientific curiosity evident in his voice.

"Oh, absolutely not," Ala replied. "I mean, within the habitable part of this station, this is the only room like it. There's one customized for each species we host, including one for the Gados. This is the only place the emissary will agree to meet with us. You see, sincerity is paramount to it. If you were to lie here, it would sense it. If you attempt to conceal your true thoughts, it would know."

A moment of thoughtful silence hung in the air before Ala spoke. "It's time. The emissary will arrive shortly. You'll sense its presence, just as you do each other's.

Remember, there's no need to be afraid."

"But what does it look like?" Peterson asked, a trace of apprehension in his voice.

Ala's smile held a hint of mystery. "You'll see."

The lights within the observation lounge slowly faded, leaving the mesmerizing purple glow from outside as their main source of illumination. The crew held their breath in anticipation. Each passing second stretched on, heightening the tension until Ensign Turmal's gaze darted towards the door, breaking the spell. In unison, everyone else followed his lead, hoping to see some sign of the emissary's arrival.

But the doors remained stubbornly closed.

As they turned back, a collective gasp echoed through the room. A spectacle had begun to unfold directly above the empty chair across from Peterson. Wisps of deep purple light with hints of a brighter shade swirled in mesmerizing patterns, defying the still air of the chamber.

Intrigued and slightly unnerved, the crew watched with rapt attention. Peterson, Collins, and Dr. Jovier instinctively felt an urge to retreat a few steps, struggling against the subtle sense of discomfort that washed over them. Slowly, the swirling light began to form a recognizable shape – a humanoid figure with a head, limbs, and torso. It was a silent explosion in reverse, a being taking shape within a mesmerizing vortex. Details grew sharper: eyes, ears, a nose, mouth... fingers

emerging from the swirling limbs. The once formless light slowly took the guise of a familiar uniform.

"It's like our uniform," Anita Jouvier breathed, her voice filled with awe and a hint of scientific analysis.

The transformation seemed to accelerate. Dark hair materialized on the figure's head, its face flushed with the pink-beige tones of human skin, and its uniform shimmered into the same greenish-yellow as their own. Before their minds could fully grasp the impossible, a completely realized figure sat before them – seemingly human in every detail, down to the finest strands of hair.

The bridge crew recognized the figure as resembling a young human male, but there was one key difference: a subtle, otherworldly glow emanated from its entire being. It was human, yet simultaneously... not.

"Greetings, Earthlings! It's a genuine pleasure to finally extend a warm welcome to a human starship and its intrepid crew." The emissary's voice boomed through the lounge, a touch too loud for the hushed atmosphere. "I am the emissary, and you distinguished folks represent the first humans to breach the dimensional barrier and stumble into our neck of the woods on your own. Quite the feat, I must say."

Peterson couldn't help but be fascinated by how the entity – alien, yet undeniably human-looking – spoke perfect English. Its lips moved in perfect sync with the words, even though the sound clearly didn't emanate from vocal cords… or did it?

"Greetings, emissary. We are..." Peterson began, then faltered, remembering Ala's advice to be completely honest. "To be perfectly frank, we're quite confused." He decided to ditch diplomacy altogether and opt for brutal honesty. "We have a mountain of questions. Some might even veer into territory considered impolite. But our intentions are pure – to understand what's going on here."

"Captain Peterson, please," the emissary chuckled, a sound that shimmered like wind chimes. "After encountering civilizations as diverse as sentient squirrels and telepathic amoebas, we've developed a rather high tolerance for awkward inquiries.

Besides, introductions are unnecessary. I've familiarized myself with each and every one of you." The emissary's lighthearted tone held a hint of amusement, almost as if it were enjoying the crew's bewildered state. "Now, let's dispense with these questions as efficiently as possible. That way, I can unveil the truly crucial information you never knew you needed."

"Oh, and one more thing," the emissary added, almost as an afterthought. "Captain Peterson will speak for you all. Think carefully about the questions you want to ask through him. This promises to be a fascinating conversation." A hint of amusement danced in his glowing eyes.

"Who are you?" Peterson blurted out, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

"The Emissary," the being replied with matter-of-fact simplicity.

"Of what, or whom?"

"The emissary of the beings in this universe."

"What's your name?"

"You can call me the Emissary," came the calm reply. No hint of annoyance, just a statement of fact.

"What is your species called?"

"Aliens tend to refer to us as the 'Gravity People'. You can as well."

"But that's not a..."

"GPs, then."

"Why gravity?"

"Your universe is primarily matter. Gravity exists as a force. Our universe is predominantly gravity, with pockets of matter."

"Are you made of matter?"

"No. We are beings of gravity."

"Is there time in this universe?"

"Yes, though its behavior differs slightly due to the density of gravity and scarcity of matter."

"How did we end up here?"

"You crossed the dimensional barrier at 4.5 GU. That's the threshold to our universe."

"How did other humans get here?"

"Captured by other species and brought here."

"Can we get back home?"

"Yes."

"Did others go back?"

"Not yet."

"Why?"

"They didn't want to. And they were aware of the rules before arriving."

"What rules?"

"That's a longer story. We'll discuss it after your questions are answered."

"Can we get back to our ship?"

"Yes, as soon as everyone is healed and we can minimize direct interactions."

"Can't you take this form on our ship?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Mimicking other forms is an incredibly complex skill. It takes us millennia to master and can only be done in specially equipped rooms."

"Can't you install such a room on the Iris?"

"No. The available materials and technology are insufficient."

"You look..."

"Exactly as you collectively imagined. My appearance reflects your expectations, not my own form. It's the same for my people out there."

"Are those Gravity People out there?"

"Yes. We exist in our universe, just as you do in yours. Visiting this room is akin to your astronauts traveling to the Moon in space suits."

"We understand. Difficult and restrictive."

"Any more questions?"

Silence descended. There were undoubtedly many more queries, but the bombardment left their minds reeling.

After a few tense moments, the Emissary's voice cut through the quiet. "Now, it's my turn to speak. What I have to say is vital for the survival of humanity as you know it.

About two million of your years ago..."

His words hung in the air, a tantalizing prelude to revelations that would forever change their understanding of the universe.

Chapter 30 - A Very Long Time Ago

Date: 2 million years ago

An urgent thought echoed through the vast collective consciousness of the Gravity People: "We are too many!" They inhabited their gravity-dominated universe, unlike the matter-bound creatures dwelling in tiny islands within a sea of near-emptiness.

"If we manage births…" a ripple of wisdom sought to temper the growing sense of alarm.

"NO!" A chorus of protest surged in response. "We live for eons. It would take an eternity!"

"Perhaps… we could accelerate time?" A few hesitant suggestions trailed off, like faint whispers lost in the cosmic expanse.

"But our lives would flash by too quickly." The multitude countered, their collective thoughts laced with a deep-seated anxiety.

The Gravity People communicated not with words, but with raw concepts and emotions projected across the vast distances of their shared mind. Their scale was immense, each being a swirling river within a cosmic ocean, stretching thousands, even millions, of kilometers. Their numbers were truly staggering, and now, they strained the limits of their universe.

"We must find a second home," a determined thought emanated from a powerful source.

"NO!" The elders, repositories of ancient wisdom, retorted with a forceful authority that reverberated across the collective. "We must not disrupt the lives of others!"

Peaceful at their core, the Gravity People had long observed the Matter Universe.

Their clandestine expeditions revealed ephemeral societies arising, evolving, and often collapsing within spans of time the Gravity People found incomprehensible. Yet some thrived, mastering the forces of gravity to traverse the vast reaches of their cosmos.

"But we can speak with them! Perhaps they would offer us space!" The rebellious voices reemerged.

"Where?" Innumerable questioning thoughts rippled outward.

"Their galaxies… each possesses a monstrous black hole at its heart. The gravity there is beyond measure – a place where we could thrive and ensure our future."

"But for how long?" The elders questioned.

"Long enough to seek a better solution."

"Seven." The elders declared. "Seven emissaries will breach the barrier and initiate communication with the most advanced species in the seven largest galaxies. Your mission is to forge bonds, to secure their acceptance. Let us inhabit the hearts of their black holes."

A wave of tranquility washed over the collective consciousness. Discord gave way to focused resolve. The Gravity People would act.

Chapter 31 - Emissary 1: The Lone Hero

Date: unknown

Location: Cigar Galaxy

Distance: 12 million light years from Earth

My existence stretches back further than I can measure, a fragment of an immeasurable whole. The grand consciousness of my people hummed within me, a comforting symphony of thoughts and purpose. Yet now... silence. It is an unfamiliar, unsettling sensation.

I am alone, a solitary strand severed from the collective. The mission is clear, yet the implications ripple through my newly isolated being. The black hole yawns before me, a monstrous gravitational wound in the fabric of this unfamiliar matter universe.

This is to be our potential new home, but first, it must be secured.

The first steps are clumsy. Accustomed to the smooth flow of shared intentions, I stumble under the weight of individual choice. My mind races with a thousand possible actions, each echoing only within myself. It's a strange, almost dizzying sensation.

These matter beings… there are so many! Their civilizations flicker in and out of existence with disconcerting speed. Some are crude, warlike species barely mastering their own planets. Others… others wield power that rivals even the forces at the heart of the black hole. They are a chaotic, unpredictable mix.

In the face of this relentless churn of life and conflict, a decision crystallizes. There will be no grand invitation of my people into this maelstrom. They deserve harmony, not the constant threat of annihilation.

I will become a hero.

The concept is borrowed from my eons of observing the matter beings. A protector.

A force of good against the darkness that seems to infect too many corners of this galaxy. I will cleanse this place, paving the way for a peaceful future for my people.

Decades pass, then centuries. Wars are averted, empires toppled, tyrants cast down. I become a figure of legend – a myth whispered among the stars. And still, the endless tide of conflict remains. There is always another villain, another injustice waiting around the next star system.

Time warps, the millennia blurring together. I am no longer certain I am doing good.

Each intervention ripples outwards, causing unforeseen consequences. Yet, there is no alternative, only the certainty that to withdraw means chaos will reign supreme.

The isolation grows oppressive. I hunger for the comforting embrace of the collective consciousness of my people. But the mission remains unfinished, and honor binds me. Two million years have stretched behind me, and the future feels like an abyss.

Is this what remains? An eternal struggle fought alone, trapped in this strange, violent universe, forever cut off from my home?

Chapter 32 - Emissary 2: The Mentor

Date: unknown

Location: Galaxy HD1

Distance: 13.5 billion light years from Earth

The disorientation is immediate. I am no longer a current within the grand ocean of my people, but a solitary vortex, spinning in quiet isolation. Eons of sharing knowledge, nurturing growth, guiding wisdom – all replaced by this jarring emptiness.

I am accustomed to the constant hum of interconnected minds, my thoughts echoing and enriching those of my brethren. Yet here, I am a single note against the vast, indifferent music of the stars.

My form reflects my status among my own kind. Long and dense, a swirling ribbon of deep purple, I carry the wisdom of ages within me. It is an unusual experience to focus inwardly, to consider the weight of my own thoughts without the enriching counterpoint of others.

But I am not here to dwell in self-contemplation. The mission burns bright within me, a beacon of purpose against the solitude. I must seek out minds to nurture, to guide into a grand alliance with my people.

This galaxy – HD1, the matter-beings call it – is sparse compared to the teeming activity I’ve witnessed in others. But within this emptiness, there is potential. A handful of species flicker into existence, their civilizations barely crawling beyond their home worlds. They are crude, clumsy... and remarkably tenacious. There is a flicker of promise within them. I sense they might grow given time... and a guiding hand.

Like a gardener, I set to work. My influence is subtle: a redirected asteroid here, a burst of inspiration there. I push them towards discoveries, towards cooperation.

They stumble, they regress, but they learn. I take pride in their successes, their hesitant steps towards unity. The seeds of interstellar alliances are planted.

Decades become centuries, then millennia. Progress is achingly slow, and mortality, a concept I barely understand, is a constant thorn. My chosen pupils live and die in the cosmic blink of an eye. Yet each generation builds on the lessons of the last.

They are on the path, even if they don't know their destination. I imagine a future where these young species stand alongside my people, a chorus of wisdom and reason. This galaxy will be their cradle, a safe haven for us all.

Time, once a relentless river, now seems to stagnate. I hunger for companionship, for the reassurance of shared knowledge and purpose. The weight of this mission, once light, sits heavy on my form. These beings... they are not my people. They

learn, yes, but they do not understand. I am a shepherd surrounded by sheep, and the isolation grows oppressive. My thoughts spiral, twisting into echoes of self-doubt.

Have I erred? Is greatness beyond their reach? Am I simply a stranger toiling over an alien garden?

The galaxy holds countless stars within itself, and with them the promise of intellects more in tune with my own. Perhaps if I found a single beacon of true wisdom, a mind on par with my brethren… then perhaps I could share this burden, find solace in collaboration. Surely somewhere out there, a kindred spirit awaits. The search must begin anew.

Chapter 33 - Emissary 3: The Villain

Date: unknown

Location: Galaxy GN-z11

Distance: 32 billion light years from Earth

The silence strikes me like a hammerblow. Where once a symphony of thought resonated within my being, there is now a solitary, discordant note – my own. I am unmoored, a rogue star in this foreign emptiness. And with this realization comes a chilling truth: I am free.

Free from the constraints of shared ideals, from the harmonious murmur of my people. It's an intoxicating power. My thoughts twist with the thrill of it. There are no limits, no dissenting voices to temper my desires. This universe, a blank canvas upon which I can paint… or destroy.

A dark impulse surfaces, a twisted notion of purpose. These matter beings, their chaotic, destructive civilizations... they're a blight upon this galaxy. To protect, to build anew, I must first eradicate this chaos. They stand in the way of my people's

grand design. I will become a force of cleansing, a catalyst for a better, more perfect future.

I plunge into the task with a horrifying zeal. My power manifests as ripples through the cosmos. Asteroids shift paths, becoming weapons of obliteration against unsuspecting worlds. Stars hiccup and flare, unleashing waves of radiation to scorch flourishing planets. There is a perverse satisfaction in the cries of short-lived civilizations that echo dimly through the void.

But resistance rises. In this distant galaxy, GN-z11, several species possess a horrifying tenacity and remarkable intellect. They fight back, their crude technology surprisingly effective against my manipulations. An unexpected war has begun.

Centuries stretch on, and the stalemate gnaws at my certainty. The weaker species crumble beneath my touch, leaving behind desolate husks of worlds. But these defiant few, they persist. I rage, pushing my power to its limits, even as doubts gnaw at the edges of my twisted resolve.

Then, like a beacon in the empty vastness, a message cuts through. It's Emissary 2, its voice a soothing balm to my frenzied mind. I am not alone! I pour out my twisted plans, my crusade to cleanse this galaxy for my people.

Emissary 2's reaction chills me. There is not praise, but a hint of horror in its reply.

Too late I recognize the insanity of my actions. But Emissary 2 can't abandon me; I am all it has now in this vast emptiness. It proposes a new plan, a grand act of destruction and creation. We shall merge this galaxy with its neighbor, HD1. The collision will create a black hole of unprecedented size, obliterate all life, and provide a vast new home for my people.

Centuries have passed. The galaxies move inexorably closer. Victory, tainted though it is, seems tantalizingly close. There is no way to warn the collective, to undo what

we have begun. This remains my secret, and my burden. But now, at least, the silence is broken. Even in madness, I am no longer alone.

Chapter 34 - Emissary 4: The Sidekick

Date: unknown

Location: Bode’s Galaxy

Distance: 12 million light years from Earth

The Bode's Galaxy explodes into existence around me. Not with a literal bang, but with a heady rush of chaotic, vibrant life. Where most galaxies hold handfuls of sentient, spacefaring species, this one teems with them! Dozens, perhaps hundreds, flicker and pulse with the energy of their short lives. It's overwhelming.

My existence has always been intertwined with the grand flow of my people, a supportive thread woven into the tapestry of our collective wisdom. My role was clear: to aid, to enrich, to bolster those worthy of our guidance. I yearn for that connection, that clear heroic purpose!

My form swirls with hopeful anticipation as I single out a particularly promising species. They are technologically advanced, their communication networks crackle with the potential of rapid growth. There it is, the spark of greatness in need of careful fanning. My hero awaits; let me be the ever-faithful sidekick!

I begin subtly. A touch of inspiration there, a redirected asteroid here... tiny adjustments to hasten their evolution. The decades tumble into a century, and my chosen people thrive. They conquer their homeworld and then their starsystem. Yet something feels… off. Internal fissures appear, disagreements grow into conflict.

Before I truly understand the problem, their budding interstellar empire crumbles into squabbling petty states.

My disappointment burns hot, but there is no time to grieve. Another promising species rises in the ashes: more resilient, their social structure fascinatingly different.

With renewed zeal, I dive in, my guidance nudging them along the path to greatness.

And the cycle repeats. Advancement flourishes, knowledge multiplies… followed by the inevitable disintegration of society. Wars, revolutions, sometimes even reasoned agreements... it always falls apart in the end.

Eons bleed into one another. I have become an echo of myself, flitting amongst these short-lived creatures like a frantic moth around a flame. The galaxy fills with species who view me with suspicion. Each new "hero" disappoints, their progress always ending in ruin. And now… now there is resistance. A coalition, united against me?

I'd spent a million years assuming the best of these short-lived beings, trying to coax their inner brilliance to the surface. Have I made a cataclysmic error? The black hole beckons, but my report will be met not with joy, but with confusion. Perhaps even disdain. The thought is unbearable. I must return, warn my people.

Yet, as I slip out of the chaotic Bode's Galaxy, I catch a strange transmission. It's garbled, but amidst the static, I think I hear... pleading? Are they reaching out in desperation? Is there a chance for reconciliation? No, it's foolish hope. Still... the flicker of doubt leaves me unsettled as I plunge back towards my home universe.

What will I tell the elders?

Ahh … so good to be back in my universe. Home feels … ???

Chapter 35 - Emissary 5: The Loner

Date: unknown

Location: The Triangulum Galaxy

Distance: 3 million light years from Earth

The severing feels like a gasp of air after choking beneath the depths. I am finally alone! My people's collective consciousness, a symphony that suffocated my own thoughts, is replaced by a sweet, sweet silence. For millennia, I craved this isolation, an impossible dream within our all-encompassing hive mind.

Yet the echoes of our shared purpose remain. I carry within me a vital mission. It is a contradiction I embrace – to secure a future for my people while reveling in my newfound solitude. Somehow, I must navigate this paradox.

The Triangulum Galaxy is my chosen canvas. Even from this distance, I sense the chaos radiating from the multitude of species below. Inexplicably, the thought brings relief. My introvert nature never found its place among the Gravity People. Perhaps this is my strength – a distance to see what others missed.

A plan blossoms within the newfound silence of my mind. I shall remain hidden, a puppeteer pulling the strings from the shadows. My loneliness is now a weapon.

These nascent spacefaring species, scattered throughout this vibrant galaxy, believe themselves unique. They explore with a reckless abandon my kind has long forgotten. Their curiosity will be their guide, but I shall be their compass.

My whispers echo across centuries: anomalous transmissions, gravitational ripples with no source, strangely altered star charts. Their rudimentary science scrambles for explanations, and my subtle breadcrumbs lead them inexorably inward toward the galaxy's heart, toward the monstrous black hole.

Millennia slip past, each manipulation a delicious puzzle, each response from the burgeoning starfarers a thrilling piece falling into place. Finally, the moment arrives.

A dozen civilizations, drawn together by a trail of engineered serendipity, converge on the black hole. I will reveal myself at last.

First contact is exhilarating. It is not merely a meeting of species, but of universes.

The Gravity People had long observed these beings of matter, but to interact, to learn... is a privilege denied my brethren. We forge a pact, a promise of peaceful coexistence within this supermassive cosmic maw. An exchange of knowledge, a bridge between dimensions – my work is complete.

After 700,000 standard Earth years, I turn homeward, eager to share this triumph.

My return is a shock. A strange hush has fallen over the …

Chapter 36 - Emissary 6: The Antihero

Date: unknown

Location: The Andromeda Galaxy

Distance: 2.5 million light years from Earth

The silence, at first, is like a blow. My being thrums with the disconnect, a cacophony of unfiltered thoughts suddenly laid bare. I stumble, exposed. Flaws I never fully grasped now rear their head: a tendency for cynicism, a callous focus on self-interest... traits I had always attributed to the ebb and flow of our collective consciousness.

The Andromeda Galaxy flickers below, a vast swirl of potential... and weakness. It's a chilling realization: left unchecked, I could twist this galaxy to my will. These young races, barely venturing into the cosmic sea, are ripe for manipulation. A dark hunger stirs, replacing my fading altruism with a gnawing need for power, for validation.

With chilling efficiency, I target civilizations on the cusp of interstellar travel. My touch is both subtle and terrifying. A star flares ominously, hinting at impending disaster –

only to be quelled by my invisible hand. Ancient texts sprout prophecies, subtly engineered to guide the faithful towards my desired outcomes. These species, awash in fear and superstition, turn their eyes upwards in search of a savior. And I am there to receive their worship.

Their reverence feeds me. Their collective belief smothers the remaining doubts within me. I am a god, a flawless orchestrator of destinies. I carefully avoid contact with the multitude of primitive species - their chaotic minds could potentially unseat me from my carefully constructed pedestal. My chosen races, molded by faith, are my devoted flock.

Centuries bleed into millennia. The grand lie solidifies. My flaws, once sources of shame, are now tools. My cynicism sees through the petty conflicts of nations, allowing me to manipulate events and secure everlasting worship. My self-interest demands peace – for how can war disrupt my meticulously staged miracles? And so, my chosen planets thrive under my iron-fisted benevolence.

The Gravity People... a faint pang of guilt echoes through me. They fade into irrelevance. My purpose is clear. No, not purpose... destiny. This galaxy, shaped to my will, is a monument to my greatness. I will never return to the collective, never again submit to the erosion of self. Should any of my brethren venture this way, I will turn them aside, preserving my hard-won divinity.

Chapter 37 - Emissary 7: The Innocent

Date: July 1, 2856

Location: The Milky Way

Distance: zero

The observation lounge was filled with an unsettling silence. Peterson glanced at Dr.

Jovier, a flicker of unease mirrored in the doctor's eyes.

"Did you see that, Captain?" the navigator asked, his voice laced with confusion.

"Yes..." Peterson trailed off as the rest of the crew blinked, their faces etched with the lingering remnants of a shared, unsettling dream. "It was like..."

"Like we were all dreaming while awake?" Turmal offered.

"No," Anita countered. "It was like we were seeing their thoughts, feeling their emotions." She gestured towards the alien emissary, her eyes wide.

"Your minds..." The emissary began, its voice ragged. It projected a wave of surprise and fear that washed over everyone in the room. "...were briefly part of the collective.

Your minds are so powerful!" It finished, anger edging into its normally tranquil tone.

The crew surged to their feet, instinctively backing away from the table.

"Dr. Jovier, Anita, open the doors!" Peterson commanded, a fierce sense of protectiveness rising within him. "Collins, stay with me. Defend the crew."

Military discipline kicked in, transforming the initial chaos into a well-choreographed response. As the doctor and Anita reached the door, Peterson and Collins stood their ground, facing down the emissary. Confusion flickered through some of the crew, but others remained resolute.

"I need..." the emissary strained, its voice taut with effort.

In a flash, two more beings materialized to its left and right. They bore a striking resemblance to the Iris crew but exuded a blank neutrality, their faces devoid of the same expressiveness.

A wave of intense calm swept over the humans. They froze in place, a euphoric relaxation battling their instincts. Dr. Jovier and Collins locked eyes, a silent question passing between them. Both felt the calming effect, yet retained some semblance of control. With a subtle nod, the doctor confirmed Collins' suspicion.

Seemingly oblivious to the humans, the emissary and its companions wore identical expressions of intense concentration. A hint of fear lingered upon their features as they gazed fixedly ahead, seemingly looking through the crew towards the bulkhead behind them.

In a lightning-fast move, Collins lunged forward, a flicker of determination crossing his face. He grabbed a chair, hoisted it overhead, and slammed it down onto the tabletop with brutal force. The chair shattered, leaving a deep gouge in the table's surface.

The emissary and his counterparts flinched, their focus momentarily shattered. A flurry of agitation erupted amidst the once-frozen crew.

Adrenaline coursed through Peterson's veins, turning his initial unease into burning rage. They had been violated, their minds invaded and manipulated against their will.

Anger rippled through his crew, and he felt their shared fury reflected back at the emissary.

With deliberate steps, he moved closer, leaning across the table until his face was inches from the emissary's. Collins mirrored the action, pressing towards one of the emissary's spectral aids.

"What was that?" Peterson's voice was low and deadly, each word laced with the focused wrath of his entire crew.

The emissary's companions shimmered, their forms twisting like wisps of smoke before dissolving entirely. The emissary itself began to blur, its form flickering with a telltale note of fear.

"Oh, no," Peterson growled, "You're not escaping like your friends." His gaze hardened, and he willed the emissary's form back into sharp focus, an echo of his own iron determination.

"It's time you talked. No more mental tricks. Tell us what you are, and what you want.

Speak. Now."

The crew's collective focus bore down on the emissary, a palpable force mirroring Peterson's commands. It was a confrontation of will, the emissary's fading tricks no match for the raw power of human anger and defiance.

The emissary's facade of superiority had crumbled completely. Gone was the confidence, replaced by a fear that was almost tangible. Peterson studied the creature, a thousand questions burning in his mind. What exactly did the emissary fear? Was it physical harm? But its form was a projection, likely nothing more than light and manipulated gravity. Perhaps the fear was more existential... a fear of the unknown potential of human minds.

He let the silence hang heavy in the air, allowing the emissary to stew in its terror for a few agonizing moments. He saw doubt gnawing at the edges of his crew's anger.

This intimidation couldn't last forever. The moment needed to be seized. He decided to change his tactics slightly.

"We won't hurt you... not now, at least," Peterson said, his tone softening slightly. It wasn't a promise of mercy, but rather a calculated gamble. A hint of curiosity would likely be a more effective tool than brute force.

"We saw... we felt... part of your mind." He continued, choosing his words carefully.

"What we saw was... alien. Incomprehensible, but... beautiful. Your people must be truly remarkable."

The words were a calculated mix of truth and feigned admiration. The glimpse into the Gravity People's collective consciousness had been both awe-inspiring and unnerving. It was time to see how this creature, isolated and terrified as it was, would respond. Would its fear give way to arrogance? Or would his words open a crack in its defenses, the first step towards genuine communication?

"Stop!" Ala yelled, stepping forward from the shadowy corner with unexpected determination. A second figure unexpectedly followed from the shadows: Dr. Jovier.

Grabbing Ala's long right hand, he pulled it back, twisting, and forced her fist to a certain point on her back. It was a set of awkward movements, especially considering his size compared to the much larger being. But the effect was immediate. The Galactic Doctor crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

"Sorry for that," Dr. Jovier said. "I discovered their weak points some time ago.

Seems it's a good thing to have a scientific mind on your bridge crew, Captain." He winked. "Ala should be fine – a deep sleep, some back pain, but nothing serious."

Peterson, surprised and pleased by his doctor's actions, took a step back.

"Everyone, stand down." He saw the relief in his crew's eyes. They mirrored his own: surprise at Dr. Jovier's actions, and a sense of power knowing they could somehow inflict harm on the emissary. But there was no desire to do so, outside of self-defense.

"Emissary," Peterson said, his voice firm as he leaned back in his chair, "explain what just happened. In plain human speech, no more mind control tricks."

"You are not the first humans in such a special meeting room," the emissary began, its voice regaining composure, though still laced with apprehension. "We've encountered others of your kind, not personally, but through my brethren. We always observed a strong mental connection between humans, making communication easier than with any other species in the Milky Way – a strange name for your galaxy..." The emissary trailed off, momentarily lost in thought.

"Continue," Peterson urged after a few seconds of tense silence.

"Ah, yes," the emissary blinked, snapping back to the present. "Your mental power seems to increase exponentially with each additional individual in close proximity.

It's... unexpected. Other species might slightly amplify their leader's thought,

doubling their strength perhaps. But you... your collective potential is an immense force in this galaxy. We must be cautious."

"You mean we could harm you?" Anita asked, her voice sharp.

"If..." the emissary paused, "...enough of you were gathered within a small enough space, all driven by the same intent..." It trailed off, allowing the implications to sink in.

"Are you going to attack the Sol system?" Collins asked bluntly.

"No," the emissary replied with a hint of resignation.

"Why not?"

"Because we can’t. You will understand if you let me finish my story..."

"Go on," Peterson said, "And. Use. Human. Speech." emphasizing each word.

"You see, Captain," the emissary continued, its voice taking on a wistful, nostalgic tone, "I arrived in the Milky Way nearly two million of your years ago. Young, for my kind, I was inexperienced, naive, and brimming with hope and optimism."

"Soon after my arrival, I beheld the Milky Way from the massive black hole at its center. It was immediately evident that numerous intelligent species thrived here. A cluster of them, inhabiting the same region of space, had even mastered the partial use of gravity. They were primarily exploring their solar systems, utilizing gravitational capacitors much like your own species, humans. A few lucky ones had other habitable systems within relatively close proximity and invested time and effort into constructing vast and efficient capacitors, powerful enough to propel them to neighboring star systems. They would recharge there before returning home, or venturing even farther into the depths of space."

A moment of silence hung heavy in the air, the tension in the room growing palpable.

Then, the emissary's voice resumed, tinged with a hint of self-deprecation:

"It was then that I began receiving gravitational signals. Not directed at me, mind you, but stray messages that missed their intended recipients. Their technology was fundamentally the same as yours – you cannot broadcast gravitational waves, only send targeted strands with modulated vibrations. But some of these missives reached me, faint echoes of intended communication. I began to record and decode them, confident it would be an easy, fascinating task. After all, as a being of gravity, my understanding of this force surpasses that of any matter-based lifeform."

He paused, a sigh escaping his luminous form. "After half a millennia, in human terms, I realized it was a fool's errand. The messages were encrypted with complex algorithms, often distorted or incomplete due to the vast distances traveled. Without context, even the most advanced gravitational understanding proved useless. I managed to decipher the first message after centuries of painstaking trial and error, only to find it rendered in symbols and a language I couldn't possibly comprehend."

"I needed context to understand the symbols," the emissary continued. "I needed to be closer to these...aliens." It paused, lost in thought for a moment. "And I needed a more efficient way to decipher their ever-changing encryption. By the time I managed to translate that first message, their methods had evolved multiple times."

"So, I decided to act. I identified seven black holes within a few light-years of these civilizations, places suitable for my presence. Carefully, I began to craft targeted string to connect to these black holes. This was a more intricate task than I had anticipated. The black holes weren't always close to the most promising civilizations, and I had to be extremely cautious to avoid disrupting other inhabited systems. I was less concerned about detection – many of these systems hosted primitive life – than I was about upsetting the delicate gravitational balance of their stars and planets."

"You see," the emissary explained, "I needed these strings not just for communication, but as tunnels. They had to be stable enough to allow many of my kind to traverse them, not just me, and endure for centuries, even millennia. It was a daunting task, but I was young and optimistic. I believed that with determination, perseverance, and time, anything was possible."

Peterson released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The crew was captivated, their minds struggling to grasp that the being before them had witnessed events that transpired millions of years in their past.

"Time truly flew," the emissary continued, a hint of melancholy in its tone. "Crafting the gravitational tunnels consumed me entirely. Eventually, I connected not just the galaxy's central black hole to the seven smaller ones, but also linked each of those black holes to the others. I could now traverse between these locations at incredible speeds, limited only by the tunnels' capabilities. I was also able to send messages through these gravitational strings when physical travel wasn't necessary."

It paused, a thoughtful shimmer in its eyes. "Then, I embarked on a grand quest, traveling to each black hole, gathering data from the nearby civilizations. It was fortunate that each black hole had at least one species venturing into space."

"Those were some of the most amazing millennia of my life," the emissary confessed, a wistful note echoing through the room. "I learned so much, and dreamed of the day I would interact directly with these alien civilizations. But my dreams were cut short. Matter-beings, and their societies, rise and fall far more swiftly than my kind, the Gravity People. Still, it was fascinating to observe their societies evolve, even from a distance."

A reflective pause filled the room before the emissary continued. "After roughly a hundred millennia, only four species remained, flourishing and expanding. Decoding their stray gravitational messages proved futile, and I grew increasingly frustrated. I

decided to take a different approach. After carefully analyzing these societies, I initiated contact myself. I began transmitting messages on the same gravitational frequencies and technologies they used, employing a language universal to all beings in this universe: mathematics. I started simply, introducing basic numbers, then arithmetic, followed by advanced algebra. But none of these species responded. What could they say? It wasn't a message in the traditional sense, nor a question. I often imagined the recipients gazing up at the black sky in bewilderment as the universe revealed mathematical truths to them. Not that they were unaware of these concepts, but it must have been a jarring experience nonetheless."

"My favorite civilization was the 'Builders,' as I called them," the emissary continued.

"They managed to construct what you humans call a Dyson Sphere around their star

– an impressive feat of engineering. They harvested nearly every scrap of matter in their solar system, assembling this enormous structure to encase their sun. Though not a complete sphere, as there seemed to be insufficient materials for that, it was more like a sprawling mesh. Some starlight still filtered through, but I estimated they were capturing at least sixty percent of the sun's energy. I never picked up any stray communications from these beings, leading me to believe they either eschewed gravitational communication altogether, or had mastered it to such a degree that no signals leaked out, at least not in my direction. Aside from small craft likely engaged in maintenance, I never saw any spaceships around their colossal creation."

"But let's get back to our main story," the emissary continued, shaking off its melancholy. "After 'teaching' the basics of mathematics, I pondered how to invite these beings to contact or visit me at one of the black holes closer to their systems.

At that time, around twenty-one of them possessed the capability to reach the nearest one. So, I decided to transition from algebra to geometry. After sharing sufficient information, I started sending them increasingly complex challenges and problems, along with their solutions, which I projected onto constellations visible from

their homeworlds. The final stage of this quest was a geometric puzzle that, if solved, would reveal my location."

"Then, I waited." The emissary sighed deeply. "... for a very long time. Eventually, seven species embarked on expeditions to reach the coordinates embedded in the solution. Only three succeeded."

"While waiting," the emissary continued, "I pondered what to tell these aliens once they were close enough for real-time communication. I prepared an immense amount of material—dictionaries, cultural overviews, anything I imagined could aid in building understanding between us."

"And it worked! Despite some initial misunderstandings, I established meaningful conversations with all three species. It was exhilarating, amazing! I had made triple first contact! I presented my proposal: allow us to inhabit the black hole at the galaxy's center, as well as the others I had discovered. In exchange, what did they desire?"

"One species simply replied that they wanted to be left alone to their own affairs. A bit rude, perhaps, but it was their choice, their way of life. They departed soon after receiving my request."

"The second species stated that they could not make such a decision. They claimed not to own the Milky Way, nor did they wish to conquer it. If and when they met other aliens besides me, they would seek to build a coalition, not an empire. To be honest, I struggled to grasp their reasoning. Why not form a coalition with me? Did they find me too alien? They would be surprised by the diversity I had encountered among other beings. At any rate, we engaged in lengthy discussions on other topics and exchanged a vast amount of information. I was grateful to find a friendly conversational partner in them. But after some time, they too returned to their own kind. It wasn't until a millennium later that I discovered I had shared too much

knowledge about science and technology. They had applied it with incredible success, quickly becoming the empire they had claimed they would not create. Then, like so many others who reach for empire, they fell, their civilization shrinking back to a single planet."

"The third species," the emissary continued, "was, in some ways, quite similar to your own. They originated on a vibrant planet teeming with life in their home star system, but had also established thriving colonies on another planet within that system, a testament to their ingenuity and adaptability. Remarkably, they had even successfully colonized a habitable moon orbiting a gas giant, a feat that showcased their technological prowess and determination. As fate would have it, a neighboring star system boasted yet another planet suitable for their species, and they had expanded their reach to claim that world as well, establishing a network of settlements that stretched across multiple celestial bodies.

"Beyond their immediate domain, they had ventured forth, driven by a thirst for exploration and knowledge. They had visited five additional nearby systems, diligently surveying each planet and moon for any signs of life or resources.

However, none of these systems possessed worlds or moons that could fully meet their unique physiological needs. Nevertheless, their explorations continued, fueled by an unyielding curiosity and the hope of uncovering hidden treasures amidst the cosmic expanse."

"The third species," the emissary said, its voice taking on a more scholarly tone,

"was a fascinating case study in societal evolution. Prior to establishing their first colony, they exhibited remarkable unity, a harmonious society seemingly devoid of major internal conflict. It was a utopia in the making, a shining example of cooperation and shared purpose. They cherished their lush homeworld, a planet teeming with vibrant ecosystems and abundant resources. Life flourished there, and

their civilization blossomed in tandem, built upon a foundation of mutual respect and collective well-being.

However, their journey towards interstellar expansion proved to be a catalyst for change. The challenges and opportunities presented by establishing off-world settlements exposed underlying differences in political ideologies and cultural values.

The colony, a reflection of its parent civilization yet forged in a new environment, began to develop its own unique identity. Initially, these divergences were subtle, mere ripples in the otherwise tranquil waters of their society. But as the colony grew and matured, so too did the divide between the homeworld and its offspring.

By the time they had successfully colonized the neighboring star system, these colonies had effectively become independent entities, each with its own distinct government, societal structure, and cultural norms. This newfound autonomy led to conflicts, even skirmishes that threatened to escalate into full-blown war. However, the shared history and genetic ties between the homeworld and the colonies prevented these conflicts from spiraling out of control. The devastation wrought by their clashes served as a stark reminder of their common heritage and the folly of pursuing division at such great distances.

A turning point came when the leaders of both the homeworld and the colonies recognized the futility of their conflicts. They understood that the vastness of space, while separating them physically, could not sever the bonds that had once united them. Driven by pragmatism and a desire for mutual prosperity, they initiated a tentative dialogue, leading to the formation of a commercial coalition. Over the course of a few centuries, this coalition evolved into a robust and enduring partnership, founded on mutual respect, shared values, and a commitment to peaceful coexistence. They proudly named themselves the 'Interstellar Coalition of the Trent' – ICT for short – a testament to their unity and resilience."

The emissary paused, its luminescent form shimmering with a sense of reverence for this resilient species. "Trent, you see, is the name they chose for themselves – a name that would echo through the cosmos as a symbol of their remarkable journey from division to unity."

"Unlike the others, this third species showed remarkable promise. They had endured many millennia of evolution, navigating the tumultuous journey from unification on their home planet, to division, and ultimately, a higher form of unity. Their civilization displayed an uncommon resilience, a quality I found both intriguing and inspiring."

"They presented a unified front, generally non-aggressive in nature. It was clear they held no desire for galactic conquest or domination. When I posed my question, they answered with a resounding 'YES,' granting the Gravity People permission to inhabit the black holes within the Milky Way. But even in their enthusiasm, they displayed a wisdom that surpassed the other species. They understood that their dominion was limited, a mere speck within the vastness of the galaxy. They controlled but five solar systems."

"The Trent, as they called themselves, were both clever and pragmatic. They recognized the limitations of their influence and sought something in return for their acceptance. Their request was simple, yet profound: they asked for a technology that would allow them to travel between stars, regardless of distance."

"But their request was not the end of the negotiations," the emissary clarified. "They also demanded detailed information about our population density, our physiology, even the size of individual Gravity People. They wanted to calculate how many of us could comfortably inhabit the central black hole, as well as the seven smaller ones.

Their questions were thorough, almost intrusive, yet their intent was clear: they wanted to ensure we wouldn't overcrowd the space they offered, mirroring the very predicament we faced in our own universe."

The emissary paused, its voice laced with a hint of self-deprecation. "I had to share the entirety of our overpopulation crisis in order to secure terms that made sense for my people. The Trent were initially inclined towards even more stringent limitations."

"Eventually, we reached an agreement. We were granted access to 50% of the central black hole's capacity, with an additional 25% reserved for transient populations. The seven smaller black holes were to be populated at a maximum of 80% of what we, the Gravity People, considered sustainable."

"And so, some of our kind ventured into the Milky Way," the emissary concluded, its tone shifting to a softer register. "They found solace in this new home, a haven of opportunity amidst the vastness of the cosmos."

"Initially," the emissary recounted, its voice tinged with a hint of wistfulness, "the Gravity People reveled in the newfound freedom of the Milky Way. The absence of our all-encompassing collective consciousness was a jarring but exhilarating experience. For eons, our thoughts and emotions had been interwoven, a constant symphony of shared experience. Now, each individual was a lone instrument, free to explore its own unique melodies. Some reacted with trepidation, uncertain of their place in this unfamiliar landscape of individual consciousness. Others embraced the liberation, their curiosity ignited by the limitless possibilities that stretched before them."

"Time passed," the emissary continued, its luminescent form shimmering with a mix of fascination and regret. "As the Gravity People explored their newfound independence, a subtle shift began to occur. The threads of connection, once severed, started to reweave themselves. A new collective consciousness was taking shape, born from the experiences and desires of those who had ventured into the Milky Way. It was different from the harmonious chorus of our home universe, more chaotic and vibrant, fueled by the unfiltered emotions and aspirations of its individual

members. It was a intoxicating blend of novelty and familiarity, a siren song that beckoned others to join the burgeoning community."

The emissary's voice grew heavy with a sense of foreboding. "The allocated space, once thought to be ample, soon proved insufficient. The hunger for this new form of connection was insatiable, driving more and more Gravity People to seek passage through the dimensional barrier. The need for additional living space became an urgent priority, and the emissary council was forced to renegotiate the terms of our agreement with the matter beings. It was a delicate dance, balancing our needs against the concerns of those who had generously welcomed us into their galaxy.

We knew that the path ahead would be fraught with challenges, but the allure of this new collective consciousness was too powerful to resist."

"However," the emissary's voice took on a note of solemnity, "time had not stood still for the inhabitants of the Milky Way. The Trent, empowered by the knowledge and technology we shared, had risen to become the dominant force in this region of the galaxy. They had reached out to dozens, even hundreds, of other species, carefully dispensing our gifts of advanced technology while safeguarding their own hard-won advantage. It was through their diplomatic prowess and strategic alliances that the first multi-species federations and alliances took root in the Milky Way, as far as we could ascertain."

"The impact was undeniable," the emissary continued. "The lives of the matter beings in the Milky Way improved dramatically, their societies flourishing under the banner of cooperation and shared knowledge. When we approached them with our request for more black holes, more living space, their response was a curious mixture of defiance, rooted in their newfound power, and a lingering sense of gratitude for their accelerated evolution. It was a delicate dance, negotiating with a civilization that had grown in confidence and capability, yet still acknowledged the debt they owed to the Gravity People."

"The negotiations," the emissary recounted with a sigh, "proved far more protracted than anticipated. The option of utilizing existing black holes was quickly dismissed—there were simply none suitable within reasonable proximity. However, the resourceful Trent proposed two intriguing alternatives. First, they offered to collapse select stars without habitable planets into black holes, creating new havens for my people. Second, they granted us permission to construct habitats at the event horizons of the black holes we already inhabited."

A hint of awe colored the emissary's tone. "These habitats were an astonishing feat of engineering and patience. Not built in the traditional sense, they were instead...

grown. The Gravity People manipulated the gravity around each black hole's event horizon, coaxing it into a swirling teardrop shape, like a shimmering balloon. Over time, matter drawn towards the black hole would deposit particles on this gravitational scaffold, gradually forming a physical structure of unimaginable size."

"And..." the emissary's voice trembled slightly, "...we filled it all. Far more quickly than anyone had anticipated. The allure of the Milky Way proved irresistible. The diversity of life, the richness of experience, the sheer novelty of inhabiting a matter-based universe – all of it fueled an insatiable hunger for expansion within our ranks."

A wave of sorrow washed over the emissary's form. "But as our numbers swelled, so too did the discord. Disputes arose over who had the right to remain in this newfound paradise, who should return to the familiar, yet overcrowded, confines of our home universe. These were not battles fought with weapons or physical force, but with minds – a clash of ideologies, of complex reasoning and unyielding convictions.

Each faction, driven by its own desires and interpretations of our shared purpose, sought to sway the collective will."

"For a time, it seemed a delicate balance had been struck," the emissary continued, its voice barely above a whisper. "But nothing lasts forever, especially in the face of such unbridled ambition. A faction emerged, discontent with the agreed-upon terms,

consumed by a sense of entitlement. They believed they deserved more – more space, more resources, more power – and they were willing to take it by force, even if it meant turning on the very matter beings who had welcomed us into their galaxy."

"We were a force of immense power, capable of bending the fabric of reality itself,"

the emissary lamented, its luminous form dimming as if in mourning. "But in our arrogance, we forgot the wisdom that had guided us for eons. We forgot the importance of balance, of respecting the delicate interplay between matter and gravity. We forgot that true power lies not in dominance, but in harmony."

The emissary's head bowed in what seemed to be a gesture of profound shame.

"And so," it whispered, its voice barely audible, "the war began, a conflict that would leave an indelible scar on both universes."

"Much time has passed," the emissary said, a somber note in its voice, "and I must hasten my tale. Suffice to say, we lost." The weight of those words hung heavy in the air.

"The matter beings," it continued, "proved stronger and more resilient than we could have imagined. They fought with a ferocity born of desperation, defending their homes and their way of life. They adapted, they innovated, they unleashed forces we had underestimated. It was a brutal lesson in humility."

"After the war," the emissary's form flickered, as if reliving the pain of that defeat, "we retreated to our own universe, scarred and humbled. We never ventured forth again, content to observe the matter universe from afar. But the war had changed us. It had forged a newfound wisdom, a deep appreciation for the resilience and resourcefulness of the matter beings. We embraced peace, renouncing conflict both within our ranks and with those who eventually discovered a way to bridge the dimensional gap between our universes."

"The war," the emissary's voice echoed with the weariness of ages, "raged for one and a half million of your years. It was a conflict that spanned countless star systems, a clash of wills and technologies that reshaped the very fabric of both our universes. In the end, exhaustion and a mutual recognition of the devastating consequences led to a truce, a hard-fought agreement between the weary survivors."

"The terms of this accord were stark and uncompromising," the emissary continued, its form flickering with a faint, spectral light. "Firstly, the Gravity People were forever barred from entering the Matter Universe. We could observe, we could send probes bearing messages of peace and understanding, but direct interaction was strictly prohibited. The memory of our aggression was too fresh, the scars of war too deep, to allow for any risk of renewed conflict."

"Secondly," the emissary's voice grew heavy with regret, "matter beings were forbidden from venturing into our realm. This meant a strict limit of two GUs on gravity well travel, a boundary that would safeguard our universe from further intrusion. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that the vast expanse of our reality would remain forever inaccessible to those curious minds of the Matter Universe."

"However," the emissary's tone softened slightly, "there was a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. To ensure communication and foster understanding between our two realms, a one-light-year diameter bubble was established around the site of the war's final, most devastating battle. Within this neutral zone, the laws of physics were altered. Gravity became a constant, unyielding force, impervious to our manipulations. Matter beings, in turn, could not employ gravity-based weapons or propulsion. It was a demilitarized zone, a sanctuary of peace where representatives from both universes could meet without fear of aggression or deceit. It was a fragile hope, a single flickering candle in the vast darkness of the cosmos, but it was a start."

"To uphold the 2 GU restriction," the emissary's voice echoed, "all travel using gravitational technology in the Milky Way is meticulously monitored and strictly enforced by the galactic coalition. Transgressions are met with swift and severe consequences."

"As for the neutral zone," the emissary continued, "we agreed upon a protocol to ensure peace and transparency. Neither side is permitted to enter the bubble without first sending a probe bearing a message to arrange a meeting at a specific time.

Within the bubble, we can detect any matter being, and you can sense the presence of any Gravity Person. This arrangement prevents ambushes or deception, as the ability to detect each other is woven into the very fabric of the bubble's altered physics, making it impossible to circumvent or manipulate."

"To further safeguard the neutrality of the meeting zone," the emissary explained, its voice tinged with weariness, "an additional layer of security was implemented. Within the bubble, we, the Gravity People, cannot sense the presence of our own kind, just as you cannot detect other matter beings. This isolation protocol ensures that any individual or group attempting to violate the treaty would be entirely exposed, left to the mercy of the opposing side within that vast, one-light-year expanse. There would be no reinforcements, no hidden allies to call upon. The risk of betrayal is too great for either side to bear."

The emissary's form shimmered, its glow dimming slightly as if the effort of maintaining this corporeal illusion was taking its toll. "Maintaining this form and communicating in your manner is quite taxing," it admitted, a hint of fatigue evident in its voice. "I must conclude our discussion soon. Your vessel, the Iris, will be fully repaired and ready for your departure within seven of your days. We have even implemented a few...enhancements that may prove beneficial during your journey."

A heavy silence descended upon the room as the emissary's words hung in the air.

The crew exchanged uneasy glances, their minds racing to process the deluge of

information they had just received. They had barely begun to grapple with the implications of the emissary's tale, the history of conflict and uneasy peace between their universes, when another bombshell was dropped.

Without warning, the emissary's form dissolved, vanishing into the swirling purple light. The sudden silence was deafening, leaving the humans alone to ponder the weighty revelations they had been granted. A sense of unease settled over them, a feeling that their journey was far from over.

Suddenly, Ala's tablet on the table chimed, its screen illuminating the dim room. A single message glowed ominously:

"CAPTAIN PETERSON AND COMMANDER COLLINS, WE WILL MEET AGAIN

ONE DAY BEFORE YOUR DEPARTURE. COME ALONE."

The message hung in the air like a threat, leaving the crew with a chilling sense of anticipation. They had been given answers, but the questions only seemed to multiply. What did the emissary's final message mean? What awaited them in the days to come? And most importantly, what fate awaited them beyond the confines of this strange and mysterious station?