Poems to The Elder

Chronicles of Expansion: Humanity’s (Accidental) Journey to the Edge of Space

Chapter 7 – Poems to The Elder

Context is key for understanding the songs, poems, and artworks that inhabitants of Zulu-9 created in honor of The Elder. She is, after all, a complex character who experienced numerous shifts in loyalty over the decades. And who could blame the poor woman, considering the chronic shitstorm blowing across her tiny edge world?  

It is not every day that we can trace a planet’s origins to an exact date, or catch glimpses of how, and when humanity arrived at the most distant corners of the universe. With Zulu-9, we can. That’s not to say that we know everything about the place, especially considering how long ago it first made an appearance in the Space Age calendar. In fact, we know rather little.  

Most leading experts agree that centuries before our time an ancient spacecraft crash landed somewhere in the misty plains. Exactly where that happened has been lost in time. Local legends say the marsh swallowed whatever remained of that ship long ago, and the more time passes, the more extraordinary these events turn to our ears and our eyes.

All major clans trace their origins to the crash, each one embellishing history to fit its narrow, self-centered interests. Typical human nature at the edge of our universe. It is this same nature that led survivors to color Zulu-9’s journey in bright, scarlet letters, transforming the planet from a marshland into a warzone. Not many of us would care much about yet another lost colony, unless, of course, we happen to be in the middle of a history lesson of sorts. And remember, this will be in the final.

She was onboard the ship as well. The Elder. It’s the reason she knows what she knows. Not that she would ever speak of the time before time. In fact, for the most part, those who didn’t witness the fall are the ones who speak the loudest about it. Again, what these leeching tourists believe depends very much on the faction they belong to. And again, context is the key to understanding, so here’s a bit of context.

If you asked a Mag, for instance, either before or after they were virtually eradicated and forced into a life of exile deep in the marshlands, their answer would be anything but short and simple. As a clan, Mags trace their origins to five siblings born in the heavens, followers of the one true ancestral god, Magnus. I know what you are thinking. How fucking original! They also thought of themselves as the OG rebels in a world of rebellions, having come closer than anyone to vanquishing the powerful evil tainting and ruling over their ancestral lands. They often fail to mention this rebellion was a failure. Hence the prolonged exile and their exclusion from most historical records.

Followers of the Old World priestess, on the other hand, would mention their alleged psychic abilities at any change. A demonstration, as you probably guessed, was out of the question, but hasn’t this been the case with every psychic since the beginning of time? Whether the priestess herself had ever had any of these abilities is open for debate. Her followers certainly thought so, and we can confirm she was there at the fall. Her enslavement at the hands of Hanibal and Carnerus was, as you would expect as well, left out of most conversations. After all, how could such a powerful psychic not have known about it in advance?

There are also hundreds of Annonites hiding in plain sight. Finding one may take a while, but they are easy to recognize if you know which signs to look for. The descendants of Mother Ann and her sixteen saints, these former warrior clan has largely been reduced to beggars and thieves lurking in the shadows, waiting, as they’ll tell you, to complete an ancient, secret mission. None of them remember what the mission is, or what their role in it may be, even if they won’t admit as much.

Following on a long-established, ruinous tradition, once humanity conquered Zulu-9, the ruling few quickly established a predominant view on what constitutes the truth. You know how that goes. We also know it is seldom the most deserving who get chosen to lead us. In the case of Zulu-9, it was Hanibal and Carnerus, the Exodus twins, who catalyzed the planet’s fall into eternal chaos. It is their views that defined us. Their truth that doomed us. Ruling over the fertile lands around Exodus Lake, and possessing legendary weapons with the power of thunder, the twins’ views went uncontested for generations. If you asked, it was them, and them alone who went down with the ship. The fall belonged to no other clan. Not even The Elder had been there, and she certainly could not argue against infallible weaponry or blood-soaked words.

Beyond acknowledging the existence of a mysterious ship submerged somewhere in the marshlands, the clans of Zulu-9 shared one more common element. Each one had, at one point or another, hosted The Elder in their lands. In doing so, whether willingly or not, her views and theirs became forever intertwined. She was as guilty as they were for twisting and deforming history to fit the interests of those ruling over a rather thin slice of humanity.

The spiral of death and violence engulfing our planet when the poem was written can be traced back to these disagreements between clans and their interactions with The Elder. Such is the world we endured, nearly six hundred years after she was last seen. That’s centuries of war and bloodshed. Most of us had lost faith in her return. Nobody knew of her cave. How could we have? Her disappearance, which sparked an age of darkness as she hid deep in the thunderous mountain range, took us all by surprise. The poem came at a time all hope had been lost, as the latest in a long line of saviors forfeited his life to a devil in a long line of nightmares. Nothing could have awakened her, or so we thought.

There’s your context. Now, onto the poem.

The Elder’s Long Sleep

Where has she gone?

Where has peace gone?

Where has time gone?

She told us there was never any time to begin with, nor peace in our world, at least not since we arrived.

Now The Elder is no more, and all we have left is her words and ourselves, both twisted by bloodshed.

She was the one chance we had at countering our nature, but all she left behind are old, empty promises.

To Magnus and the defenders of his ways, she said rebel. They did, but forgot do so against themselves.

To the Priestess and her acolytes, she said focus on today so you can foresee tomorrow. They did not.

To Mother Ann and the Annonites, she said let Exodus be a beginning, not an end to your search. It wasn’t.

To the incestuous twins and their descendants, she said you two, stop messing around and rule fairly. As if.

None of them listened. None of them survived.

Magnus died at the hands of lesser men, triggering an endless end.

The Priestess was enslaved by false believers worthy of her pretty lies.

Annonites were condemned to the shadows, sending Exodus into oblivion.

The twins rule unopposed, which has never worked out well in any human world.

The Elder is no more. Our elder, immortal, wise, commander of the heavenly ship.

The Elder is no more. Our elder, prophet, savior, punisher of clans and bosses.

Here, time is a twisted truth. It is a lie anywhere else. A lie.

She knew the truth, even if she couldn’t share it with us.

What she gave us were the tools for peace, and her absence.

We don’t know where she’s gone.

Stupidity and violence are our brands, not peace. Still, we wonder where it is.

And about time… time is a lie, and The Elder, a shameless liar.

We cannot know if the poem’s writers were predicting, or at least expecting an end to the long, dark wait. We do know their words, for whatever reason, preceded The Elder’s return. Zulu-9 wouldn’t last much longer after that.

Following centuries of silence, word came down from the stars. An answer to poems, songs, and prayers. Someone, somewhere in our planet had sent out a signal. Someone, somewhere else had replied.

Deep in her cave, a faint sound triggered the mechanisms powering an old cryochamber, where struggling against immortality, The Elder slept. Her eyes opened. Her ears listened. Her mouth uttered the words that she never thought would come about. That voice on the other end, from a man who didn’t belong in Zulu-9, revealed only part of the answers and sparked into existence one last stage in the history of our now defunct home.

This is Carlsen Ominox, calling Edge Outpost *redacted.* The Conglomerate is under attack. Exodus has been compromised. Requesting backup at current location. Over and out.