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The Diversions of Angels
by Haro James

Copyright 2019 by Haro James

The conservators responsible for habitat creation carefully studied the dominant fauna before finalizing individual pod details. Stock transplanted to Pod Two had lived and worked in multi-storey buildings of metal, masonry, wood and poured stone. So the conservators built replica warrens into the pod walls, many stories tall, made of near-indestructible Shipstock. Four hundred-odd generations of indigenes had lived there.

Over those generations, the warrens lowest levels were repeatedly buried by shifting sands, trash and compost, then exposed by storms or excavation. These particular creatures demonstrated a tireless passion for excavation and rediscovery. At the beginning, they swarmed all accessible areas, as if expecting to achieve escape. But after the usual die-off and stabilization, most ignored the upper levels available to them.
Until …

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It was on the tallest structure in the area, long cleared of vegetation, that the indigenes erected the mooring mast. This day, on the mast’s highest platform, Rinna and Sten lounged, casually entwined, shaded by the airship’s stern. Paper wrappers and an empty tea flask evidenced a hasty lunch. They had spent the morning marking leaks in the great gas cels, and would continue to do so after their rest.

Descendants of those whom the Divines first revealed themselves, Sten and Rinna bore the airship birthmark - a mixed blessing. They were the elect, privileged to take part in the flying machine project. But being elect meant they were bound to live and work as directed by the Divines among them. For all the glory of learning to fly, their pathways were marked by difficult learning, complex constructions, and often dangerous tasks.

Their current task, locating and marking leaks, was neither complicated nor dangerous, just exhausting. Dangling in rope harnesses, they worked from top to bottom on each gas cel, spraying water over small areas to reveal telltale air bubbles. Once Sten daubed blue dye on the leak, they adjusted their harnesses, dropped a few lengths, then sprayed and marked as necessary. Another team would take over their gear at End Of Day, working through the night to seal the marked areas.

How they came to be there, or why their tribe was building an airship, was of no concern to them. Several generations of tribal close-minded focus, coupled with a measure of privilege left them too conditioned to question, and too comfortable to contemplate rebellion. They were far more likely to contemplate their future together.

The pair were well suited to the work, given their slight builds, sharp eyes and how well they worked together. The consensus of village elders, families and they themselves was they would pair up when they reached maturity – something the boy was trying to expedite at the moment.

“It’s not just me saying it’s a good idea. The Divine Be RaaEll himself specifically said what we do in the sky is holy...”

Her more than firm tone reflected Rinna’s hard practicality and an awareness of his actual agenda. “Sten, the only reason I can think you would be trying to twist the Divine’s words like that is ... Stop!” He paused. “He said, what we do in the sky must be holy. If anything, that means no profane acts when aboard the airship. Not just sex, but cursing and any other excessive act or unseemly thought. Stop! Now!” The slap echoed. “I said before that we are not doing it until I reach 55 hundred rotations. If you must do something, here, hold my hand. Otherwise leave off.”

Sten tried to regroup, but had clearly lost momentum. “I was just saying I think it would be...” In the face of her resolve, his words trailed off. Then he saw the angel gliding across the gangway.

Deep in thought, the Divine was barely cognizant of the two humans before him. He bothered little with individuals, given their fleeting existence: you would deal with one during a watch, and by the time a rest period went by, you were speaking to a grandchild or some such other descendant of the original. The gulf in longevity rendered immediate communication nearly impossible. Even carefully written directives suffered from erratically drifting interpretations over the generations. For the purpose of record keeping, Altarai Standard Units were used for temporal, mass and distance measurements. Some diligent fool from the Da clan created a table to reconcile the indigene timescale with ASU. Ridiculous.

On his appearance, the youth had knelt, then bowed to the approaching Divine. He paid no attention to them. The skeletal, winged figure was actually anything but divine. The iry Be RaaEll was simply one more conservator tasked with minding the wildlife until the nearby planet was properly harvested. Once the useful materials were extracted, the top eighth of the planet would be reshaped, then restocked with native flora and fauna. It would be more or less the same world as that of the ancient indigenes, just a bit smaller. Restored planets were never exact matches of pre-harvest physical and social environments, but were close enough that the overseeing authority always approved the results.

That overview was far from his thoughts. He was still puzzling over the process that saw him, at that very moment and place, strolling among the livestock.

Two hundred Altarai were assigned to this conservancy station. If they acquitted their duties properly, each would bear "iry" - that is Watcher - as a life-long honorific. Fine honor for their clans too. Honor or not, Be RaaEll regarded this posting as punishment for mistakes made in his two previous assignments. Fair enough, but it galled that every other Altaria was aboard for the same reason – put out of the way where they couldn’t bungle something important. In short, RaaEll thought, it was a ship of losers.

Unfortunately, that assessment proved all too accurate. Barely a quarter way into their assignment, individual and collective deficiencies began asserting themselves in all four pods. According to the Da enthusiast, that equated to indigene generation 168. Now, more than two hundred generations later, dysfunction was seeping into Pod Two and its staff.

Collectively, the Pod Two conservators felt the terrible weight of watching generation after generation of indigenes sit around scratching, rutting or sometimes doing both at the same time. No one thought to do anything about the ennui until a member of the Wh clan cycled herself through an airlock into raw space. The staff gathered in the observation loft to discuss the crisis. It was then that RaaEll heard in detail what was going on in the other pods.

What they learned was that the Pod Three iren counselled and armed their charges to war on each other, then wagered on the outcomes; Pod Four’s overseers acted even more infamously. That mob descended from the observation loft to act as lords of creatures - terraformed estates, worshipful cults and all. A generations-long effort resulted in their concubines bearing iry-indigene hybrids.

Mating with primitive alien stock was distasteful, although not unheard of in cases of extreme and extended isolation from civilization – but only by a few deficient individuals. This wholesale debasement of living and lording among them offended even RaaEll’s relaxed sense of parental and clan honor.

Worse was the behaviour of the Pod One staff. They simply flew away from their charges to live in other pods.

He was shocked and disgusted, swearing that boredom would never drive him to such behaviour. But what to do to avoid the fate of his Wh cousin?

In the face of very limited choices, Pe NiMei, a distant cousin, proposed they do something positive with their charges. A handful of indigene generations came and went before a plan was set. The Watchers divided themselves into three teams, each working with a discrete pod region to achieve flight, by different means.

The first team guided their charges in developing the mental abilities to levitate. Pe NiMei was chosen to lead a second team that pushed the indigenes towards biological engineering – that is physical grafting and gene modification (But no hybrids. The perverts of Pod Four rendered that completely unacceptable). The third team saw Be RaaEll selected to promote mechanical flight in what became the Airship Tribe.

RaaEll thanked good fortune that his lot was leading the mechanical stream. They were doing no more than guiding their indigenes in building flying machines. As challenging as the other two groups, but with less ominous overtones. Early on, the iren considered the direction to nudge their charges in. A recollection of the Medusan air bladder creatures pushed them in the direction of gas-buoyancy flying machines. In other words, balloons. It seemed to be both feasible and safe. After all, how much harm could these creatures do anyone with a few pokey motorized balloons?

And so the teams set about their tasks. While the arrangement could be interpreted as a contest of sorts, the overriding determination was to avoid the Wh's terminal desperation. Nothing in their training or clan lore prepared them to deal with a metal health crisis. This solution was not ideal, and there were a few worries about impropriety. But no one approached the airlock.

Each group pursued its goals, kept its members occupied and complained about the difficulties of working with the indigenes. And of course, Be RaaEll cast gloomy thoughts about how this would all surely unravel.

Despite his dark thoughts, things moved forward for the Airship Tribe. Now, sometime this watch (within a hundred indigene rotations), the balloon would actually cast off from its mast to go exploring up and down the thousand leagues of the habitat axis. There was the possibility of allowing further exploration via a Portal to Pod One. But first things first. They needed to get this machine launched.

Considering worst case scenarios, Be RaaEll was somewhat concerned the indigenes might ascend as high as the observation loft itself. At that point, the lack of oxygen would kill the aeronauts before they saw things they should not. However, an exploding ship, living crew or not, could damage the loft itself. And then Be RaaEll would be in trouble again. The iry was mulling that unpleasant prospect when a new possibility replaced the worst case scenario. He sensed the painful glare of an active Portal. It seared his wing tips. The roar of thousands of beating wings drowned all other sound.

From their perch beside the airship, Rinna and Sten watched hosts of unfamiliar angels descend on the factory yard below. They saw an uncountable number of new Divines land and surround the dozen angels they knew. A mob surrounded each one, with shrieking exchanges in Divine that sounded anything but friendly. In moments, Be RaaEll and the others were bound and roughly guided towards the Portal. In the far distance, they saw smoke and dust rising from two distant sites. Rinna knew them to be cities where other flying projects were rumored to be taking place.

They were still coming to grips with all the activity when an unknown Divine flew up to their platform. Hovering in the shade of the airship, it impassively studied them. It seemed neither friendly nor hostile. When it brought three stick-like fingers to bear on them, Sten’s grip on Rinna’s hand loosened. In a daze, they drifted off the platform, past the airship, then floated gently to the ground far below.

Sprawled face up in a field among scattering sheep, they watched the airship disappear into the Portal. Divines hovered here and there, gesturing at structures and works. Things flammable flashed into ash on the instant. Things non-flammable shimmered, then vibrated until they were less than dusty rubble. No stone stood upon another.

It was over as suddenly as it began. As the last of the iren passed through, the Portal began to flicker. Then it was gone. There was a profound silence. The dust was still settling...

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Tightly bound, two hundred Watchers huddled on the vast judgement floor. They understood what this meant. The 1200-member Council had unanimously condemned them. There was no trial, no extenuating circumstances, no procedural technicality that would allow them to escape punishment. Be RaaEll recognized the voice of his grandmother droning out succinct summaries of crimes and punishments.

“There is no greater undertaking than serving the species. Each of us must do our duty, and do it in a disciplined manner.

Our greatest undertakings depend on having essential building materials on hand. Those materials are harvested throughout the galaxy, frequently on planets with native populations. Their status as lesser beings does not negate our responsibility to them. It is the right thing to do. You had an honored role in being builders. Yet you responded by expressing your boredom with acts both irresponsible and infamous.”

“He LellBen, captain of the conservancy vessel Ran GiWitu, was not party to any of the improprieties now under examination. Yet, her station inarguably carries the ultimate responsibility. He LellBen is to be bound, transported into low orbit, and allowed to make planet fall at a time and place as nature determines.”

“Her incineration serves little practical purpose, yet does symbolically provide a brief measure of light to counter the darkness over which she unwittingly presided. An Altarai must be competent and prepared for any assignment she is given. Or suffer the consequences. Take her. Now to the witting miscreants.”

“Pod One was entrusted to two score ten iren. Those who should have been protectors and guides instead abandoned said duties. Unable or unwilling to do their duty, they skulked off to adjacent pods to take part in their debauchery. Pod One has descended into such savagery and darkness, the given stock is beyond salvage. Airlocks in that pod are being opened as these words are spoken. No punishment is sufficient for the likes of you. Therefore, die now.”

At that, the last thing fifty iren saw was the horrified expressions of their fellow culprits as the gravity increased sixty-fold in their enclosure. A scattering of exoskeleton fragments poked up through the puddles of goo. The voice pierced the appalled silence in the spectator galleries. “Space their residue, where they will join their erstwhile charges. We continue.” And that voice did continue.

“Of those whose entertainment derived from fomenting war among the conservancy stock, the are sentenced to serial singles combat until no more than one tenth of their number remain alive. Survivors will be blinded, and their wings shorn. They will be transported to various of the Forty Worlds, where they will wander as examples to the young.”

Her voice further hardened. “Of those who descended to live among the indigenes and mate with their females, their punishment is threefold. First they are disassociated from their clans, and barred from science and service circles forevermore. Second, they will locate and personally cull these Nephi hybrids. They will dispose of all others corrupted by their actions. Finally, they will be neutered, so that no future generation must live down their descent from their worthless selves.”

She spoke to the armored Altaria host ringing the prisoners “Convey these basest of all creatures to their just punishment”, then studied the final group before her.

“Those remaining on this judgement floor are guilty of dereliction and disobedience by actively encouraging indigene aspirations to flight. That they divided themselves for the purposes of a contest signals a collective and individual contempt of our paramount value of goodness over greatness. I acknowledge the minor saving grace that they did not wager amongst themselves, nor engage in unseemly contact with conservancy fauna.”

She spoke directly to larger of two discrete clusters within the prisoner enclosure. “In other circumstances, the preliminary attempts to levitate by sheer will or by the crude melding of musculature from legitimate flying fauna might be laughable. In this instance, you encouraged a species under care to develop in ways far beyond their capacity and out of alignment with their natural path. This lack of good judgement strips you of the iry designation. You are excluded from any position greater than Assistant. Report for reassignment now, menial creatures.”

Attention turned to the final cluster.

“Those who encouraged their charges to achieve mechanical flight have, by intent or by chance, fostered in their charges pursuits consistent with their abilities. These indigenes have demonstrated the capacity for bold dreams, cooperation and inter-generational efforts. That is commendable. Yet actively encouraging their aspirations to flight is a serious deviation from your duties as non-intervening custodians. In short, regardless of your intent or the outcome, these are NOT your playthings. This will not be ignored. This shall not go unpunished. However, we heed the plea for leniency from our beloved axarch, Mi Xeal. Such compassion, from the pinnacle of Project Administration, indicates you may still be redeemable.”

“Your are hereby temporarily modified so that you may not interact with these creatures. You shall wander among them, rendered unseen and unheard, until that time when, once re-established on their own planet, they independently achieve travel to another heavenly body. At that point you will return to service. You are iren still, and may still bring honor to your clans. You may well complete your time as Free Adults, and become Breeders. It is recommended you do something useful during this time: chronicling their progress; or creating works of cloud sculpture; or perhaps record a contemplation on the pitfalls of boredom. Return them to their charges.” And they were gone.

She paused ever so briefly before speaking again. “The judgement floor being empty, these Proceedings are concluded.”

________________________________________

Those words were still echoing as the Portal was closing on Pod Two, where the dust ... was still settling.

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Propped on his elbows, Sten stared blankly at where the mooring mast once rose. “What now?”

Blinking in the transition from full shade to glaring daylight, Rinna said in a shaky whisper “Sten, I don’t know if this is the End of Days or what. But maybe today is close enough to 55 hundreds. Don’t you think?”

He half turned to look at her. “No, that’s not important right now. What I wonder is what happens to the tribe without an airship to build?”

Rinna exhaled hard, deciding that Sten was now and forever out of the running.

The now invisible and incommunicate Be RaaEll stood nearby listening. If this boy really was the brightest of the bright in all of Pod Two, he groaned to think how many eons would it be until he could return to honorable duty.

The End