[MV] The Super Wizard From Space #60: A Moment, Before We Get To The Last Story Of My Only Daughter...

[wilalambre at gmail.com]

# THE SUPER WIZARD FROM SPACE # 60

He'll head toward Genovefa. Maybe not immediately, but inevitably. She
can't hide from him any more than he can avoid her. The Cosmic Crowns draw
them together. Its a drive. Its a _feverish heat_.

## A Moment, Before We Get To The Last Story Of My Only Daughter...

Most... _things_ originate from nothing more that an idea. Usually a stupid
idea, or at least one that isn't given clear thought. That idea is given
form by way of messy biology or mechanical contrivance. It gets assembled
from small bits of mass, layering more and more atop itself. It aims for a
pre-determined mould, and when it reaches minimum viability, its released
_out_, shrieking and screaming and helpless. If it has luck on its side, it
falls into the trappings of some sentimental societial constructs that are
ready to help cultivate it.

Not so with my Genovefa. _My_ Genovefa... from here, I can reach Back and
gently caress her cheek, helping settle her in her orbital cradle. She was
already _billions_ of years old before her 'birth'. The magnificent child
of a _strong_ star system, tucked safely under the nucleur center of a
spiral galaxy. She was a terrestial world, you know, just big enough not to
be called a mesoplanet. And she had a hidden _density_ under her mantle,
enough to be the envy of any of her larger titanic siblings. It made her
gravity crushing. Cruel. Demanding of respect.

Oh, she had life on her, sure. She was practically crawling with the stuff.
Compact oceans full of flat crawling desperation. Vast green expanses of
stubborn mosses. Countless types microbial slimes pooling in yonic
crevaces. But she herself, no, she wasn't _alive_. Not until the Monster
Bees came.

They're an ancient... hmm... well, let's be generous and call them a
'species'. They go from world to world to world, race to race to race,
turning whole populations into more of themselves. With just a sting, they
introduce an aggressive toxin that reorganizes matter - _any_ sort of
matter - that transforms their victims into more Monster Bees.
Individually, they live energetic, condensed little lives. As a whole,
they're a _pervasive_ breed. They spread fast, they fracture often, they
move like plague clouds amoungst superclusters.

When they gather into colonies, they instinctively seek out two things: a
queen and a hive. More than an just an authority figure, the queen becomes
the prefontal cortex of their entire neural network; she literally gives
them _will_ and _want_, understanding and direction and _desire_. A hive,
on the other hand, is their place of safety. Its usually a secure world
where the colony can grow and evolve in stolid complexity. In Genovefa,
they had found _both_.

But, see, a single object the size of an entire planet...? Too massive for
their toxin to transform. Even with the lot of them, all stinging the
surface, all at the same time, all of them giving up their _lives_ in the
act. It wasn't possible. Not until they acquired the _Grand Feather_, one
of the _Cosmic Crowns_. One of my vestigial twins. Of seven total. With
just _one_ of these incredible artifacts, it _was_ possible. With the Grand
Feather jabbed into a basalt field, with its _histories_ and its _stories_
called to bear, with its raw _cosmic power_ to keep the transformation
stable...

Oh, if you could have _seen_ it. It was _miraculous_. Watching her tectonic
plates settling into dermal shells. Feeling her silicate mantle flex into
geological muscle. Hearing her iron core beat with seismic thunder. She
didn't shriek. She didn't scream. Not like so many small, miserable things
thrust into cold empty existance. She was born with _purpose_ and
_nobility_.

I hope...  I hope she didn't think poorly of me. If she thought of me at
all, that is. When she realized how unique she was, how _lonely_ that
promised to be, I wish I was able to comfort her, to whisper lullabies, to
let her know _someone_ loved her. Even now, I want little more than to just
push the Present aside, to hold her, to tell her that it's going to be okay.

But I don't. I stay in the Now. It wouldn't make a difference, anyway. Her
story's... it's too _big_ to ever have had a happy ending.

She had her own children, after a fashion. The Monster Bees, they swarmed
to her, finding shelter and submission under her wing. Billions and
billions and _billions_ of them. On her surface they constructed sprawling
metropolises of wax and silver, geometric arrays in senary spirals, fractal
networks of crystalline arches stretching from one pole to the other. They
_adorned_ her with beauty and function, and in return, she bequeathed them
a stern maternal tolerance. They were more than subjects. They were her
volition. Her _dominance_.

It shouldn't surprise you that _everyone_ was deathly afraid of her.
Everyone, every miserable living creature, everywhere, Then and Now and
what little feverish, burning Future I leave them with. And yes, they were
_right_ to be afraid of her. Even the other great super-races, even with
their super-champions bearing the other Cosmic Crowns, they were
_terrified_ of her. Even amoungst their numbers and all their incredible
power, she was without peer!

_She_ was the one that defeated the Gravity Wraiths, crushing them under
her own magnitude. { Cosmic Tales Of The Incredible #4 }

_She_ was the one that finally caged the Secret Living Language after it
consumed its own galaxy, drowning that tiny idea in the ocean of her
thoughts. { Space Terrors #12 }

And it was _she_ who halted the Super Warlock tide at the end, unaffected
by their space-greed diesease because she wanted for nothing. { Crisis Of
The Super Warlocks #1-6 }

Massive in scale. In size. In power. In authority. In _every_ measurement.
In _every_ definition. The other super-races, her so-call 'peers', they
couldn't understand her. They could barely _comprehend_ her. They couldn't
even _talk_ to her unless she _lowered_ herself to their level - a humanoid
facsimile to ease their expectations - and even _then_, even through
hologram technology and across astronomical distance, she still
_overwhelmed_ them. Like _god_ speaking to mice through string.

So try to imagine what she thought, what she _felt_, when one of those
mice, those insects, those tiny crawling creeping _parasites_, when one of
them _broke a planet in half_. To have your sense of self shattered. To be
immortal one moment, and the next, not. To learn you, _you_, could _die_.

Did she feel helpless, do you think? Had she ever felt helpless before
then?  Had circumstances ever been so far out of her influence? Had she
ever felt so temporary? Could _you_ blame her for being _scared_?

Well, _I_ could. Of course I could. Oh, don't look at me that way. A parent
can't always turn a blind eye to the poor behaviour of a child. And, I'm
sorry to admit, she was the _epitome_ of a spoiled child. For all the
regality she draped herself in, her actions throughout the Cosmic
Tournament was _deplorable_.

And her own children could sense it, too. She couldn't hide the ugliness
from them, even if she could manage to hide it from herself. Their perfect
queen had a _flaw_. Their hive, their home, it wasn't the safe haven it was
supposed to be. So the Monster Bees did what their instincts demanded of
them: they went looking for replacements. They _abandoned_ her.

In desperation, she turned to others. The final deal she made was with the
Super Wizard governing parliament. They were facing their own end, after a
fashion, and they were just as desperate. But even then, in her last hour
of need, even when she was all but _begging_ for help, she _still_ treated
her allies as inferiors. I mean, yes, okay, technically they _were_ lesser
beings compared to her, but, come on, that's no way to ask anyone to save
your life. If you treat the people you count on like dirt, don't be
surprised when they throw it back in your face.

At least she went down swinging. Isn't that what ultimately drives all that
squirming and breeding and eating and pissing and everything that life
_is_? That instinctual refusal to lie down and give up. To scrap and claw
and fight for each extra moment of existence. To spit in the eye of your
own death, to go for the jugular when he's blinded.

I've watched that last fight play out countless times. Between individuals.
Between tribal groups. Between entire civilizations. From the darwinistic
struggles of microbes to the star-spanning wars of ageless species. From
the very start of Then, to every far-flung moment of Now, to my final,
fiery End.

But... even no one's ever seen anything like _this_.
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