The Last Human IV - 49 - Sight Unseen

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Between the Ark’s generators, bathing in the hum of machines and the glittering fog of the Light, Yarsi sat alone—watching time.

She did not think of herself as a prophet, but merely an observer. From her perch in this hidden corner, she could see the whole universe. Its past, its present, and the darkness of its future. 

She could see the Ark, hurtling through the void. And she could see the drones, lurking in the bright corners behind the nearest star. Even now, she knew, they were setting up their net.

Yarsi already knew how it would all play out. First, the Ark would drift past the star like an unsuspecting minnow, scales glittering in the sun. Then, they would close in. From the Ark’s bridge, one of the cyran commanders would spot it first—a blip on a screen. They would sound the alarm. They would argue and shout and bark orders and make desperate, half-understood plans. 

Then, panicked and desperate, they would come to her. Begging for answers. Calling her Divine One and Great Seer and Keeper of the Way. 

To Yarsi, they were like children. They could not see what was so obvious to her—the future was already written. She had seen it thousands of years ago, long before Yarsi’s people, or any of the xenos, were first created by the gods. She had seen Anu, and Anu had seen her. And through Anu, she had witnessed all time. Almost.

And the xenos were right to be afraid. Emorynn’s disease, the one that devoured humanity, was only a symptom. A beginning. 

Yet…

Yet, the god was still here. Alive, inside of Yarsi. Together, the two of them sat on the same pillow, between the Ark’s humming generators, watching time with their eyes closed. Searching for a way—any shred of hope—to escape the fate that hurtled toward them.

First, would come the drones. The xenos would rally, and though they would suffer, they would fight bravely.

Then, would come the fleets—two, become one—that would block out the sun and the stars. One last stand, valiant and enduring and entirely meaningless. And then…

Yarsi furrowed her brow. Not even Emorynn could answer her next question.

Talons clacked on the metal floor as an avian priest crept reverently through the mist that poured off the generators. His eyes were downcast, his robes flowed over his feet, and two feathers on his brow, far longer than the rest, bounced with every step. He kneeled before Yarsi, and cleared his throat, and started to say, “Divine One—”

“I will go to them,” Yarsi spoke through the Ark. The avian priest ducked, as if her booming voice had laid him low. 

“Yes, Divine One. As you wish, Divine One.” He said, bowing and scuttling backward, almost tripping over the thick wires that grew like roots across the generator room. “Follow me.”

He led her to the bridge, where all the xeno leaders grumbled and talked and argued over their consoles and screens, trying to make sense of the Ark’s endless streams of information.

“The Prophet!” The priest announced and swept grandly aside, making way for Yarsi. Heads turned. The room went silent. Xenos rippled backward as they made space for her, as if they were afraid to tarnish her air. Feathers quivered and scales glittered and the xenos eyed each other, nobody daring to speak first. 

What had changed? She was still in the same body, though, after interfacing with the Ark, she bore scars and her fingers would not uncurl and her leg dragged behind her. Still in her lassertane body, yet they gazed at her as if she was something more.

It was Ryke who broke the silence, kneeling and calling her “Divine One.” Though it did not seem true. I am still me. How can I be divine? 

Emboldened by her words, the rest of the crowd called to her, lavishing her with titles like “Great Seer,” which was laughable, given how her eyesight was failing after so many jumps. And “Enlightened Maker,” and “Knower of All,” and “Keeper of the Way,” which hurt the most, because it was only what she wished to be. She could see the future, yes, but there was something missing.

The older commanders explained the situation—what little they knew—sometimes cutting each other off in their efforts to agree or correct the others. Yarsi did not listen, because she already knew everything they would say. Instead, she squinted at the medals that clinked on their uniforms. As if the military had any purpose when they stood before an enemy so vast. As if any of them knew how to use the one weapon at their disposal.

I am their only recourse. 

And what shall I do? 

Yes, Yarsi knew the future. Emorynn had foreseen all of it. But there was a gap in her memory—one that Yarsi could not explain. Shall I tell them that I do not know what awaits? Or would they prefer not to know their Great Seer is blind?

But they were like children. Even her dim eyes could see their fear. Is it better to die scared, or ignorant?

“The Sovereign weaves its web,” Yarsi said, and the Ark’s voice filled the Bridge. “Its threads close around us, even as I speak. We may escape once, twice, but it will cost us dearly. And the Sovereign has nothing but time. The drones will come again. The alarms will sound, and they will spin the threads once more. Our reserves will plummet, and when we are wounded and limping, the Swarm will send in the true weight of its forces.”

They muttered and whispered among themselves. Some spoke of Khadam, of how the Maker herself had built this ship. That it must be perfect. That no weapon could touch it, for it was made by a god. They spoke of prophecy, as if they knew anything at all about the future.

Why do they ask, if they don’t want to hear the answer?

Yarsi closed her eyes, and conjured up Emorynn’s memory. She could see how the Sovereign would surround them. Like the absurdly long tentacles of a deep-ocean medusa, its machines would drip mile-long wires down from their bulbous hulls, and drape them across the Ark’s prow. Only a handful of wires at first, which the Ark might destroy if Yarsi used it well. But then, dozens more, until there were thousands of wires draped over the hull. Scraping sounds would echo through the Ark’s interior as the wires cut and burn through its armor, stripping the hull with slow, almost loving strokes. They would breach the hull numerous times over the next few weeks. Each time, the survivors would answer the call, and fight back the machines. They would sweat and bleed and push back the smaller drones that might crawl through the breach, and tinkers would patch what they could. And though many defenders might die, they would take more drones with them…

…but the Swarm was endless. 

Soon, there would be no light in the great, spacious halls of the Ark. The parks and promenades, the towering habitats and sparkling skyscrapers, the vast dome with its false suns—all would fall to cold and darkness. The luckiest xenos would be discarded like the unwanted seeds of a ripe fruit. The rest, kept in various states of suspension for countless eons. 

Thousands of years ago, Emorynn had seen this. She had seen the last of humanity’s creations wiped out, before they were even born.

Except…

Except she was here. She, the Mute Seer, could guide them away from destruction… for now. For how much longer?

“Divine One,” A cyran broke her thoughts. She opened her eyes, squinting at his blurred figure. This once walked alongside Poire himself. Yarsi could see the man’s entire past, and his future, even though she could barely make out his face. He is called Kirine. “Forgive us, for we are afraid.”

Yarsi smiled, because she was afraid too. But Kirine couldn’t know that. None of them could. Somehow, Yarsi had never pictured how lonely it was to be a god. 

“The Sovereign is here,” Kirine said, “Now, in this system. We’ve found evidence of its machines. They,” he paused, as if uncertain about the truth of his message, “It seems the Swarm hasn’t found us yet, so the admirals and generals want to act. We’ve come up with three choices—” 

Yarsi did not listen, did not need to. She turned her back on their words, and hobbled up to the command deck of the bridge. Kirine stopped talking, and looked at the others, confused.

“Divine One?” Ryke asked.

Yarsi didn’t want to crush their spirits. But their plans were wrong, and the Swarm did know the Ark was here. In fact, she had seen this system already. This was where the Sovereign would first attempt to catch the Ark in its web. The Sovereign wanted to understand the Ark, to discern how it kept escaping. It did not know about Emorynn.

“The Ark will turn,” Yarsi said. The commanders looked relieved, until she finished: “We go to the near star.”

“But that’s where the Swarm is—” the commanders started to protest.

Yarsi raised her arms, silencing them. “Do not fear. Fear cannot help you, now. But the gods were not without mercy. They created me, and sent me to guide you all.”

Using the Ark’s voice, it was easy to project confidence. And the xenos clung to her every word, and their faces lifted, and their eyes shone with hope.

Emorynn had seen everything. And now that her memory was intertwined with Yarsi’s, the young prophet could see it all so clearly: First, would come the drones. Then, the twinned fleets. A machine-covered world. And then…

And then, a gap. Here, Emorynn’s memory went dark. Why? 

Yarsi knew everything, except for this. When she dwelled upon it, her heart skipped. What does it mean? What is coming? The only clue she had was this: long ago, at the very end of her life, when the First Prophet was riddled with the agony of her own disease, she implanted her memories in the device. And then, she had cut this one out.

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