The Infinity Of Nothingness
Created | Updated Mar 7, 2002
prologue
'God the first garden made, and the first city Cain'
ABRAHAM COWLEY
A colony, a country, a world, a star system, a galaxy. Humanity, the reckless consumer, was not so far different from a culture of bacteria, growing exponentially at every opportunity. Man marvelled at his own intelligence, the one attribute that set him apart from the flora and fauna of the Earth. However, from a broader perspective, he was more akin to the lowliest forms of life. A pet goldfish, in an act of ignorant greed, will continually gorge itself upon the food given to it until its bloated shape inverts and floats to the surface. Science would have liked to think that it knew better than the goldfish.
By the twenty-third century, Man had drunk his fill of the Solar system. He had wiped his dirty feet on the red planet Mars, Jupiter's Ganymede and Europa, the giant Saturnian satellite Titan, and of course the Moon. The scientific wonder known as terraforming had made none of the local celestial bodies safe from Man's rapist nature.
Everything that made a planet characteristic was systematically erased in the process, as it slowly began to gain the likeness of Mother Earth, the ideal new home for the colonists. An atmosphere of nitrogen and oxygen was manufactured, seas poured in, a blanket of greenery thrown over the surface, and suddenly these so-called pioneers wouldn't have to be making so many adjustments to their lifestyle after all.
And then, with the advent of antimatter engines, Man was no longer confined by technology, or the lack thereof. He had the ability to blast himself through space with brute force, hundreds of times faster than he had ever traveled before. Probes were sent to nearby stars, and Man's knowledge of the galaxy tripled within thirty years. The bacteria culture was about to multiply.
It was, according to standard human logic, the great transcendence of civilisation to the stars. The ultimate application of our rich intelligence. The first real test of our treasured centuries of accumulated knowledge. Minerva would be the medium by which science would stake its claim to the galaxy.
One of the tiny probes had detected that Proxima Centauri, the Sun's closest neighbour, contained a planet not unlike Saturn's Titan, an acceptable target for humanity's first interstellar colonisation. It was dubbed Minerva, and it appeared to be a seemingly lifeless ball of ice. The average temperature was about one-hundred and eighteen degrees below zero, and the atmosphere consisted of mainly nitrogen and carbon dioxide, and was definitely not hospitable to humans. Toxic methane rain and snow were a common occurrence on the surface. Terraforming Minerva would be a major challenge.
The 26 billion kilometre trip was estimated to take close to 11 years at 0.4 light speed, one-way. One hundred and fifty prominent physicists, biologists, geologists, cosmonauts, doctors, architects, builders, pilots and psychologists were rigorously trained for the greatest journey Man had ever made. There were equal numbers of males and females, and each person was between twenty and twenty-five years old, selected according to their level of genetic perfection.
They were shuttled to Europa, where they boarded the gargantuan cruiser and were catapulted into the void. From this point, sheer distance deprived them of communicating with anyone from the Solar system ever again. Eleven years of isolation, surrounded by nothingness from every angle.
The years passed, and the colonists made planetfall. Some were taken aback by the poignantly beautiful landscapes sweeping over Minerva, over what was first thought to be a featureless hostile world. These few colonists took epic journeys over the surface to catch a glimpse of some of the most stunning terrain ever caught by the human eye; rugged mountains, deep gorges and canyons, beautiful methane clouds swirling across a green sky. Others got straight to work at destroying them.
When repeated attempts to terraform the harsh landscape failed, the colonists decided that they could not bear to live in their cramped habitation domes any longer. Construction began on a vast steel infrastructure to completely cover the planet's surface like a second skin, constructed with materials extracted from the interior of Minerva herself. Antimatter warheads flattened mountain ranges in preparation, as a world was bound and gagged in a steely bind. Minerva had nothing or no one that could possibly protect it.
Minerva not only came to contain the greatest city the galaxy had ever seen; it was the city. Colonisation flourished in the Proxima Centauri system following this, as it did throughout Man's corner of the Milky Way. Terraforming spread like a contagious disease. Those worlds that were not remoulded in the likeness of Earth met the same fate as Minerva.
Yet one mountain still resides intact somewhere in the southern hemisphere of what used to be Minerva. Majestically rising above the 30 storey metal crust, it remains a cenotaph to its fallen comrades, and to its dead mother.
one
Although it was 5 million kilometres away, and viewed through polarised glass 30 centimetres thick, Capella's indescribable radiance forced Manuel to take in the view for only a few seconds. The Hermes would reach periapsis in a few seconds, and the external temperature was already nearing six hundred degrees Centigrade. Manuel struggled to loosen the collar of his tight-fitting uniform, sweat beading upon his brow. He sneaked another glimpse of Capella as the ship strayed as close as it dared. Its two million kilometre wide bulk swept by in a few seconds, rapidly fading into the distance.
He slumped back in his chair along with the other crew as the temperature began to drop back to normal. They were all extraordinarily susceptible to heat after being taken out of cryo just an hour ago. For forty years, they had travelled through the blackness of space at a blinding speed. A lifetime for most, barely a moment of sub-consciousness.
He flicked a switch. There was an almost undetectable rumble as the plasma braking thrusters burned. The dim roar slowly increased over the ensuing twenty seconds as they struggled to slow from the incredible speed they had been launched at.
It seemed like it was only about two hours ago that he was making last minute preparations at the launch site. The other crew members and himself had made a sacrifice; they would never return to their lives at home again. They would never contact a human from the known galaxy again.
Colonists were from a rare breed - fanatic, yet sedate, controlled and scientific at the same time. He had taken one more glance over the Europan Launch Centre, and crawled through the hatch into the monster that would kidnap him from everything he had ever known or loved. The mumble of plasma thrusters as he crawled into distant orbit, then a deafening thunder as the antimatter demon struck their craft into 0.8 light speed.
He glanced over to Michael, the Hungarian he had befriended during the training camps before launch. Michael was very much a melancholic. He sat hunched over, cradling his face in his hands. It was understandable. The trip had left the entire crew cheated. Despite preparing themselves psychologically for the shock, it was as if they had just missed out on their entire life. They had left as eager twenty year-olds about an hour and a half ago. Had it not been for the effects of time dilation, they would be geriatric by now. A frightening thought, one that was too much for some.
The thrusters roared now, and the deck began to vibrate. Manuel switched his screen over to bridge view, and their destination sprang into view. The onboard computers glided the Hermes into a comfortable orbit. It was this one moment that nearly justified forty years of travel through the infinity of nothingness. A moment as tangible as a rough pebble you pick up and hold in your hand.
Beyond swirling white clouds, a vast single continent wrapped itself around the planet, surrounded by a strip of deep blue ocean. Deep green jungles blanketed much of the continent, accented by expansive mountain ranges stretching over the north. Capella's light danced over plains, valleys and deep gorges, forming a fractal pattern of incomprehensible complexity. A primeval, pristine landscape. One in a thousand worlds, it was what was termed a natural gaia. Dubbed Elysium, the place of ideal happiness.
two
A flurry of alien foliage slapped past the rover's windshield. Manuel and JoEtta tumbled around the vehicle's front seat as they bounced over rock, root and shrub at sixty kilometres per hour. Manuel caught sight of a small brook, winding its way down the hillside they were ascending. The rover splashed into the ankle-deep water and continued upstream, free of further obstacles.
As they sped up the shallow brook, the Elysian flora cringed. They were far more evolved than the plants that Manuel was accustomed to on Earth. Their sensitive leaves could detect even the slightest disturbance in the environment around them, constantly repositioning their branches to absorb the maximum air and sunlight. It was a truly wondrous sight to watch an entire forest shuffle around in unrest as a gentle breeze ruffled through, or as a rain cloud settled overhead. The colonists were only just starting to scrape the surface of the mysteries of their new home.
Manuel had been an introverted, phlegmatic scientist all of his life, working in particle accelerator laboratories, and experimenting with vague theories. He had never appreciated the full complexity that nature was. He had never travelled, never been camping, he had not even gone fishing with his father. But now a vast infinity of biological perfection unfolded like an embroidery before him. And no matter how closely you looked at the embroidery, it never lost any detail, ever. It seemed that the mood of the entire universe had been codified into one planet; unimaginably large, yet unthinkably small at the same instant.
Yet the moment the long-range space telescopes spotted Elysium, it would never be the same. It had been discovered by the most destructive force in the entire universe. Vastly more consumptive than the greatest black holes, or the most violent supernovae.
Manuel checked his instruments. They were nearing the summit of the hill. He veered the rover out of the brook. It handled nicely. After four hundred years, the four-wheel drive was still the easiest method of maneuvering difficult terrain. He flew over a small rise into an attractive grove of thick trunks. Manuel and JoEtta craned their necks to see the tops of the remarkable hundred metre tall trees.
The collision buzzer whirred as a flat extruding root sprang into view. Manuel kicked hard on the brake pedal. The wheels bit with futility into the ground before the thick root's wall. A collision seemed inevitable, and the two brought their hands up to guard their faces. The rover grated to a stop.
Manuel instictively turned to JoEtta, and when he did he realised that she was doing the same. When he stepped out of the rover, he felt slightly disoriented at first, and then he glanced backwards. They were about twenty metres past the tree. He checked the front of the rover for damage - there was none. He then glanced back at the tree root and froze - there was none.
Exhausted from the day's travel, Manuel put it to fatigue, and they set up camp and rested for the remainder of the day.
That night, a flurry of uninvited thoughts and images bombarded his mind. The thoughts had a concerned tone to them, thoughts that he had not even thought up himself. Almost as if someone was speaking to him and he could not hear the words, but nevertheless, knew exactly what they were saying. An image of the rover incident that day dashed through his neurons, and then he knew what this was.
It was a warning. Someone, or something, was making a concerted effort to threaten him. After several hours of pounding the same message through his mind, he was finally left to his slumber.
The following morning, he told JoEtta. Surprisingly, she believed him.
A few hours later, they recieved a communications feed from the main colony base. They were advised that a few problems were arising with construction and mining. Manuel and JoEtta's assistance was required immediately.
three
It took the pair almost three days to make their way through three thousand kilometres of forest and jungle. They made it out onto the mining plains shortly after four in the afternoon, about twenty kilometres out from the colony base. They decided to stop at a few of the mines along the way.
Every mining operation on the fields was experiencing inexplicable problems of some kind. One mining administrator reported that every morning they stopped drilling for the night, the shaft had filled itself in by the following morning, and the machinery was always neatly arranged beside. Another claimed that all his workers had destroyed the machinery, and the following day they couldn't understand why they did it.
By the time Manuel reached the colony base, he felt he understood what was happening. Somehow, the conventional laws of physics were broken here, if any laws at all could be applied. Manuel had begun to grow tired of science since he had landed here, tired of the arrogant statement of laws that governed the universe. Elysium was defending herself against the scourge of humanity, anyway she could. Elysium was some sort of collective sentient consciousness, he was sure of that now. She wasn't about to let herself, perhaps the only natural and untouched gaia planet in the galaxy, be marred.
Manuel almost could not believe that he was even considering these concepts. Not more than two weeks ago, he had been a devoted follower of science, rigid in his beliefs. But somehow, Elysium had loosened the binds that the primitive assumptions of science had placed on his mind. He was now irrevocably tied to this new belief, and this amazing planet.
When JoEtta and himself arrived at the colony base camp, problems were hurled at him. Every time someone tried to build, they mysteriously never made any progress. Every time someone ventured out to gather food, they went missing. Every time someone left to chop lumber, they also went missing. Water in the streams and rivers had suddenly gone saline, and the colonist's reserves were being quickly depleted. They were being forced off the planet.
So Manuel told them the entire story, and what his explanation for the problems was. He figured that considering their predicament, they would be ready to believe him. He was wrong.
The members of the Colony Council sneered at his hypotheses. Their minds were closed. They remained blind disciples to the blind religion called science. A religion which worshipped mathematical equations applied to the behaviour of nature herself.
The colonists were defeated. Consultations with each of their most valued scientists had yielded no solutions to this new and unfamiliar set of problems. This strange new paradise had bled the colonists dry of all their resources, and was not willing to give up anymore. For once, the exulted religion of science could not offer all of the answers.
And so the colonists were driven from Elysium. The planet spared them. They moved on to a nearby planet, terraforming it to their needs. Nevertheless, they would often look up at the sky to Elysium with longing eyes.
But they could never have her.
epilogue
The plague of cities had infected the far reaches of the galaxy within the ensuing millenium; a mere moment in universal terms. Man's grotesque countenance had been plastered upon the Milky Way. Just as Minerva was stripped on his first steps from the Solar system, tens of thousands of worlds were destroyed with reckless abandon, every species of life upon them annihilated from existence. The human population had exploded to over four quadrillion; eighty trillion tonnes of horrid flesh filling in the holes that Man had ripped. A galaxy's charisma leveled by the bulldozer of progress.
The bacteria culture had infested every corner of the galaxy, nearly impossible to destroy, and difficult to slow. Terraforming eviscerated each star system in turn. Wars raged between the humans over many worlds: these were left burning and unused. Man's thirst for expansion could never be quenched.
And yet, Elysium was never taken. Man abhorred the sight of such a prize that he could never have, and he attempted to take it numerous times. Despite his best efforts, Elysium continued to hang with splendour, a rich sanctuary swimming in a sea of faceless hulks. In a universe of variables, Elysium was a constant.
'God the first garden made, and the first city Cain'
ABRAHAM COWLEY
A colony, a country, a world, a star system, a galaxy. Humanity, the reckless consumer, was not so far different from a culture of bacteria, growing exponentially at every opportunity. Man marvelled at his own intelligence, the one attribute that set him apart from the flora and fauna of the Earth. However, from a broader perspective, he was more akin to the lowliest forms of life. A pet goldfish, in an act of ignorant greed, will continually gorge itself upon the food given to it until its bloated shape inverts and floats to the surface. Science would have liked to think that it knew better than the goldfish.
By the twenty-third century, Man had drunk his fill of the Solar system. He had wiped his dirty feet on the red planet Mars, Jupiter's Ganymede and Europa, the giant Saturnian satellite Titan, and of course the Moon. The scientific wonder known as terraforming had made none of the local celestial bodies safe from Man's rapist nature.
Everything that made a planet characteristic was systematically erased in the process, as it slowly began to gain the likeness of Mother Earth, the ideal new home for the colonists. An atmosphere of nitrogen and oxygen was manufactured, seas poured in, a blanket of greenery thrown over the surface, and suddenly these so-called pioneers wouldn't have to be making so many adjustments to their lifestyle after all.
And then, with the advent of antimatter engines, Man was no longer confined by technology, or the lack thereof. He had the ability to blast himself through space with brute force, hundreds of times faster than he had ever traveled before. Probes were sent to nearby stars, and Man's knowledge of the galaxy tripled within thirty years. The bacteria culture was about to multiply.
It was, according to standard human logic, the great transcendence of civilisation to the stars. The ultimate application of our rich intelligence. The first real test of our treasured centuries of accumulated knowledge. Minerva would be the medium by which science would stake its claim to the galaxy.
One of the tiny probes had detected that Proxima Centauri, the Sun's closest neighbour, contained a planet not unlike Saturn's Titan, an acceptable target for humanity's first interstellar colonisation. It was dubbed Minerva, and it appeared to be a seemingly lifeless ball of ice. The average temperature was about one-hundred and eighteen degrees below zero, and the atmosphere consisted of mainly nitrogen and carbon dioxide, and was definitely not hospitable to humans. Toxic methane rain and snow were a common occurrence on the surface. Terraforming Minerva would be a major challenge.
The 26 billion kilometre trip was estimated to take close to 11 years at 0.4 light speed, one-way. One hundred and fifty prominent physicists, biologists, geologists, cosmonauts, doctors, architects, builders, pilots and psychologists were rigorously trained for the greatest journey Man had ever made. There were equal numbers of males and females, and each person was between twenty and twenty-five years old, selected according to their level of genetic perfection.
They were shuttled to Europa, where they boarded the gargantuan cruiser and were catapulted into the void. From this point, sheer distance deprived them of communicating with anyone from the Solar system ever again. Eleven years of isolation, surrounded by nothingness from every angle.
The years passed, and the colonists made planetfall. Some were taken aback by the poignantly beautiful landscapes sweeping over Minerva, over what was first thought to be a featureless hostile world. These few colonists took epic journeys over the surface to catch a glimpse of some of the most stunning terrain ever caught by the human eye; rugged mountains, deep gorges and canyons, beautiful methane clouds swirling across a green sky. Others got straight to work at destroying them.
When repeated attempts to terraform the harsh landscape failed, the colonists decided that they could not bear to live in their cramped habitation domes any longer. Construction began on a vast steel infrastructure to completely cover the planet's surface like a second skin, constructed with materials extracted from the interior of Minerva herself. Antimatter warheads flattened mountain ranges in preparation, as a world was bound and gagged in a steely bind. Minerva had nothing or no one that could possibly protect it.
Minerva not only came to contain the greatest city the galaxy had ever seen; it was the city. Colonisation flourished in the Proxima Centauri system following this, as it did throughout Man's corner of the Milky Way. Terraforming spread like a contagious disease. Those worlds that were not remoulded in the likeness of Earth met the same fate as Minerva.
Yet one mountain still resides intact somewhere in the southern hemisphere of what used to be Minerva. Majestically rising above the 30 storey metal crust, it remains a cenotaph to its fallen comrades, and to its dead mother.
one
Although it was 5 million kilometres away, and viewed through polarised glass 30 centimetres thick, Capella's indescribable radiance forced Manuel to take in the view for only a few seconds. The Hermes would reach periapsis in a few seconds, and the external temperature was already nearing six hundred degrees Centigrade. Manuel struggled to loosen the collar of his tight-fitting uniform, sweat beading upon his brow. He sneaked another glimpse of Capella as the ship strayed as close as it dared. Its two million kilometre wide bulk swept by in a few seconds, rapidly fading into the distance.
He slumped back in his chair along with the other crew as the temperature began to drop back to normal. They were all extraordinarily susceptible to heat after being taken out of cryo just an hour ago. For forty years, they had travelled through the blackness of space at a blinding speed. A lifetime for most, barely a moment of sub-consciousness.
He flicked a switch. There was an almost undetectable rumble as the plasma braking thrusters burned. The dim roar slowly increased over the ensuing twenty seconds as they struggled to slow from the incredible speed they had been launched at.
It seemed like it was only about two hours ago that he was making last minute preparations at the launch site. The other crew members and himself had made a sacrifice; they would never return to their lives at home again. They would never contact a human from the known galaxy again.
Colonists were from a rare breed - fanatic, yet sedate, controlled and scientific at the same time. He had taken one more glance over the Europan Launch Centre, and crawled through the hatch into the monster that would kidnap him from everything he had ever known or loved. The mumble of plasma thrusters as he crawled into distant orbit, then a deafening thunder as the antimatter demon struck their craft into 0.8 light speed.
He glanced over to Michael, the Hungarian he had befriended during the training camps before launch. Michael was very much a melancholic. He sat hunched over, cradling his face in his hands. It was understandable. The trip had left the entire crew cheated. Despite preparing themselves psychologically for the shock, it was as if they had just missed out on their entire life. They had left as eager twenty year-olds about an hour and a half ago. Had it not been for the effects of time dilation, they would be geriatric by now. A frightening thought, one that was too much for some.
The thrusters roared now, and the deck began to vibrate. Manuel switched his screen over to bridge view, and their destination sprang into view. The onboard computers glided the Hermes into a comfortable orbit. It was this one moment that nearly justified forty years of travel through the infinity of nothingness. A moment as tangible as a rough pebble you pick up and hold in your hand.
Beyond swirling white clouds, a vast single continent wrapped itself around the planet, surrounded by a strip of deep blue ocean. Deep green jungles blanketed much of the continent, accented by expansive mountain ranges stretching over the north. Capella's light danced over plains, valleys and deep gorges, forming a fractal pattern of incomprehensible complexity. A primeval, pristine landscape. One in a thousand worlds, it was what was termed a natural gaia. Dubbed Elysium, the place of ideal happiness.
two
A flurry of alien foliage slapped past the rover's windshield. Manuel and JoEtta tumbled around the vehicle's front seat as they bounced over rock, root and shrub at sixty kilometres per hour. Manuel caught sight of a small brook, winding its way down the hillside they were ascending. The rover splashed into the ankle-deep water and continued upstream, free of further obstacles.
As they sped up the shallow brook, the Elysian flora cringed. They were far more evolved than the plants that Manuel was accustomed to on Earth. Their sensitive leaves could detect even the slightest disturbance in the environment around them, constantly repositioning their branches to absorb the maximum air and sunlight. It was a truly wondrous sight to watch an entire forest shuffle around in unrest as a gentle breeze ruffled through, or as a rain cloud settled overhead. The colonists were only just starting to scrape the surface of the mysteries of their new home.
Manuel had been an introverted, phlegmatic scientist all of his life, working in particle accelerator laboratories, and experimenting with vague theories. He had never appreciated the full complexity that nature was. He had never travelled, never been camping, he had not even gone fishing with his father. But now a vast infinity of biological perfection unfolded like an embroidery before him. And no matter how closely you looked at the embroidery, it never lost any detail, ever. It seemed that the mood of the entire universe had been codified into one planet; unimaginably large, yet unthinkably small at the same instant.
Yet the moment the long-range space telescopes spotted Elysium, it would never be the same. It had been discovered by the most destructive force in the entire universe. Vastly more consumptive than the greatest black holes, or the most violent supernovae.
Manuel checked his instruments. They were nearing the summit of the hill. He veered the rover out of the brook. It handled nicely. After four hundred years, the four-wheel drive was still the easiest method of maneuvering difficult terrain. He flew over a small rise into an attractive grove of thick trunks. Manuel and JoEtta craned their necks to see the tops of the remarkable hundred metre tall trees.
The collision buzzer whirred as a flat extruding root sprang into view. Manuel kicked hard on the brake pedal. The wheels bit with futility into the ground before the thick root's wall. A collision seemed inevitable, and the two brought their hands up to guard their faces. The rover grated to a stop.
Manuel instictively turned to JoEtta, and when he did he realised that she was doing the same. When he stepped out of the rover, he felt slightly disoriented at first, and then he glanced backwards. They were about twenty metres past the tree. He checked the front of the rover for damage - there was none. He then glanced back at the tree root and froze - there was none.
Exhausted from the day's travel, Manuel put it to fatigue, and they set up camp and rested for the remainder of the day.
That night, a flurry of uninvited thoughts and images bombarded his mind. The thoughts had a concerned tone to them, thoughts that he had not even thought up himself. Almost as if someone was speaking to him and he could not hear the words, but nevertheless, knew exactly what they were saying. An image of the rover incident that day dashed through his neurons, and then he knew what this was.
It was a warning. Someone, or something, was making a concerted effort to threaten him. After several hours of pounding the same message through his mind, he was finally left to his slumber.
The following morning, he told JoEtta. Surprisingly, she believed him.
A few hours later, they recieved a communications feed from the main colony base. They were advised that a few problems were arising with construction and mining. Manuel and JoEtta's assistance was required immediately.
three
It took the pair almost three days to make their way through three thousand kilometres of forest and jungle. They made it out onto the mining plains shortly after four in the afternoon, about twenty kilometres out from the colony base. They decided to stop at a few of the mines along the way.
Every mining operation on the fields was experiencing inexplicable problems of some kind. One mining administrator reported that every morning they stopped drilling for the night, the shaft had filled itself in by the following morning, and the machinery was always neatly arranged beside. Another claimed that all his workers had destroyed the machinery, and the following day they couldn't understand why they did it.
By the time Manuel reached the colony base, he felt he understood what was happening. Somehow, the conventional laws of physics were broken here, if any laws at all could be applied. Manuel had begun to grow tired of science since he had landed here, tired of the arrogant statement of laws that governed the universe. Elysium was defending herself against the scourge of humanity, anyway she could. Elysium was some sort of collective sentient consciousness, he was sure of that now. She wasn't about to let herself, perhaps the only natural and untouched gaia planet in the galaxy, be marred.
Manuel almost could not believe that he was even considering these concepts. Not more than two weeks ago, he had been a devoted follower of science, rigid in his beliefs. But somehow, Elysium had loosened the binds that the primitive assumptions of science had placed on his mind. He was now irrevocably tied to this new belief, and this amazing planet.
When JoEtta and himself arrived at the colony base camp, problems were hurled at him. Every time someone tried to build, they mysteriously never made any progress. Every time someone ventured out to gather food, they went missing. Every time someone left to chop lumber, they also went missing. Water in the streams and rivers had suddenly gone saline, and the colonist's reserves were being quickly depleted. They were being forced off the planet.
So Manuel told them the entire story, and what his explanation for the problems was. He figured that considering their predicament, they would be ready to believe him. He was wrong.
The members of the Colony Council sneered at his hypotheses. Their minds were closed. They remained blind disciples to the blind religion called science. A religion which worshipped mathematical equations applied to the behaviour of nature herself.
The colonists were defeated. Consultations with each of their most valued scientists had yielded no solutions to this new and unfamiliar set of problems. This strange new paradise had bled the colonists dry of all their resources, and was not willing to give up anymore. For once, the exulted religion of science could not offer all of the answers.
And so the colonists were driven from Elysium. The planet spared them. They moved on to a nearby planet, terraforming it to their needs. Nevertheless, they would often look up at the sky to Elysium with longing eyes.
But they could never have her.
epilogue
The plague of cities had infected the far reaches of the galaxy within the ensuing millenium; a mere moment in universal terms. Man's grotesque countenance had been plastered upon the Milky Way. Just as Minerva was stripped on his first steps from the Solar system, tens of thousands of worlds were destroyed with reckless abandon, every species of life upon them annihilated from existence. The human population had exploded to over four quadrillion; eighty trillion tonnes of horrid flesh filling in the holes that Man had ripped. A galaxy's charisma leveled by the bulldozer of progress.
The bacteria culture had infested every corner of the galaxy, nearly impossible to destroy, and difficult to slow. Terraforming eviscerated each star system in turn. Wars raged between the humans over many worlds: these were left burning and unused. Man's thirst for expansion could never be quenched.
And yet, Elysium was never taken. Man abhorred the sight of such a prize that he could never have, and he attempted to take it numerous times. Despite his best efforts, Elysium continued to hang with splendour, a rich sanctuary swimming in a sea of faceless hulks. In a universe of variables, Elysium was a constant.
