This is a WIP. I will post more as I get it done. This should be enough of a taste to tell you if you'll like the story as a whole, though.
The Greatest Mistake
The world before the coming of the Crysties was a mystery to me. I'd heard the stories--my grandfather had the best ones--but it's a time and place alien to me, so far removed from my reality that it might as well have taken place in another universe.
Forty years ago, they came. They descended upon our planet with massive ships of immense destructive power. They never said what they wanted. We tried to communicate. We tried to negotiate. We even tried to surrender. They said nothing as they casually laid waste to our cities. Even into my twenties, my grandfather still liked to talk about those cities--buildings over a hundred stories tall, glistening in the sunrise, beautiful skylines all lit up at night. It was so hard for me to imagine anything more than a dozen or so stories tall, or people living in such densely-packed quarters.
We beat the Crysties, but just barely. Their ships were powerful, though not impervious to thermonuclear weapons. Their jagged hulks crashed into the remains of sprawling urban centers, burning for months thereafter. My grandfather showed me photographs, but again, I had trouble absorbing the images.
He told me that, once the fires burned out, people descended upon the wreckage to salvage anything of use. The Crysties were quite advanced, having an understanding of physics far beyond our own at the time. It came out that their vessels were, in fact, carved-out sections of their own planet, reinforced and fitted with propulsion technology. We took the hint, and rather than rebuild vast cities on the surface, we turned inward and began digging. What fraction of humanity survived the assault lived primarily underground in interconnected subterranean complexes.
As far as I knew, no one saw or heard from the Crysties after we beat them. Nor were any of their ships' crews reported to have survived. As their name might imply, they were creatures of a crystalline form, not especially mobile on their own, which was probably why they outfitted chunks of their homeworld to do the moving for them. How they communicated was unknown, though it was assumed they transmitted electrical impulses to one another. Their motives for attacking us remained a mystery. Their vessels were rich in minerals and nutrients, which cast doubt on resources being the impetus for attack. That they made no demands and simply set about laying waste to our civilization indicated they had no use for us. So, for forty years, we rebuilt--and we prepared.
For some reason, we always knew they'd come back.
///
At twenty-five, I knew more about Crystie construction methods than just about anyone else my age. You could say I was a bit of a geek, my head always buried in books and notes. It was hard to get your hands on books, but my father always made sure I had a ready supply. Volumes on Crystie technology were especially tough to come by, and yet my father spared no expense to make sure I had the latest and greatest at my disposal. There weren't a lot of printing presses operating post-Crystie, so new books were quite the rare commodity.
It didn't hurt that my grandfather was a celebrity. Douglas Henderson the First, the man who dropped some of the very first nukes on Crystie warships and lived to tell about it. He fought through the entirety of the war--all six weeks of it--and came out of it without losing his life or his marbles. Forty years on, he was one of the few combatants still around and in control of his mental faculties. Rumor had it those who got too close to the Crysties--even dead ones--started to exhibit mental aberrations. It was Granddad's style to get in, hit the enemy hard, then get the hell out. All he knew of the Crysties themselves came from second- and third-hand accounts, which was probably in his favor. Many of his war buddies weren't so fortunate, dying of strange and indeterminate maladies, losing their minds, or simply disappearing from civilization altogether.
I don't want you to think I'm shortchanging my father. He was a good guy, through and through, but not a war hero like Granddad. He saw his whole world shattered at a young age, and I think that warped him. He was always a man of few words; quiet, thoughtful, and sensitive. From the first day he could hold a shovel, he was helping excavate new cities beneath the rubble of the old ones. But seeing the world go up in flames at such a tender age like he did, he never seemed quite right. Not very attentive as a father, not very affectionate as a husband, and somehow lacking in ambition beyond being able to dig in a hurry. But, like I said, he did tend to my education, and for that I am forever grateful. Maybe he knew he wanted more for me, even if he couldn't come out and say it. Either way, I definitely did want more--I was eager to make my mark on the world, and in all honesty, by 25 I was disappointed in myself for not having made more progress.
In retrospect, I shouldn't have been so impetuous. My lack of patience would end up getting me into more trouble than anything else. You could call it my biggest character flaw, if not for all the others.
///
My chance to leave that indelible mark on the planet Earth came on an otherwise unassuming September morning. I was studying the finer points of Crystie propulsion technology--a largely academic pursuit, since we lacked the industrial infrastructure to actually replicate their ship drives--when my father informed me I had a visitor. I wasn't someone who had a lot of friends, and they certainly weren't the sort of people who'd pop in unannounced, so the notion of an unexpected guest caught me off-guard.
I came out of the study and into the living room to find both my parents engaged in conversation with a bald, bespectacled man in a very nice suit. Upon my entrance, he quit talking and turned his attention to me. "You must be Douglas the Third!" he declared.
I nodded, stepping forward to stretch out my hand. No excuse for forgetting my manners. "I don't believe we've met," I said.
He stood up, grabbed my hand and shook it emphatically, smiling. "We have not. I'm Professor Wilhelm of the San Antonio Exotechnology Institute."
I raised my eyebrow, knowing full well that about half my books on Crystie topics were published by said institution. Did they keep a list or something? "It's a pleasure to meet you," I said coyly. I suspected he'd come with some kind of offer for me, but I didn't want to show my hand too soon.
"The pleasure is all mine, but I must admit my purpose here is also one of business. I understand you spend most of your free time doing research on the Crysties, absorbing all the data that's out there. Your father even passed along some of your notes, which is how he got my attention."
Now, I wasn't too happy about that. I'd never given permission for Dad to share my notes with anyone, much less send them off to an educational body for evaluation. My research was my own. Having my scraps and leavings distributed without my knowledge gave me a feeling akin to being naked before a crowd of strangers. I know he meant well, but I was annoyed, to say the least. Nevertheless, I tried to compose myself and see what the good Professor had to say. "What did you think?"
"Your insights into Crystie industrial processes are intriguing. You clearly have a good mind for mathematics, which is a critical requirement for anyone doing research under me. You also have a deep and profound interest in the Crysties as a species, so I know you won't be quick to head for greener pastures. I'll be blunt: I want you to come join my research team."
I knew it! Despite my anger toward my father, I wanted to jump up and down, I was so excited. This was exactly the sort of opportunity I was hoping for--someone to recognize my efforts and give me a chance to really make a difference, expand our understanding of the Crysties, and improve quality of life for everyone else on Earth. My only gripe was that I didn't control the circumstances of this meeting--I hadn't arranged it, I hadn't expected it, and so I was hit off-guard. But I got over that rather quickly once it sunk in that Professor Wilhelm wanted me--me--to go to San Antonio and become part of his elite research group. These were the same people who wrote the books I soaked up so hungrily, and they wanted me to join them! It would've been a dream come true, had I ever dared to dream such a thing was possible.
I failed to realize that I was standing there, speechless, and hadn't even bothered to give the Professor a reply. I just had this big, dumb smile on my face. Fortunately, he got the message. "I'll take your expression as an acceptance of my offer," he grinned.
I nodded enthusiastically. "How... how soon do you want me there?"
He shrugged. "I will be here for a few days. I have a few other candidates to talk to, but you're already in. You can head back with me on Wednesday, or later if you need to take care of things here."
"No, Wednesday will be just fine," I assured him.
"Excellent." He turned, as if to leave, but I stopped him by touching his arm. There was one question I just had to ask him.
"I'm just curious, Professor. Does me being the grandson of Douglas Henderson have anything to do with your presence here today?"
My father glared at me in disbelief, and my mother appeared as though she might pass out. What was I thinking, questioning an opportunity like this? The Professor's expression, for his part, turned more serious. Not stern by any means, but he could tell it was a vital question, and he wanted to answer carefully. "I would be lying if I said it wasn't a factor. Your name carries weight, especially when it comes to Crysties. But I want to assure you that you earned this position on your own merits. I've seen your research. I know what books you've read. Minds of your caliber are hard to find in this day and age. Your family legacy is just the icing on the proverbial cake. I hope you find that to be a satisfactory answer."
I nodded. I found nothing objectionable about his response--he didn't try to deceive me, or sugarcoat Granddad's influence in all this. I would still have been a fool to turn him down on that basis.
I agreed to meet up with him at the tram station on Wednesday morning. My parents saw him off, and I went straight to my room to pack.
Naturally, I set about packing my books first.
///
The Greatest Mistake
The world before the coming of the Crysties was a mystery to me. I'd heard the stories--my grandfather had the best ones--but it's a time and place alien to me, so far removed from my reality that it might as well have taken place in another universe.
Forty years ago, they came. They descended upon our planet with massive ships of immense destructive power. They never said what they wanted. We tried to communicate. We tried to negotiate. We even tried to surrender. They said nothing as they casually laid waste to our cities. Even into my twenties, my grandfather still liked to talk about those cities--buildings over a hundred stories tall, glistening in the sunrise, beautiful skylines all lit up at night. It was so hard for me to imagine anything more than a dozen or so stories tall, or people living in such densely-packed quarters.
We beat the Crysties, but just barely. Their ships were powerful, though not impervious to thermonuclear weapons. Their jagged hulks crashed into the remains of sprawling urban centers, burning for months thereafter. My grandfather showed me photographs, but again, I had trouble absorbing the images.
He told me that, once the fires burned out, people descended upon the wreckage to salvage anything of use. The Crysties were quite advanced, having an understanding of physics far beyond our own at the time. It came out that their vessels were, in fact, carved-out sections of their own planet, reinforced and fitted with propulsion technology. We took the hint, and rather than rebuild vast cities on the surface, we turned inward and began digging. What fraction of humanity survived the assault lived primarily underground in interconnected subterranean complexes.
As far as I knew, no one saw or heard from the Crysties after we beat them. Nor were any of their ships' crews reported to have survived. As their name might imply, they were creatures of a crystalline form, not especially mobile on their own, which was probably why they outfitted chunks of their homeworld to do the moving for them. How they communicated was unknown, though it was assumed they transmitted electrical impulses to one another. Their motives for attacking us remained a mystery. Their vessels were rich in minerals and nutrients, which cast doubt on resources being the impetus for attack. That they made no demands and simply set about laying waste to our civilization indicated they had no use for us. So, for forty years, we rebuilt--and we prepared.
For some reason, we always knew they'd come back.
///
At twenty-five, I knew more about Crystie construction methods than just about anyone else my age. You could say I was a bit of a geek, my head always buried in books and notes. It was hard to get your hands on books, but my father always made sure I had a ready supply. Volumes on Crystie technology were especially tough to come by, and yet my father spared no expense to make sure I had the latest and greatest at my disposal. There weren't a lot of printing presses operating post-Crystie, so new books were quite the rare commodity.
It didn't hurt that my grandfather was a celebrity. Douglas Henderson the First, the man who dropped some of the very first nukes on Crystie warships and lived to tell about it. He fought through the entirety of the war--all six weeks of it--and came out of it without losing his life or his marbles. Forty years on, he was one of the few combatants still around and in control of his mental faculties. Rumor had it those who got too close to the Crysties--even dead ones--started to exhibit mental aberrations. It was Granddad's style to get in, hit the enemy hard, then get the hell out. All he knew of the Crysties themselves came from second- and third-hand accounts, which was probably in his favor. Many of his war buddies weren't so fortunate, dying of strange and indeterminate maladies, losing their minds, or simply disappearing from civilization altogether.
I don't want you to think I'm shortchanging my father. He was a good guy, through and through, but not a war hero like Granddad. He saw his whole world shattered at a young age, and I think that warped him. He was always a man of few words; quiet, thoughtful, and sensitive. From the first day he could hold a shovel, he was helping excavate new cities beneath the rubble of the old ones. But seeing the world go up in flames at such a tender age like he did, he never seemed quite right. Not very attentive as a father, not very affectionate as a husband, and somehow lacking in ambition beyond being able to dig in a hurry. But, like I said, he did tend to my education, and for that I am forever grateful. Maybe he knew he wanted more for me, even if he couldn't come out and say it. Either way, I definitely did want more--I was eager to make my mark on the world, and in all honesty, by 25 I was disappointed in myself for not having made more progress.
In retrospect, I shouldn't have been so impetuous. My lack of patience would end up getting me into more trouble than anything else. You could call it my biggest character flaw, if not for all the others.
///
My chance to leave that indelible mark on the planet Earth came on an otherwise unassuming September morning. I was studying the finer points of Crystie propulsion technology--a largely academic pursuit, since we lacked the industrial infrastructure to actually replicate their ship drives--when my father informed me I had a visitor. I wasn't someone who had a lot of friends, and they certainly weren't the sort of people who'd pop in unannounced, so the notion of an unexpected guest caught me off-guard.
I came out of the study and into the living room to find both my parents engaged in conversation with a bald, bespectacled man in a very nice suit. Upon my entrance, he quit talking and turned his attention to me. "You must be Douglas the Third!" he declared.
I nodded, stepping forward to stretch out my hand. No excuse for forgetting my manners. "I don't believe we've met," I said.
He stood up, grabbed my hand and shook it emphatically, smiling. "We have not. I'm Professor Wilhelm of the San Antonio Exotechnology Institute."
I raised my eyebrow, knowing full well that about half my books on Crystie topics were published by said institution. Did they keep a list or something? "It's a pleasure to meet you," I said coyly. I suspected he'd come with some kind of offer for me, but I didn't want to show my hand too soon.
"The pleasure is all mine, but I must admit my purpose here is also one of business. I understand you spend most of your free time doing research on the Crysties, absorbing all the data that's out there. Your father even passed along some of your notes, which is how he got my attention."
Now, I wasn't too happy about that. I'd never given permission for Dad to share my notes with anyone, much less send them off to an educational body for evaluation. My research was my own. Having my scraps and leavings distributed without my knowledge gave me a feeling akin to being naked before a crowd of strangers. I know he meant well, but I was annoyed, to say the least. Nevertheless, I tried to compose myself and see what the good Professor had to say. "What did you think?"
"Your insights into Crystie industrial processes are intriguing. You clearly have a good mind for mathematics, which is a critical requirement for anyone doing research under me. You also have a deep and profound interest in the Crysties as a species, so I know you won't be quick to head for greener pastures. I'll be blunt: I want you to come join my research team."
I knew it! Despite my anger toward my father, I wanted to jump up and down, I was so excited. This was exactly the sort of opportunity I was hoping for--someone to recognize my efforts and give me a chance to really make a difference, expand our understanding of the Crysties, and improve quality of life for everyone else on Earth. My only gripe was that I didn't control the circumstances of this meeting--I hadn't arranged it, I hadn't expected it, and so I was hit off-guard. But I got over that rather quickly once it sunk in that Professor Wilhelm wanted me--me--to go to San Antonio and become part of his elite research group. These were the same people who wrote the books I soaked up so hungrily, and they wanted me to join them! It would've been a dream come true, had I ever dared to dream such a thing was possible.
I failed to realize that I was standing there, speechless, and hadn't even bothered to give the Professor a reply. I just had this big, dumb smile on my face. Fortunately, he got the message. "I'll take your expression as an acceptance of my offer," he grinned.
I nodded enthusiastically. "How... how soon do you want me there?"
He shrugged. "I will be here for a few days. I have a few other candidates to talk to, but you're already in. You can head back with me on Wednesday, or later if you need to take care of things here."
"No, Wednesday will be just fine," I assured him.
"Excellent." He turned, as if to leave, but I stopped him by touching his arm. There was one question I just had to ask him.
"I'm just curious, Professor. Does me being the grandson of Douglas Henderson have anything to do with your presence here today?"
My father glared at me in disbelief, and my mother appeared as though she might pass out. What was I thinking, questioning an opportunity like this? The Professor's expression, for his part, turned more serious. Not stern by any means, but he could tell it was a vital question, and he wanted to answer carefully. "I would be lying if I said it wasn't a factor. Your name carries weight, especially when it comes to Crysties. But I want to assure you that you earned this position on your own merits. I've seen your research. I know what books you've read. Minds of your caliber are hard to find in this day and age. Your family legacy is just the icing on the proverbial cake. I hope you find that to be a satisfactory answer."
I nodded. I found nothing objectionable about his response--he didn't try to deceive me, or sugarcoat Granddad's influence in all this. I would still have been a fool to turn him down on that basis.
I agreed to meet up with him at the tram station on Wednesday morning. My parents saw him off, and I went straight to my room to pack.
Naturally, I set about packing my books first.
///
