The Death of Lou Sheen

Of all the ways Lou Sheen expected his life to end, impaled on a tree branch was low down the list. The fact that he had a list at all tells you a little something about the kind of man he was.

The heatwave just would not break and Lou was feeling cramped in his flat, unable to venture on his daily walks due to a slightly exaggerated fear that his shoes would melt if he tried. For as long as he could remember an afternoon walk along the roads near his village had been a fixed part of his routine.

Working from home as a remote consultant, Lou set his own schedule. Which meant that every day at two thirty in the afternoon, he pulled on his boots and set off on a ninety minute walk. He always followed the same route, the same pace. He walked alone, blissfully disconnected from the world.

Then the heatwave came, the highest temperatures in a hundred years. The first day he had attempted to stick to schedule, but was forced to turn back after ten minutes, driven he’d in sweat and finding his vision blurry.

Lou had walked during heatwaves before, but a combination of the height of the temperature and his acclimatisation of his air conditioned home had left him vulnerable.

For a week, as the temperature continued to rise, Lou avoided his walks.

He missed them, missed the solace of being alone and unreachable. He had worked hard to cultivate a life for himself that did not require much interaction with others. Lou was perfectly capable of being in company and contributing to conversations, he just disliked doing so. Ever since he was a kid, Lou Sheen had preferred his own headspace to he noise created by others.

Eight days after his first, unsuccessful attempt, Lou couldn’t wait any longer, he had to get out of his flat, away from the neighbours who said hello when they saw him. Away from the calls to clients. Away from the messages from prospective clients asking for a consultation.

Deciding that his routine had already been broken by the heat, Lou reasoned that it was only reasonable for him to adjust the time of his walk. He would go once it got dark, wait for the night to leech the heat away from the ground and make it bearable.

He didn’t want to waste an attempt, so Lou decided he would wait until eleven at night to leave for his walk. That way he would still return home in time to be in bed at one.

He knew that leaving at that time would not actually stop the people who made contact with him during the day, but he could at least pretend that he was avoiding the unexpected calls which he had only received twice in his life. Each one to inform him of the death of a parent. First his mother, then his father. With no other relatives to pass way and no close friends anyone would bother to inform him of their passing, he knew that the chances of another late night call were extremely remote. It was the existence of their possibility that allowed him to mentally justify the late night walk to himself.

Leaving his phone on the coffee table, Lou took only his keys and a torch with him.

Being a regular day walker, Lou did not own any fluorescent clothing. He had never needed any before and didn’t consider their usefulness during his first night walk. He believed that his torch would be enough to let any night drivers see him.

If Lou’s walks were along pavements, his supposition may well have been correct. However, living as he did in a village in the South East of England, many of the roads he walked along were country roads. Lined on either side by hedges taller than him, they had no pavements for walking. They als followed a winding path, with many blind corners. This was fine during the day, drivers tended to be regular commuters and they knew about the walkers.

What Lou did not consider was that at night the winding roads he so enjoyed walking along had become a raceway for the new and younger drivers. Taking advantage of these little used roads at night, they would test their skills and speed, driving on the wrong side to make a corner faster.

The police performed irregular patrols to catch them, but they were so infrequent that the racers very rarely found themselves caught. Damage to one of their cars due to overconfidence and inexperience was a more likely punishment than being pulled over.

So it was, forty eight minutes into his walk, that Lou saw the headlights of an approaching car illuminate the hedge in front of him. He could hear the roar and the grind as a gear change was missed.

Lou tucked himself into the hedge as best he could and swung his torch to let the driver know he was there.

Unfortunately for Lou, the driver of the red Vauxhall Corsa fishtailed the car as he came around the corner. He didn’t even notice the thump of his passenger side rear light smash into Lou, he was too focused on getting the car back under control so that he did not plot through the opposite hedge. He failed and the damage to the rear light was assumed to be due to the crash.

As for Lou, the blow punched him through the hedge and into the woods behind it. He flew hard enough that the lowest branch of the nearest tree punched through his back, pierced his right lung and forced its way out through his ribs before his momentum snapped it off and he landed, in agony among the trees in the dark.

In the pitch dark, and confused by the pain, Lou crawled away from the road, deeper into the woods, hoarsely gurgling for help and blood filled his lung.

Strength failing him, Lou collapsed to the dead leaf covered ground.

And died.

The Freedom from Company

Coming back as a ghost was definitely something Lou had considered. He was of the opinion that consciousness was energy and as energy could not be destroyed, merely redistributed, becoming a ghost was something that could potentially happen. There was definitely a gap between his sparing and his return as a ghost. He wasn’t too certain how long the interval was, but when he found himself standing by his body, he could see that decay had already begun to set in. So the reorganisation of his energy had clearly taken more than an instant. It was days, certainly, perhaps weeks. He wasn’t familiar wth the decomposition speed of the human body.

He spent ten minutes examing the former enclosure of himself, seeing the back of his own head for the first time was interesting, briefly. He tried to roll himself over, but found he could not interact with the body.

He said goodbye to his former self, amused that he could produce sound without air passing over his vocal chords. He wondered if anyone else would hear him.

Without ceremony or regret, he left the car as behind and walked deeper into the woods.

He spent his time observing the squirrels and spiders. Watching the growth of a single leaf over the course of days. Lou Sheen finally had everything he ever wanted, to be truly, completely alone. No worries that someone might call on him, no chance of being forced to make conversation.

The wood was empty of humanity, it was an oasis of isolation.

It was perfect.

Natural and Supernatural in Harmony

How long the ghost of Lou Sheen walked those woods, alone and content, he could not say. He did not count the days and nights. Made no effort to follow the life cycle of a single animal. The trees were older than he had been at the point of his death and while they grew, it was in increments so small that he did not notice.

The woods were calm and solitary. If not for his first moments of new existence being at the site of the expiry of his old, Lou would have given credence to the idea that this was a hand crafted Heaven.

Heat and cold did not affect him. The storm winds which shook the branches and occasionally felled one of the trees do not so much as move a hair on his head. Rain fell through him, untouched until it reached the ground. He was silent in his movements, despite every step taken being among live grass, twigs nd dead leaves. No crunch, snap or shuffle came from the ghost of Lou Sheen.

He had even stopped speaking, there was no-one to talk to except himself and he had always been able to hold conversations between himself faster inside the confines of his own mind. Vocalisation was unnecessary and less effective.

He became an observer of the woods, a stray thought weaving amongst the life that surrounded him.

On occasion he would venture beyond the borders of the trees, to the fields which bordered it. Taking some time under the open sky, to view the stars or watch the Sun, which no longer held any power to blind him. But he never returned to the road, never again for Lou Sheen was there any allure in the creations of other humans. Their noise and change to the natural world were of no interest any more.

Only one time did he hear the voices of humans. But he stayed away until they were gone. It took a full day for them to leave a when they were gone he discovered that the last remains of his body had also gone, some plastic tape tied around trees the only sign that this was where he had died.

The tape angered him. It did not belong here, it wasn’t part of his world now, just a vile fragment of the humanity he had gleefully left behind.

His rage was surprising and strong, it had been so long since he had experienced any emotion beyond contentment or curiousity.

In fury, Lou swiped at the dangling fragment and was amazed to find it moved beneath his fingers. He could touch it, could untie it. So he did. Removing all trace of the interlocking humans who had defiled his Eden.

Once he had collected all the discarded fragments, Lou found himself with a conundrum, how to dispose of them. They did not decompose, they were unnatural things. He could not simply scatter them or bury them, for they would remain, forever defiling the sanctuary of the woods.

The only choice was to return them to humanity, to the road he had ignored for so long.

It was not hard to find his way back to the asphalt snake which covered formerly green lands. The sounds o engines passing by was easy enough to track. Standing by th hedge, Lou balked at the idea of passing beyond the natural barrier that separated his new world from the old one. His solution was to thrust only his hand through the thick hedge, briefly wondering if this was near where he had been struck, and then drop the litter of humanity back on the vein of road which lay beyond.

With the woods purified, Lou turned his back on the grey stone of humanity and returned to his peace.

The Crying Sky

The day had promised rain. Murky clouds, blending into one featureless blanket had roamed across the sky since first light. Lou had once disliked rain, having wet clothes was always such a bother. Now the rain invigorated him. His inability to touch it was a blessing. Now he could appreciate the music it created. The drumbeat of a million drops hitting a million different surfaces. The whole wood was an instrument.

Over here the beat would beat fast, driving, like a thrash metal band.

There it was jazz, rhythms that fluctuated as the wind moved the branches, always changing the beat.

The was orchestral and garage band. There was everything in the collision of water and life.

So Lou waited, and waited, glaring at blue patches that opened above, hating them for threatening a clear sky. The sun reached its zenith and began to descend, the day remained overcast but dry.

Lou remained in the jazz place, it was his current favourite to listen to the rain.

He did not lose hope, he was not bored. Even without he rain, the sounds of the woods made its own music. He was, however, disappointed.

Hope is a strange experience for a ghost, for they cannot hope to achieve anything, cannot hope to do anything. Instead, their world is one of observation, of rejoicing in th happenings around them. So to wait for something to happen and then it does not, it is the closest Lou had felt to melancholy since this new existence began.

Tap

Tap-taptap-tap

Tap-tapatter-tip-tap-tippiter

Tippiter-fadoosh-tappater-patter-ratatata-tapper

The rain started slow, finding its rhythm before exploding into the most glorious of drum solos, accompanied by bass beats of thunder.

It was a concert for an audience of one.

Lou ran through the woods, composing the masterpiece as he went, alloying the subtle shifts of the beat and tempo to guide him this way and that.

He circled to a slow beat and ran to a fast one. He stood still for exquisite patterns no man could replicate and danced to irregular ones.

The world played for him and he was exhilarated by it.

A deeper boom exploded above. No thunder this, something more, something larger. Followed by a whistle that was discordant to the epic poetry of the rain.

The new, unwelcome sound came from above and away. Furious at the desecration of his concert, Lou followed the sound, finding himself outside of the woods, in the fields, staring at the sky, now black. The sun had set who knows ho long before and the stars above were hidden by the orchestral clouds.

The whistle increased in pitch and the clouds above him pushed themselves away from a single point, creating a circle to the true night sky.

Lou strained his sight, which had not changed from when he was alive, and could just barely pick out something falling through the hole in the clouds.

Not falling, flying.

The faint light that caught its edge changed as it moved. It was not falling straight down. It was turning.

Angling itself in a new direction.

It was coming straight for the fields.

No, the woods.

No.

It was coming straight for him.

The hole passed under the moon and Lou saw a teardrop, fat end to the rear, pointed tip aimed at him. The whistling eased away and the rain drums overcame it as the angle of descent eased, flattening, gliding towards the ghost of Lou Sheen.

Lou, for a moment, wondered if ghosts were able to hallucinate.

Then the droplet was upon him, its tremendous speed bleeding away until it moved no faster than a walking man.

It slowed not five metres from Lou, tilted until its pointed nose dug into the ground and rotated itself upright, carving a short groove in the field before coming to a complete stop.

Greeting the Unexpected

Now the teardrop ceased moving, Lou could discern its size. Three metres tall and one and a half across at its widest point. It truly appeared to be a droplet, the exterior undulating and rippling from an internal tide.

He felt no fear, what did a spirit have to fear from something physical?

A voice emanated from the teardrop, speaking a language he had heard but did not understand. Chinese perhaps, softer sounding than Japanese or Korean he believed. Was this some creation of Earth? Had he missed technological leaps forward during his time in the woods? It was entirely possible for he did not consider himself part of the world any more and paid no attention to the measurement of time as this still alive did.

Perhaps taking his silence as a lack of understanding, the voice spoke again. This time it sounded Indian.

Lou still did not understand.

Now it tried Russian.

He waited, English must be next.

It was.

“Hello. Do you understand me?”

Lou smiled in satisfaction, he had deduced the pattern, so nice to have a puzzle to solve. He had forgotten what a joy they could be to solve.

The voice spoke in an African dialect and Lou realised he had not replied.

“I speak English.”

Those three words took more effort than he would have ever believed. Living in silence for however long. He had done so, with no need to communicate, Lou Sheen had forgotten the simple procedures for creating sound. Breath was of course no longer important, must the muscle memory embedded in his spirit he become saggy and lax from the lack of use. His words exploded in a hoarse bark that sounded barely intelligible to himself.

The teardrop ceased speaking and waited.

Lou tried again, his vowels elongating and his consonants too sharp, but he managed to speak more clearly.

“I speak English.”

“Much thanks. Communication is now possible.” The teardrop replied, each word appearing to come from a different peaking wave on the exterior.

How did one talk to something like this? Alien, in the truest sense of the word. Did it understand politeness, had that been gleaned from whatever way it had learned the languages of Earth?

“My name is Lou Sheen.” He paused, what more could he say? He had no authority to offer this droplet anything except conversation. Would saying welcome to Earth, as he had been about to, be taken as an invitation for occupation? Failing to think of an unproblematic follow up, he allowed the pause to stretch on into silence.

“We are We.” The droplet broke the silence.

“Your name is We?”

“We don’t not have a name, for We are We. Lou Sheen, what are you?”

That was a question. Did he tell them he was human, even though he no longer was. Did he tell them he was a ghost, when he had no way to know if they understood or had concepts of souls and lives after physical death. To tell them he was human would make their first encounter with an actual human difficult. But, to tell them he was a ghost without knowing their stances on souls could invite insult.

Truth was the best he could offer We. If he insulted them, scared them, it would not be because he had fed them falsehoods which could cause problems for others later. Uncomfortable truth now would be easier for others in time. Lou found himself surprised that he still cared enough about the living to make that choice.

“I am a ghost.”

“A spirit of the dead?” We asked.

Their understanding of his situation came as a surprise, but the speed at which the obvious answer came was not. How would they have learned the languages of Earth? Most likely from signals such as radio leaving the planet. Ghosts had long been a staple of radio programming, either as stories or investigations into their existence.

This was promising, it meant that there could be a common understanding between them.

With this thought, Lou asked “And what are you?”

“We are We.” We replied.

When We Were Alone

“We do not recall our species name. We are We. Our planet was mostly covered by oceans, our entire landmass would not cover the ice at your northern pole. We did not emerge from the sea to evolve, as you did. As small creatures we gathered at the hot vents on the ocean floor. We found nutrients and we ate. Our size grew, as did that of others. Our vent had just the right mix of absorbable proteins and nutrition that caused th first sparks of consciousness. In time we became primitive, fashioning spears from hard coral and hunting the larger creatures for food. We became civilised, building villages, then towns then cities. Our world was bountiful and we created nations. We did not experience war like you, there was no scarcity of resource. Our nations expanded and combined. Eventually, our whole planet was one, never did we experience the horror of global war.”

We stopped speaking, the waves on the teardrop surface stilled and then began to form deeper troughs and higher peaks, Lou could feel the agitation in the words that followed.

“Then the individuals rose. All had what they required, our machines did the work for us, what was left to us was time. Time to be indolent or inventive. To consume or create. Because we did not need others, some were able to take themselves away. They were the first of the I.

A small movement at first, each I lived alone, away from the minor emotions and troubles of others. They began to pursue only that which they wanted, often to the detriment of others. It was our first tipping point.

The records are mostly lost, but we do know that a crackdown was considered. We were then a peaceful society, but we understood and could enact violence where warranted. No agreement could be reached on the need to impose rule on all of the I, only those caught damaging others.

The moment passed and new I joined their ranks all the time. What he once been co-operation for the good of all became business, war for the upper hand. Every interaction with another I was a zero sum game. There must always be a winner or a loser. To rely on others was to lose. As the more efficient and successful I rose, gaining property and status, more joined the I, wanting that for themselves.

Death was the next combatant, for each I knew their life was always destined to end. Many worked on the problem, from external parts, as you would call cybernetics, to internal remodelling of their own structure. It was a time of wild innovation and creation. Every success was shared to increase thei own acclaim, for that was the only currency that an I respected, the knowledge that you were better than your opponent.

Many successfully extended their lives, hoarding their secrets close. Their accumulation increased, leaving those who were not I to scrabble to dregs. The newer an I, the less they had.

Eventually, one I solved the problem.

We do not know the name they once had, just that one day an announcement went out across the world that they were I, the singular I, the only I. They would live forever.

As the fragile alliances between weaker I investigated, it was discovered that Singular I, as they came to be known, had lived far longer than any other suspected. Time and manipulation had bought Singular I control of the world. They owned everything, the world was their property and they expelled everyone who was not Singular I.

Space flight had been discovered and local mining operations on nearby moons and asteroids were steady and profitable, so the technology was available to build ships to take the population away.

As you may have realised, our ships are partially made from the waters of our world. The manipulation of it into shapes is the foundation of our technology.

Singular I allowed only enough water to be withdrawn from his personal reservoir, which was the entire world, to create just enough ships to fit every one of our race, I or not. He designated exactly how much room per individual would be granted.

On the day of Exodus, four thousand two hundred and twelve ships left the womb of our oceans and raced out into space. The level of water on the planet did not noticeably drop, it would have taken a micrometer to see the difference.”

When We Were Seperated

Singular I mixed I with not I aboard the ships. Then they programmed the ships to depart our system. The final, cruellest trick Singular I played, to prevent the exodus from returning home was to instruct the machines operating the ships that no new instruction could be implemented by the passengers unless a two thirds majority agreed.

Among the I it was near impossible for two out of three to agree on anything. The not I were used to cooperation and if they had all been on the same ships, there was no doubt that control would swiftly have been given to them. Scattered amongst the I, their numbers were too low. All control was taken from us.

The I did not sit idle. They still created, improving engines and navigational maps. They could feed superior information to their ship but they could not instruct it to act on any of that information as they desired.

Each improvement was guarded jealously by each ship and so the great armada of our people began to separate. Each increase in seed was merely fractional, but over the time and distances travelled, they became pronounced. Some improvements only seemed to be such and resulted in catastrophic failures. Two hundred and forty four ships exploded without warning. Eighty one simply ceased to use their engines, left behind to drift eternally.

For a thousand years, the I and their long lives ruled the fleet, the leadership designated by the superiority of their improvements.

But the I were self contained. They did not breed. They did not form community, they simply sought the best for themselves and any advantage to th whole was pure happenstance.

So isolated from others, they did not think to check what the not I were doing. Did not look at their numbers or bother to spy on the communications between not I on different ships.

They believed only an I could plan long term because they believed that thinking of what would benefit others you would never see was a pointless waste of time.

The not I believed differently. Before the ships even left, the plan was set. Some even think that Singular I knew of it and that it may have even been their plan for the future of the species. That to direct the ships required a majority to work together, for the benefit of each other, Singular I knew the I aboard would never do. But the not I were always working in their communities together.

To be the one to bring the species to a new level of evolution through your own machinations? That was a plan worthy of Singular I.

The not I kept close records of their numbers. Every birth and death was recorded and sent to other ships. Some ships reached majority after six hundred years, but did nothing. They waited until all surviving ships reached majority. Decades were spent plotting courses, evaluating possible new planets. During this period, the not I began to call themselves We.

This was our second tipping point.

When all ships reached majority the signal was sent. We took over the armada and a rendezvous was called.

The I were quick to realise that We had control and reacted with violence. But they acted, as they always had, individually. We knew this would happen and had prepared for the moment.

Some I slipped away from their captors, some We were killed, but generally, the rebellion was crushed before it could start. The coordinated efforts of the We outmatched the individual intellect of the I.

The new era of our species was to begin.”

When We Were All Together

“When the fleet was gathered, all the best technologies and improvements were shared among them. Each ship had been built the same, the changes made by the I over the centuries had Made each one unique. This was unacceptable to We, all of us were to have the same advantages.

Engines were refined using the best techniques. Food stores were preserved and replenished with the superior technologies.

When our homes had been made fair, We began to change the population.

Very few of the I had complained about the improvements to their ship for no ingle one had had the best of everything. Each ship had its own superiority, so they could reap the benefits, even where they could not take the acclaim.

There were some I who would not accept their autonomy to change anything however they like being removed. They hated that We could plot courses, adjust certain ship functions that they as individuals could not. They were the Isolationists. You could not call them a faction, for they did not work together, that would have been antithetical to everything they stood for.

The Isolationists retreated to their cabins and locked themselves away from the growing numbers of We. A good number of I renounced their individualistic ideals and became I, many more simply reaped the benefits and bided their time, for they were longer lived than We. They plotted for the day when they could take control once again.

But We would not wait to give them that chance. There is a saying we have have picked up from the information this world exports, ‘I don’t know how to get you to care about other people.’ We did.

For generations, the I had been advancing their own minds, the technology to adjust our brain chemistry and emotions had long existed. Now We had control of it, we determined to make the I understand us. All I and all We were implanted with technology that made us empathetic. Not as you might describe a temperament. Instead, all could physically see and understand the emotions of another, the causes. It was not telepathy, that would come later.

Only the Isolationists did not receive the upgrade. They became further separate from us, unwilling and unable to understand our most basics wants.

Trade was unnecessary between the ships, but they were not homogenous in ascetics. Each ship had developed a personal style in the millennia of our travel. So the act of ship tourism began. We would visit other ships for a change of scenery.

In time, it was realised that the amount of ship to ship travel was starting to eat into our fuel, only a small amount, just noticeable, but it was clear that over the course of time it might take us to find a suitable new home planet, we would either have to end the trips or reduce them. Ending would be fair to all, reducing would man that some were left out. That was completely unacceptable.

Refinements were made to fuel collection, but it simply wasn’t enough to keep up with demand.

The solution must be obvious to you, after all I have said.”

The We stopped speaking and Lou felt the peaks on the bulbous edge of the teardrop waiting expectantly. He had been so spellbound, he was not ready to speak and faked a cough into his hand to cover the surprise. A stupid idea, ghosts don’t get coughs.

Why would he be expected to know?

He dove into his methodology, the one he charged so much to teach to others.

List the information.

Sift out the important parts.

Extrapolate based on reasonable assumptions.

So, a species that had worked together, fell into disarray when they became individualistic to the point of almost no cooperation. Born under liquid. Ships made from that liquid. Exiled by the most individualistic of their race. Only by cooperation between the majority were they able to regain control of their fate. All are made equal once again. Community is essentially forced into them externally. None can be left behind. Individual craft making short journeys between ships cases fuel problems.

Sift the information.

A species who have recreated themselves as a community.

Ships created from liquid.

Individual travel creates a problem.

Extrapolate.

Liquid is a communal state. Each separate part will become one with he whole if reunited. If individual ships are the problem, then the ships can’t be individual.

“You merged all of your feet into one, massive, ship. Travel now doesn’t require fuel. All resources are pooled, forever. There is no separation between members of your species.”

Two tall peaks splashed together, Lou took it to be some form of clapping.

“Very well done. We formed our entire fleet into one vessel. Now all styles were available to all. A bonus was that the fuel needed to moving the vessel was less than all of the individual ships making the same adjustments. Our resources would now go even further.

All of the I that found their personal space now expanded, their rations going further, all of theI that remained became We.

Only the Isolationists were steadfast in their rejection.

They were left in their isolation, provided for but never communicated with. The decision was reached to ignore them, to allow them to live or die by themselves as they chose.

This was our third tipping point, but we would not understand that for thousands of years.

Instead we thought our third tipping point was the introduction of our telepathic implants. When all knew what all were thinking, we became the We that was hoped for. Individual traits were absorbed to be part of the whole. As one mind we decided that a planet would not suit us. We were in unity that the We should explore the stars.

As our minds became one, so too did we begin the process of making our bodies one also.

The process took generations and its methodology is long lost to us.

But finally We were one and We were all.”

The Third Tipping Point

“What was unexpected when We became all was the loss of our highest peaks. In hindsight, it was a natural reaction to our determination that none should be lesser. What this meant is that we employed our engineering to prevent intellects and physical attributes that were below the average. This was truly a noble endeavour on our part, that none of We should ever feel left behind or less than another, even as we strived to remove the individualistic traits that had sent us on the long journey.

If you do not allow any to fell less than another, then you cannot allow any to feel superior either. This was the great fault. We removed genius from our species. Instead of lifting all up, we stopped any from falling. But none can fall if there is no rise to fall from.

It was when the vessel was struck by an undetected meteoroid that our follow was revealed to us. The damage was extensive, while a good proportion of We were lost, most were saved due to automatic reactions on the vessels part. Repairs were needed.

This was a new situation, one never encountered by the vessel. When smaller ships had been struck, they were lost forever.

A good amount of our hull was gone, frozen in space behind us. It could be retrieved, the consensus was that it should be. Our methods for fuel extraction would suit to recover it. But to refashion it from te frozen state into workable material, this was a new thing.

It was a thing that required a certain creativity of thought, a leap of genius we had bred out of ourselves.

There was but one choice, we had to seek the help of an Isolationist.

All but one refused us. Their survival was not dependant upon the repair, the vessel could still function.

The Isolationist that said it would help had one demand. When the repair was done, we would land them on a planet it had already chosen, with such supplies and equipment as it chose. We would leave it there to fulfill whatever isolation based dream it had.

We agreed, and this was where the third tipping point began to topple.

The Isolationist was a genius, beyond a genius. It had lived for thousands of years, had invented many ways to improve itself, not only its lifespan but its intellect as well. All of the others were like it, all of them no longer saw themselves as members of the same species as We, not even as each other. They had forced their evolution through will and intellect. In our state of what it called mediocrity, we were the same as the creatures we had once hunted in the early days of our civilisation on our home world. Our sentience was dubious, but as the majority, we had control of the world it lived in. That was no longer acceptable to it, to be ruled over by animals.

It refused to tell us how to make the repairs, insisting on working alone. The Isolationist said that we did not earn the leap forward in technology that even watching its actions would give us.

The Isolationist supervised the recovery of the frozen hull and once it wa aboard it shut out all We from the section. Monitoring and cameras were blocked and remained so unti they came back on and the damaged are was exactly as it had been before the collision, missing only the We and Isolationists which had lived there.

The planet chosen would take a hundred years to reach. The Isolationist returned to its space and would not respond again until the day of arrival.

The vessel would not stop, instead the Isolationist was to be sent down with its equipment. On the day of departure, it stated that wasn’t acceptable. Instead it wanted to be flown down by We an then the craft and We would leave it and its equipment behind.

This was possible, for We can separate parts of ourselves and reabsorb them into the whole at a later date, like a liquid does.

This is the closest We get to an individualistic situation. We can communicate and feel what others do, but they are restricted to eighty five percent of the speed of light. So distance decreases our communication ability.

The vessel can travel at ninety percent of the speed of light, so that part of We that went down to the planet wit the Isolationist would be truly seperated for a time. Even though the vessel would slow, the drop point was at the edge of the system and the docking point was to be at the far side.

This, we would discover, was all part of the Isolationist’s plan.

Not only had it improved its mental abilities far beyond what We could achieve, it had als rediscovered violence and mastered many aspects of it. As a community where all were one, we had no need for violence. We had forgotten our struggle in the early days f civilisation.

As such, once the contents of the drop ship were removed and We could leave to rejoin ourselves, the Isolationist struck. It overpowered We and made modifications.

Aboard the vessel, We know nothing of this until far too late because of the communication delay.

The drop ship left the planet and began to close on the vessel.

When connection was made, we knew at once that we must outrun ourselves.

The Isolationist had made us a plague unto ourselves.

We from the planet had a bilogical imperative to reconnect with us implanted within it. We must return to the vessel, to inject ourselves into We.

The body of the We was infected with something the Isolationist called dissolution. If planet We connected with vessel We, that would be the end.

We would separate, become district and individual again. With our level of intellect and technology, we could not combat it. To reach the level of scientific understanding to counteract the plague, generations of disparate We would have to work together. But We knew our individualistic past, the Isolationist had shown us it could not be ignored. We as We would cease, we would become something else.

So the vessel ran.

The dropship chased.”

We Can Never Escape Ourselves

“Are you still running from that one part of yourselves?” Lou asked.

“In a way. The Isolationist upgraded the dropship, it runs almost as fast as the vessel and is more fuel efficient. We do not know how long it spent working on this plan. For the vessel and the dropship to refuel, they must drop their speed and collect matter in the form of space dust and radiation. The dropship can refuel many times faster than the vessel, but must refuel three times as often to travel the same distance. Despite our head start, eventually the dropship would reach the vessel. Being made from the same liquid, it can reabsorb at any point and then we are doomed.

So we ran, always panicked, never resting.

During the early days, suspicion of the other Isolationists reached a fever pitch, the betrayal was all We could think of. A decision was made to maroon them on a planet together. They were frcibly expelled from their rooms with the barest of essentials to survive and left on the first habitable planet we came near.

They raged a us, but could not prevent us. We do not know what happened to them after, we were too scared to look back.”

“I can understand the fear, but to punish all of them for something one did, that seems unfair.” Lou found his voice taking on a scolding tone he did not expect.

Agitated waves rippled the length of the teardrop. ”It took us a long time to understand that. You must understand that we had long bred all notions of individuality out of ourselves. We no longer comprehended the concept of one part acting in a way that was not the choice of all. The Isolationists, we saw them as a separate, but single species. It was inconceivable to us that the actions of the one was not the actions of all. We regret what we I’d now. Not least because in their genius, there might have been a solution.

In time the dropship, the chaser, was near upon its and a desperate measure was taken. We would colonise a moon. Separate part of ourselves so that if the chaser could not be evaded then part of us might live on and perhaps find a solution.

What happened next was a shock to us all.

The chaser stopped following the vessel and changed direction to infect the colony.

The apocalypse had been averted for a time and a new plan had been formed.”

We Are Losing

“This part of us is simply the latest aspect of the Plan. Any habitable moon or planet, we send part of ourselves. The chasers grow in number, but slowly. Each deviation costs them time as they must decelerate and land before escaping the planet’s gravity to chase once more. Each part of us we sacrifice buys time for the rest of us, even though the time spent by the chaser tracking down the parts of us is negligible compared to hat is lost during deceleration and acceleration.

But still we have no spark of genius to understand the mechanisms the Isolationist put into the chaser.

The apocalypse is slow, but inevitable. The chaser no longe flies alone, each part of us infected carries the same imperative to return and they have begun to separate, only one part will chase our delaying part. As their numbers grow, the more of us that we must disperse to slow them down. The Fourth Tipping Point is coming, we cannot prevent it.

When there are more chasers than there are parts of us left to disperse, the Isolationist will win. The We will be no more. What will the chasers do when there is nothing left to chase? Will an ennui consume all of them? We do not know.”

Liquid dripped from the outermost points and Lou realised the We was crying.

“You might still change yourselves. You do not have to remain fixed forever. Look at how much your species has changed from when you first emerged. There must be some way to fix this.”

“Not with an outside influence. The biological fear of the individual is deep rooted within us. We cannot bear to see any part of ourselves made less. Each use of a delaying part is a knife to our very being. We being here has caused such hurt to those on the vessel that you could not comprehend.”

All of One Nature, One of Two

Lou had something he wanted to say, but he also wanted a bit more information first “Why have you come to me? I am alone and seperated from what was my species due to the end of my natural life. I cannot tell them your story, I cannot make them help you.”

“We came to you, Lou Seen, because you were new. Even as we are speaking, the transmission continues. The We aboard the vessel receive the data about you. What you are, as we see you, is a being of energy. We had encountered energy beings before, but none could speak. They were not former beings of matter such as you. While this planet has many beings such as yourself, you were the one who was furthest from any other matter creature.”

“You mean, there aren’t any humans near me?”

“Yes. Although they come, We hear their signals. This military comes. They cannot harm us. Only the chaser can and they will.It is inevitable.”

Lou licked his lips, no saliva to wet them, just an old reaction, not thought about. “I wat to tell you a little about myself. It won’t be a song or detailed as your story because it doesn’t need to be. I want you to make sure the We on the vessel hear all of his. It might help you. It might not, it will all depend on what you do with he information I provide. Do you understand?”

A large wave, tsunami sized in comparison to the others, washed down the teardrop from tip to point “We understand.”

“Right then. I was born human. That means I was always alone in my head, my thoughts were private from the moment I could comprehend them. The ability to share them was a way to get things I wanted. This is the same for all humans. Because we are born small and helpless, we need others to care for us, otherwise we would die. We cannot feed ourselves or find shelter until we have years of life. So, we are taught, from a very early age, that life can only continue through cooperation. But, we retain our own wants and desires. Some people put their own wants above what anyone else needs, some put their desires so far beneath the needs of others, they have nothing for themselves. In between these two extremes ar where most humans exist.

As a human, I disliked the company of other humans, I found them distracting from the things I wished to achieve. Yet, I would help others where I could. A donation of money, advice. I became comfortable making a living by dispensing advice to people to make their businesses work better, but I did it for my own enrichment.

When I died and became this ghost, this energy being, I did no miss people because I had never wished to be around them. Instead I have become entranced with nature. This world that exists outside of the control of humans.

The rain comes when it will, the grass will grow or die, leaves with bud then fall. Human actions can affect these things, but they cannot be controlled. In these woods I have found a peace.

Yet, when you came down, I was excited to speak to you. Not only because you are something new, but because, much as I claimed to always be alone, I was not. I interacted with my clients, with people at shops who sold me things. Workmen who fixed my kitchen. Even when I thought myself entirely alone and self sufficient, I was not. I have always needed others to do things fo me, just as they have needed me to do things for them.

Your species has lacked one thing in all te tales you have told me. You refuse to accept balance. You want all or nothing. You know this, because you told m yourself, that you lowered everyone so that none would be left behind, rather than raising all so that the lowest was still better off than your current average.

Tell me this, are all the thoughts of the We the same all of the time?”

“They are not, the vessel still requires a two thirds majority and sometimes, very rarely, that is not achieved. We are working to stop that.”

“No!” Bellowed Lou, shocked at the anger in him “You must not. You must encourage it. Your species created geniuses before, it can do so again. Singular I and the Isolationist come from the same place. You must allow disagreement, constant cohesion will not give you new answers, it will only reinforce the old ones.

Balance, that is what you must strive to find. Stop pushing all the way to one extrem or another. Be the We, but allow the brighter voices to rise. Encourage and support. That is the only hope you have.”

Lou felt himself panting, found his emotion had gotten the better of him, driving old memories of emotional exhaustion to manifest once again. His hand was wet, in his anger he must have swiped at the teardrop.

“We understand what you say. Much of We will reject it.”

“Of course they will. Its the ones that don’t who might save you.”

There was silence as the We considered.

“You don’t find me strange? My passing from a matter state to an energy on?” Lou asked, finding the start of a train of thought.

“We d not. The changing of states, it occurs in all nature.”

“Have the We ever experienced life afte death, like this? Do you have stories of ghosts in your culture?”

Gentle ripples Lou recognised as thoughts scattered across the teardrop.

“There is no death among the We. When a part fails to continue seperate existence, it is reabsorbed into the whole, memories and thoughts too.”

“What of the I?”

“The I do not die. We have no memory of death amongst them. At one point, perhaps, but that would be before they were I.”

“We will ignore the I for now then. Tell me of your dead. You take them back in as part of you, so that they never die?”

“You cannot seperated We from We. Even in different space, We are We. Here, We are We, as are We aboard the vessel, now long since beyond your system.”

“So, if this We before me dies, fails to continue life, however you put it, what happens?”

“We rejoin the…”

Great mountainous waves thrashed about, converting the teardrop in a stormy sea of fury.

“We, will be too far to communicate. Unless life ceases within ten hours. We, would be We but not We. When the chaser comes, We would not be We, but we would change into a chaser. This we understand, but to not be We and not be chaser? Do we become I?”

“I don’t know. But look at you, you’ve just had an original thought. The We now have a new idea.”

The tsunamis eased away “A new idea. The We will know of this idea. But what do we do with it?”

Lou shrugged “I don’t know. That’s not the point of this conversation any more. The fact is, external sources provide new information. The We had genius before, the We can rediscover it. The We must simply ask for help. Speak to any civilisation you can communicate with. Don’t lose your hope.”

Before the We could answer blinding lights lit up the whole area, Lou covered his eyes against the glare, shocked to be so disoriented by them whe the Sun was no obstacle to him.

“Your military arrive. We will allow them to take us. They may assist in slowing the chaser down. Each moment it wastes is time gained to search for our salvation. We thank you, Lou Sheen. You have given us much to think of.”

Unable to think of an appropriate response, Lou simply gave the teardrop a thumbs up and retreated to the edge of the woods.

The Choice to Change

Lou watched the army surround the teardrop. They first attempted to communicate with We, but the waters of the ship were still. The We had nothing more to say at this time. He hoped they oiled reconsider, they would be surrounded by many smart humans, any one of them might provide the spark the We needed.

He did not want to watch the We being taken away and withdrew to the deeper parts of the woods, letting the engine sounds fade away.

It was not just the We who had much to think about, Lou did too.

In speaking to the We, the realisation of how many people he had relied upon simply to live comfortably had been sobering. Now he was in a state that truly required no-one else.

However.

He had felt smo comfortable returning to his status as outsider to a problem. The axis faction of seeing the We realise it had new information had been immense. He had not solved the crisis of an entire alien species, that would have been far too much to ask. Perhaps he had, in some small way, helped.

Balance, that was the thing. Tip too far one way and you become I, seperated so much that no matter your achievements, they would never be put to full use because they were only down to y and improvements from external sources were none existent.

Tip too far the other way and where none can suffer, none can rise above to create new things for the betterment. Stagnation.

Either extreme would eventually lead to stagnation, in your own thoughts and to that of society as a whole.

He had become an I, in these woods.

Yet, for just a few moments, he had been so much more.

He wanted to be more, he wanted to find that balance.

Staying in these woods would not allow him to do that, so, for the first time since his state change, Lou Sheen passed through the hedge and stepped onto the road.

Humanity awaited and he was going to them.

© Robert Spalding 2020