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Part Eleven:
From Dirt

Underground. Soil, dirt, moisture. Darkness. It ought to be a home to roots, which give life to that which lies on the surface, but instead it is home to The Low City, and in turn The Low City is home to its disparate people. The soil bears no roots, now. There are some hardy types of flora which remain on the surface, but the scraggly desperate sprawls of roots they spread do not spread far below the surface. Understandable as, down to roughly one hundred metres, the soil itself is even more poisoned than the air.The laws of nature which support nothing but survival of the fittest, have dictated that plants which draw their main sustenance from the sun and air, not the soil, will be the ones to survive. Not thrive- never thrive, really- but survive. As ever, the best one can hope for in this dead world. The Low City is sunk into the ground, sprawling and tunnelling and expanding, in much the same way as the roots which should be there instead. But these roots are attached to nothing. They are severed at the point where they meet the air, where they should meet the body of a thriving plant. The Low City, and its people, are a severed root structure, the only roots left in the soil of the world and, like a severed root structure, eventually they will die. 

 

The residents of the city would prefer it if that didn’t happen. And so some of them fight, in their own ways, as much as they can, as hard as they can. Now, the word “terraforming” does not exist in the Low City per se, in any of its many languages. But the concept exists; of course it does, after all it has already happened once. The surface world was once a place where people in all their many forms could live, rather than just survive. It is the belief- or perhaps just hope- of some that this can be the case once more. That the disastrous atmospheric collapse that drove the Low City’s citizens below ground can be undone. Scientists, Farmers, Alchemists; their skillsets and even levels of competence are varied, but different as they may be they are united in their task: to make a garden of the toxic remains of their world, that their children’s children’s children might step foot upon its surface again. 

 

The Terraformers, as we shall informally refer to this informal collection of scientific dreamers, have been around in one form or another for almost as long as The Low City has- depending on your definition. After all, the underground world was hardly a hospitable place for the vast majority of residents when the City was founded- not that it has become a particularly hospitable place in the time since. Oxygen needed to be generated and pumped throughout the tunnels, sustainable food sources needed to be cultivated, sources of smokeless light needed to be developed. And in time, all of these problems were solved: the Lesh distributed the strange fleshy tubes which act as the City’s lungs; the Grib developed tubers and fungi that could thrive in the lightless caves far from the sun; the Umbressi perfected the chemical combinations for their Phosphor Lamps, using accessible materials to create light without also creating smoke or irritants. Perhaps “Terraforming” is overstating these accomplishments somewhat, but it cannot be denied that the people of the Low City are adept at adapting their environment to their needs, just as they adapt to it. And so, the logic goes, why couldn’t they undo the catastrophe which robbed them of the surface world? All it is, is a difference in scale. And so, they work.

 

There are, and have been, a number of different attempts at finding ways to terraform the surface world. Most understand that such an immense task requires small steps, and so very few have involved actually venturing to the surface for long periods. Those that have were less “scientists performing an experiment” and more “cultists attempting to invoke a miracle”, and went about as well as you’d expect. The remains of ill-thought out and ill-fated structures and gardens can barely be distinguished among the weeds and wreckage of the old world; they’d have had better luck trying to colonise one of the moons. More reputable and successful projects tend to take place in controlled conditions underground, where the variables can be noted and adjusted.

One such reputable project is underway now, and has been for some years. It is called “The Farm” in several languages, because that is more or less what it is: an attempt to cultivate crops that are useful to the Low City, which can survive in the toxic environment of the surface. All crops and plants which currently grow in the Low City fall into one of two camps: plants which already grew deep underground, and thus were unaffected by the scouring of the surface, and surface plants which have been made to thrive in the artificial environment of the Low City. Now, the Terraformers of The Farm are working to reverse-engineer Low City plants to survive on the surface. There is nothing alive on the surface now that resembles any of these plants, as all that lives there now is strange and unfamiliar: red weeds and moulds that have thrived in the absence of all else. The Terraformers hope to change that: the tubers that are grown in The Farm now are a proof of concept for what may be possible in the future. If they can make Low City tubers survive on the surface, perhaps in the future they will be able to populate the surface with other plants and life forms, which will in turn leech the toxins from the air and allow for even more new life forms, a virtuous cycle that might, one day, lead to Lesh and Skitterling and Umbressi feet setting foot on the surface once more, without need for pressurised suits. 

 

Perhaps, in the future.

 

For now, the Terraformers work. The Farm is located in a small series of caverns near to the surface, and is serviced by a unique ventilation system: one consisting both of the fleshy tubes which distribute breathable air throughout the Low City, and pipes leading directly to the surface, where toxic air is pumped down in careful quantities. With these, the Terraformers maintain and iterate on a number of experiments- largely botanical. The general consensus among Terraformers is that plant life represents their best avenue for rejuvenating the surface: if they can create and then propagate species that will take in the toxic surface elements and output breathable ones, they may be able to- over a very long timescale- tip the balance enough that the air will become breathable, once again. Each of The Farm’s chambers is home to a different experiment: some are based around making Low City plants capable of surviving on the surface, whereas some are based around making the surface world’s primary flora- the red-tinged weeds and moulds that choke the ground far above- capable of surviving in the Low City’s antique atmosphere. Through careful experimentation, modification, hybridisation, the Terraformers seek to create something new, to recreate the old. And mostly, they fail. Plants die, if they even take root. Hypotheses fail, if they can even be called hypotheses. Terraformers give up, and move on, if they can even be called Terraformers when they have so resoundingly failed to terraform even a small cave, let alone a world. They fail, and fail, and fail. Not even the donation of computing machines from Lesh benefactors, relatively powerful devices with which they can perform equations and even run simulations. Because what they are attempting is difficult, if it is even possible. Certainly it has never been done before, not on purpose. They are attempting not just to do something, but to undo something they barely understand, a change that happened generations upon generations before they were born, and was not understood even then. 

 

Like many Terraformers, Robust/Crisp/Lingering is a Grib. Their upbringing in the tuber farms gave them a good understanding of how plants work, and their ambition made them a poor fit for farming, and so they have become a member of the Terraformers. The concept of a “Rising Star” isn’t one that usually applies to members of the Terraformers, as there are very few breakthroughs to be had and it is unlikely that more than one will come from a single individual. But despite this- and despite the fact that they have no true breakthroughs under her belt as of yet- Robust/Crisp/Lingering is already seen by some of their peers as the future of their field, the one who will bring Terraforming from a dream to reality. They have the boldness, passion and drive, the radical ideas, that are the mark of a true prodigy. As a child, barely out of the nursing pool, they were already gifted with the green thumb: several of their childhood innovations were implemented in the tuber farms, where they remain in use to this day. By the time they were old enough to be taken seriously by the Terraformers, Robust/Crisp/Lingering had already independently recreated- or at least hypothesised- several breakthroughs that the Terraformers were most proud of. Their understanding of the task at hand is unparalleled, second nature. Certainly, they will need help: science, progress of any kind, is rarely something that can be attributed to one person alone, and there are many other brilliant minds working toward the same goals as them, who taught them and continue to inspire them. But if Terraforming is possible, if the dream of a green surface can become reality, everyone agrees that it is Robust/Crisp/Lingering who will be the one to make it so. 

 

Everyone except for Robust/CrispLingering, that is. Because while for others their genius is a source of hope for the future, for Robust/Crisp/Lingering it is quite the opposite. As their understanding of the task to which they have dedicated their life has grown, so too has grown a fear within them. Their incredible, near-unrivalled understanding of the task which the Terraformers have set themselves has, in recent months, shown them not a path forward but instead a dead end. The toxification of the surface is simply too ill understood, the resources and technology required beyond the reach of their small informal organisation- perhaps beyond the grasp of the entire Low City, if it could ever be united behind this common goal. And it is very hard to get the average person invested in the concept of Terraforming, after all: even if some great breakthrough was found, and the surface could be seeded with plants that detoxified it, the timescale involved would be incredible. In the best case scenario, healing the world would take generations, the grandchildren of those alive today would not live to breathe Terraformed air. There is, Robust/Crisp/Lingering has slowly but surely come to believe, simply no way to do it.

 

One day, as Robust/Crisp/Lingering is leaving The Farm after a long day of tending to the latest crop of promising-but-ultimately-useless seedlings, a colleague interrupts them. Have they seen it yet, he asks? Seen what, Robust/Crisp/Lingering responds. The latest image from The Observatory. On their way home, Robust/Crisp/Lingering stops by a market and gets a chance to see the image for themself, and it is exactly as their colleague described: in the image, the moons and sun are sliding out of conjunction with one another, the conclusion of the Double Eclipse which had occurred some weeks prior. But the image does not focus on the sun, nor the moons: instead, the focus is on a float of Gasbags that have drifted in front of the sun seemingly by sheer coincidence. At first, Robust/Crisp/Lingering is confused by the image, as surely this is not the image that the Observatory had intended to create. But as they look at that image, at the Gasbags it depicts, an idea begins to form. At first softly, gently, then all in a rush at once, as if Robust/Crisp/Lingering had stared directly into the sun itself. An idea that could change the nature of their work forever.

 

The next day, the other workers of The Farm arrive to discover that Robust/Crisp/Lingering has been there all night. When asked what they are working on, Robust/Crisp/Lingering is vague, cagey with the details, in a way they have never been before. Everyone can tell that they are on to something, but as they work away at equations and formulas on their typewriters and adding machines, feeding data into the Lesh computing machines and reading the simulated outputs before running them again with new parameters, their dextrous Grib fingers dancing across the keys in what would be called a frenzy were it any less controlled, precise, Robust/Crisp/Lingering will tell nobody what they are working on. Their excitement is obvious, infectious, and the moods of their colleagues, of The Farm as a whole, is lifted with them as they all feel like their Rising Star has finally cracked it, solved the central problem that they have dedicated their lives to. This goes on for days, as Robust/Crisp/Lingering works on and on, seeming never to sleep, to eat, their whole being dedicated to the work. Then one day, without warning, Robust/Crisp/Lingering departs The Farm. Those who saw them leave say that they did so with purpose, with energy and excitement- though where they were going, none could say. All awaited their return with excitement, as surely this was it! Surely the secrets of Terraforming were about to unfold before their eyes!


Robust/Crisp/Lingering never returned to The Farm. The day after they departed, the Terraformers were alarmed and scandalised when a team of Lesh, leading an impassively intimidating squad of Golnur Drones, arrived at The Farm and took away all of Robust/Crisp/Lingering’s notes, their possessions, all trace that they had been there but for an uneaten lunch with their name on it in the communal kitchen. They explained little, only that Robust/Crisp/Lingering would not be returning, and that their work would not be released for the rest of the Terraformers to analyse. And then they departed, and with them all that Robust/Crisp/Lingering had brought to the Terraformers: their work, but also the hope that they instilled in their colleagues. The Terraformers had lost their Rising Star, and though their work continues, the hopelessness that Robust/Crisp/Lingering had begun to feel has found its way into their hearts as well. It wasn’t only that they had lost Robust/Crisp/Lingering: it was that they didn’t know why, that there was another unanswered question on top of the ones they grappled with every day. Sometimes, though never out loud, some of them admit that they are afraid to learn whatever Robust/Crisp/Lingering did, which led to their disappearance. But how can they know what not to know, when they don’t know what Robust/Crisp/Lingering knew?

 

Would you like to know? It would be unsatisfying not to, to reach the end of this story without learning what forbidden thing Robust/Crisp/Lingering did, although perhaps that is in the spirit of the thing. That, however, is a story that deserves to be told on its own, as its own tale, its own lesson. Suffice to know this: that day, when Robust/Crisp/Lingering left The Farm in such excitement, they went up- not all the way to the surface, but almost as close as a Low City denizen safely can. They went to the tunnels of the Gasbags, or Hohi as they call themselves, where they observed the strange floating creatures as they drifted about in their unknowable way. Robust/Crisp/Lingering had, over the last several days, retrieved all of the information about the Hohi that could be accessed in the database they had access to. It had not yet confirmed their hypothesis, but it had made it seem more and more likely: that the key to Terraforming may lie in the nature of the Hohi, who could survive both in the toxic surface air and below ground, where the atmosphere more resembled the old world. If Robust/Crisp/Lingering could just understand how this worked, how they could live in both worlds, perhaps they could find a way to- 

 

A tap on Robust/Crisp/Lingering’s shoulder. They turned around, and found themself looking into the cold black eyes of a Lesh official, flanked by Golnur Drones. Robust/Crisp/Lingering was led away from the Hohi territory, into the Lesh Ministry, into a cold and dark room where they were left to wonder, to worry, at what had led them to this point. After a time, the door to that room opened, and a different Lesh entered accompanied by an Umbressi- one which Robust/Crisp/Lingering recognised as Faserai, one of the most respected Umbressi engineers alive today. The Lesh introduced himself as Phlaighin, and Robust/Crisp/Lingering realised they were looking at one of the most prominent members of the Ministry, the man who oversaw public order. The poor Grib was becoming more confused, more afraid, by the minute. What had they done that had led them here, that could bring the attention of people such as this upon them? And then Phlaighin and Faserai explained.

Again, the story they told Robust/Crisp/Lingering is one which deserves its own telling, and that telling will come in time. But suffice to say that Robust/Crisp/Lingering was told… was convinced… that their work had become dangerous. Too dangerous to continue. The stability of the Low City had been put at risk- innocently, with the best intentions in the world- by the Grib’s quest to fix the surface. And they would have to abandon their research. Robust/Crisp/Lingering denied, bargained, became angry then despondent… then in that cold dark room they accepted the wisdom of their betters. They were offered the chance to continue their work with the Terraformers, so long as it went in a different direction, and though this was a genuine kindness offered in earnest Robust/Crisp/Lingering could not accept it. They left the ministry that day, and left their old life. The dream they had held for so long was not dead, necessarily, but poisoned by what they had learned. 

 

They live now in a small Farm all of their own. They do not seek to create Terraforming plants, now, but simply better crops. More resilient, more nutritious, hypoallergenic. All good things that benefit others. But they benefit those who live now, and in the immediate future. Not the distant descendants of descendants. They smile as they look at the rows and rows of tubers, gently lit by phosphor lamps in their quiet little corner of the ancient Low City. It is a good life. Perhaps not what it could have been, but sometimes it is better to accept what is than what might be. Perhaps someday that will change. There is always change coming just around the corner, after all, hidden just out of sight, in the dark and secret-filled tunnels of the Low City.

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