The Light of Indoria
The stars sang to the Indorians, and that song had only been amplified by the likes of telescopes and deep space probes. But the gulf of space was vast, and the conventional drives that had been crafted after centuries of work too slow. The progress was too slow. Many on the Indorian homeworld had given up on the stars, aware that the iterative process of pushing themselves outwards was impossible. Even as their telescopes caught the terrible gamma radiation wash of a Gorn-Orion-Tholian battle, they wrote it off as a stellar quirk and convinced themselves that if sentient life did exist, it clung to its home systems, small rafts of life sent out slowly to nearby worlds to found less an interstellar empire and more a sister-world.
Until they found the spacecraft. Ancient slabs of metal, buried under Indoria. Ones bearing dust that materials engineers claimed could only have come from out there.
The upheaval was slow and drawn out, two great ideologies grappling in a death struggle. The Outer-Originists realized that they had come from the stars, and all the advancements they stood on came from the work of far older, possibly even
other? beings. The Old Way suggested that the miracles of modern life -- the electricity that flowed even before written history, the complex inertial bearing systems that guided them across oceans without need of a compass -- were granted directly from the Mind-Fire, a force of pure creation that occasionally dropped a spark into the mind of an Indorian that led to something new.
They say Tarrak caught more than a spark of that Mind-Fire, that he was born under a blood-red moon, or maybe it was a comet, or sometimes a blood-red comet crossing a dusky blue moon. It was this that gave him a peculiar spark, a dangerous, wild intelligence that Indorians would later find rampant with the Gaeni. Tarrak was not interested in the upheaval, though he would later end it. He was interested in those dark-dusted shuttles. He wanted to make them go back into the dusk.
He was tired of going too slow.
His first step was to secure the shuttles. His quiet, burning intensity attracted followers, some who would become heroes in their own right -- names like Merolin, Panora, Vejonore -- and within a year they had driven off the bandits and the looters, the Old Way kooks trying to grasp onto their sacred artifacts. He plumbed the depths of the facility, dodging energy-beams from ancient security systems and the dangerous decay of the structure itself. He took forty years of study from materials engineers and synthesized the fuel used by the spacecraft in five. He became a linguist and a coder, and realized the alien code in the databanks had the same underlying structure as the one that ran in the great Temple-Machine in the ancient canyons of Nonia-Harash, the one jealously defended by fanatics as the avatar of the Mind-Flame, now desperately sought as yet more proof of the outer-origin theory. Tarrak gathered a team and snuck into the depths of the temple, dodging rectors and priest-soldiers, and used the Temple-Machine to translate the code inside the shuttle computers.
He would spent the next decade reading every word. He was 38 years old at the end of it. Others took that knowledge and flew the shuttles, the famed Panora circling the nearest star in a week-long expedition. But Tarrak stayed ground-bound. He learned these shuttles were nothing compared to the potential. He learned the full depth of the scientific method, something only scratched at by the Indorians over the four millennia they had the written word.
Tarrak was not a man satisfied with the low-power castoffs of an ancient power. But it would have to wait. To build a stardrive of his own, he would need the resources of the planet. He would need to set up schools and engineering offices. Maybe some other species could have cobbled one together in a bunker with a box of scraps, but Tarrak intuitively grasped that if they were going to see the project completed in his lifetime -- something considered almost ludicrous for any other development -- the whole planet would have to be united.
The longest work of Tarrak's life was doing that. He rejected the easy option -- the bombing from orbit of his adversaries, whispered of with almost sadistic glee by some of his advisors. But he rejected the idea that the Indorians would be able to craft a strong structure of cooperation and peace by dropping an asteroid on Old Way fanatics. And their knowledge, while esoteric, was valuable.
In his time, Tarrak resisted the attempts of well-meaning contemporaries to elevate his role in the unification of the planet. Tarrak always said that while he did some diplomacy with the more science-minded hold outs, and was instrumental in getting the final days in convincing the Old Way to finally see the light of reason, for the most part he left the unification of the planet to political engineer Merolin, a genius in his own right. Tarrak provided the facts, gleaned from the ancient computers and spun into comprehension by his own mind, Merolin found the people best suited to spreading these facts, crafting logic as solid as any building, finding people who could crush their opponents in debate and advance the cause. And where it was regrettably necessary, pick up the slug-thrower and command the armies in defense. And in the end, the Old Way surrendered, turned over the double-defended Temple Machine to the Outer-Originists, their old ideas and ideologies soundly defeated, no one left who cared to listen. These adherents were not outcast, however, except for the most fanatic and stubborn of them. Instead, under Tarrak's guidance, they founded the first school for computer science, which is why to this day the New Path Temple is called as such, instead of the New Path Academy.
Tarrak spent the next decade establishing such schools across the planet, teasing already existing traditions into metallurgy and optics and power generation and magnetism into schools worthy of a the name. Then, while he waited for those orchards of thought to bear fruit, he began the groundwork for the stardrive. Progress was slow. Few had the capacity to intuitively grasp the things Tarrak had learned in the ancient archives, and he was frustrated by the slow progress. He became an obsessive micro-manager, and in this way the man who had worked so hard to plant the fruit of knowledge contributed in some way to its strangling, sleeping for only an hour to wake up, eyes bloodshot, to direct some part of the project, the workers never learning for themselves, only following his rote command. Others on the project made only token efforts, for fear they would displease Tarrak and his singular vision.
These were the worst days of Tarrak. Ones he would apologize for, that the great unifier had let himself be blinded by ego and ambition. These dark days ended when he collapsed, the sleepless nights and malnutrition catching up to him. He languished for two years, kept away from the project by his own followers, limited to reviewing reports and offering distant advice. But even this was the steady pressure of a drumbeat, always echoing "
more, more, more."
He returned mid-way to find the first crop of his schools working on the project, and began work alongside them. He removed himself as project manager, putting the trusted Merolin on oversight duty. Merolin was known as the one Indorian who could say no to Tarrak, the only one who could snap him out of an intense focus to order him to bed, or to eat. To moderate Tarrak's occasional outbursts. The project grew, and in fits and starts, eventually came to fruitition. This stardrive was inefficient next to the extant drives on the shuttles, sure, but it was more powerful, and engineering with Indorian care to be able to go further, longer. Tarrak watched, tears in his eyes, as the great drive was tested as a sort of radio, broadcasting his voice to a shuttle orbiting a distant star. The audio recording still exists, and you can hear his exhale when the shuttle replies, the comms system on the craft finally able to find a new companion in the stars. He immediately drew up plans for the first Indorian star-crosser, to be built partly in orbit, and to go further than the shuttles ever had. The computer he wrote it on, the original drafting files still on them, sits in a museum, that design copied almost to the weld four years later.
Tarrak's drafting of that design would the last spark of his genius that would land in the world. His life had been hard, scars and the invisible cracks of bones telling a story of struggle and adventure in his youth. His body had never fully recovered from his collapse, and a few days after presenting the ship design to his design team, he collapsed in the shower. He was not found for several hours, and when he was, the light of Indoria was dead. No one ever wanted to discuss if it was possible, had they discovered them earlier, he could have been saved. The guilt if that was so would weigh too heavy. The truth of this, the coroner took to his grave, an irony given how strongly Tarrak struggled to bring the truth of their origins to every Indorian.
The first act of the Star-Crosser
Tarrak was to commit his preserved body to the void, on a suborbital trajectory that meant his remains would be a part of every Indorian forever.