Tales of the New Age: Mother of the Deep
Posted on Mon Aug 31st, 2026 @ 12:59pm by Bomoor Thort & Darth Serus
8,531 words; about a 43 minute read
Chapter:
Additional Stories
Location: Ocean Trench, South East of Urwala coast, Öetrago
Timeline: Late 1218 ABY
This tale takes place in late 1218 ABY on the Outer Rim world of Öetrago, the waves still carried the aftershocks of the Öetragrow corporation’s downfall. While the wider galaxy reeled from the Bastion document, the Partom Herd faced a quieter but more immediate crisis: the slow dying of their oceans. Around the southern Urwala land mass, the waters had shifted: nutrients collapsing, flora thinning, fauna vanishing. Research pointed to a single source: a deep trench far below the reach of ordinary vessels. And so an expedition was launched.
The outer hull of the specially designed underwater vessel groaned gently as it settled into the pressure of the depths. The sound travelled through the cabin like a slow, resonant shiver, reminding the crew just how far from the surface they already were. A faint vibration hummed beneath their boots as the engines adjusted, and the soft amber glow of the interior lights flickered in response to the shifting pressure.
It was a marvel of collaborative engineering from the naval architects of the Partom Herd, who had come together to develop this specialised vessel that could descend to depths never before explored on Öetrago. While the herd members were known to be proficient ocean farers, they rarely had need to build submersibles, as the many fruits of the planet were available right on the surface. But years of collaboration with races that lived in the depths - Gungans, Quarrens and others - meant they were able to design a suitable vessel quickly for this expedition.
Constructed primarily of Agrinium, with a central durasteel core to withstand even the most extreme pressure, the rounded submarine could descend at an impressive speed. The organic life inside was protected by a hydrostatic field generator that counteracted compression and kept the interior at near-standard atmospheric pressure. At the front, a specially treated curved transparisteel view port allowed the crew to peer into the darkening waters ahead, illuminated only by the pale cones of the navigational lights. The expedition team had dubbed the vessel 'The Hope Pod', as it carried their hopes for a cure for their current troubles down into the briny deep.
At the vessel’s helm, peering out into that very deep, was a middle-aged Mon Calamari man: Ean Gulomi, chosen to lead the expedition for the Herd due to his previous sub-nautical experience recovering and breaking down ocean wrecks across the planet. His large, reflective eyes caught the shifting blues outside the view port, and his webbed fingers moved with quiet confidence across the controls. He had joined the Herd around ten years ago after initially contracting for Mooko City, but found he liked life out here; contributing to the community, working with the tides rather than against them.
Beside him, attempting to calm his nerves with a meditative hum, was the Partom Herd leader, Oni Jecku: an Ithorian, as most Herd Leaders were, and also a semi-proficient mystic and healer. He had insisted on coming along to contribute his wisdom and spiritual knowledge, but the older man seemed to regret every moment since volunteering to take the plunge. He sat away from the view port, clasping his grey-brown hands together tightly, throat-sacs fluttering with each uneasy breath.
The final member of the expedition was a Selkath marine biologist, Tsuu Loth, who had extensively studied the oceanic changes that had led to the discovery of this trench as the point of origin. She was a slender young female with thin flowing head tendrils that she currently had neatly curled up into something resembling a bob, so they would not interfere with the deep-sea helmet she anticipated donning soon. Her skin was a deep, vibrant blue with darker speckles across the wide bridge of her nose and face, and the cabin lights gave her a faint bioluminescent sheen.
It was she who spoke first, her raspy Basic was dulled slightly by the hydrostatic field.
"Captain Gulomi," she spoke with a nervous excitement beneath the surface of her voice, "We must be getting close to the source now. The sensors are picking up high concentrations of the chemicals we’ve been tracking around the region. Plankton levels are almost non-existent."
Behind them, Patriarch Jecku groaned faintly, "Something is wrong down here. The order of things is out of balance," he spoke in Ithorese, which his crewmates understood, "Whether it’s unsanctioned terraforming or corporate dumping... this place feels wounded. Perhaps we should have sent a droid instead."
Tsuu whipped around, mouth tendrils twitching and her beady eyes frowning at her leader, "Don't be like that Father Jecku! This planet was not settled on the backs of droid labour, but on people like us, charting it, studying it, living it... step by step!"
She turned to Gulomi, her tone brightening, "I'm sure our adventurous captain here would agree!"
Gulomi's broad mouth eased into a faint Mon Cal smile, the corners of it barely visible beneath the weathered folds of his face.
"I have learned," he said evenly, eyes still fixed through the curved transparisteel, "that if the scientist is excited, I should probably pay attention. If the scientist is frightened..." His large eyes drifted briefly towards Tsuu before returning to the endless blue beyond the hull. "...I should definitely pay attention."
The smile lingered for only a moment before fading back into quiet concentration. His webbed fingers rested comfortably upon the controls, making the smallest of corrections as The Hope Pod continued her descent. She answered every touch with the steady confidence of a vessel built by people who understood the sea. He appreciated that. Spacecraft were forever fighting against the vacuum, but a good submersible learned to live with the ocean instead.
"That said," he continued, his voice carrying the relaxed cadence of someone who had spent far too many hours in confined cockpits, "Father Jecku is not wrong, either. There are places where the instruments tell you everything is perfectly normal - and your instincts tell you to turn around."
His shoulders lifted in a small shrug beneath the heavy, grey leather jacket that he stubbornly continued to wear despite the warm cabin. The old bomber coat had seen salt water, engine grease, blaster scoring and enough hurried repairs that scarcely any two panels still matched. Officially, it had belonged to the New Dac defences forces. Unofficially, it had belonged to Ean Gulomi for almost thirty years.
For a few quiet seconds only the low hum of the engines filled the cabin. The captain adjusted the trim, allowing the submersible to settle into a slower, more deliberate descent. Beyond the viewport, the last remnants of natural light were surrendering to the darkness, the ocean around them becoming an endless cathedral of deep blue. Suspended particles drifted lazily through the beams of their lamps like dust caught within sunlight, though here there was no sun to speak of. Only pressure and silence.
"I will always trust the scientist," Gulomi said eventually, the faintest hint of humour returning to his voice. "Just don't expect me to stop asking awkward questions." His large eyes flicked sideways towards Tsuu. "Besides... if whatever is waiting for us down there decides to eat somebody, experience tells me it is almost always the one carrying the datapad."
Tsuu's needle sharp teeth clenched into a subtle grin as she tucked away a datapad into her equipment satchel before rustling around for something else inside.
"Oh, well if that is true," she said, her tone brightening, "It will really wind them up when I start using this..."
She produced a small remote with a wide fish‑eye lens on the front. Even from the way she held it, it was clear the device was more well‑weighted than a standard probe droid. Its casing tapered into sleek fins, and tiny mechanical thrusters lined its underside like the gills of a metal fish. No repulsorlifts could be seen - this thing was built to swim.
"I call him Little Hope," she said proudly, turning the device side to side so the others could examine its unique design, "Like this pod!"
"That's a relief," Jecku allowed himself a dry chuckle, "I thought for a moment it was named after our chances of success!"
The Selkath scientist turned abruptly to protest, but the older Ithorian raised both hands.
"Only a jest, child. Tell us about your plan."
Allowing a brief huff of air through her nostrils, she carried on.
"Well, this probe droid is designed to capture as much footage and data as possible once we get down there. It can operate at tremendous pressures and propels itself through the water like a tiny submersible. I have been sending probes like this down into the depths for years now but, for some reason, this is the one place where they have failed to return from. That's precisely why we're heading down here."
The Ithorian let out a wary hum before standing carefully and easing himself over towards the view port.
"Young lady, you know just how to inspire confidence," he shook his wide head before adding, "But I would not have come along if I did not believe that this was our best chance to end this cursed plague on our people. More than any other Herd, the people of Partom know that the Mother Jungle exists at sea just as much as on land. If we have wronged her in some way, or drifted from our path of harmony with nature, I must do everything within my power to make it right."
The shuttle pod drifted on with a gentle rumble as they all took a moment to simply look out at the dark depths. At this level, little more than the odd tangle of drifting algae floated past the view port, pale and ghostlike in the beams of their lamps. According to the instruments, they were now just a few hundred metres above the trench’s mouth: the point where the continental shelf dropped away into near‑abyssal darkness.
A faint shimmer caught Jecku’s eye: a pinprick of colour far below, gone almost as soon as it appeared. His throats tightened instinctively. Something knotted inside him, a strange tug of recognition mixed with unease. Not wholly unpleasant... but not comforting either.
His eyes grew wide, trying to focus in on what he was seeing in the depths.
"I can see something down there," he stiffened, something strange overtaking his body, "Quickly, shut off the lights - inside and outside. It's something... glowing..."
As Gulomi dimmed the cabin and external lamps, the darkness outside seemed momentarily all-consuming until something faintly began to bloom in the depths below them.
Dancing strands of blue, green, and red unfurled in the water below, like drifting ribbons caught in a slow current. At first they appeared scattered and sparse, but as The Hope Pod continued its descent, more shapes emerged: thin, waving fronds; spiralling coils; delicate tendrils tipped with tiny glowing buds. The colours pulsed gently, as though responding to the movement of the water or the presence of the vessel.
Gulomi said nothing for several long moments. His wide eyes simply followed the gentle pulse of the distant lights as they spread further and further into the abyss, each passing second revealing another impossible patch of colour. He had grown up beneath the seas of New Dac before the war had carried him across half the galaxy, and for the first time in years he felt something stir that had nothing to do with memory or regret. There was a familiarity to it. Not the plants themselves, nor even the ocean, but the quiet majesty of discovering somewhere untouched by charts or politics. His broad mouth creased into the faintest smile.
"Well..." he murmured almost to himself, never taking his eyes from the glowing forest below.
"Incredible..." Tsuu breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, "Bioluminescent plantlife of some kind. No native Öetragan genus has shown evidence of expressing the bioluminescent pigmentation. The only flora on the planet that do are the ones transplanted from the Kalco Herdship. The ones originating from..."
"Ithor! exclaimed Jecku, practically shaking as he clasped at the framework of the pod for stability.
They descended further, the minutes stretching out in quiet awe. The glowing flora grew denser, forming a drifting underwater forest. Some plants were little more than simple strands of seaweed‑like leaves, glowing softly like embers. Others branched into curling fern‑like coils, each tip crowned with spore‑like bulbs that shimmered in shifting hues. The deeper they went, the more varied and vibrant the colours became; blues giving way to greens, greens to golds, golds to deep crimson.
Finally, Gulomi spotted a stable-looking outcrop: a broad, rocky shelf jutting from the trench wall, clear of the drifting flora. With careful adjustments, he guided the Hope Pod down and settled her gently onto the surface.
"This changes everything!" Father Jecku was shaking his head in disbelief as he pulled on his large, pressure suit in preparation for stepping outside, "We might have just discovered the next great spiritual site of Öetrago. This is a sign that the great Mother has finally made this the new sacred world and we are the new chosen people: the Herd of the ocean!"
Tsuu, who had already slid inside her smaller hydrostatic suit, needed only to protect her from the extreme pressure and enhance her natural underwater survival capability, turned to look at the shimmering submerged forest with a cautious gaze, "We do not yet know what this is. Bioluminescence is not unique to Ithor and there are any number of answers to what we are seeing here. We must work from what we know so far: something is tainting the oceans and we must approach any new discoveries without prejudice."
Gulomi found himself smiling despite the pressure of the moment. Whatever lay beyond the hull, this was precisely the sort of expedition that had drawn him away from military service all those years ago. No admirals or senators. No committees deciding which truths were convenient enough to acknowledge. Just a handful of people, a sturdy vessel and something unknown waiting to be understood.
He rose from the helm and made his way towards the equipment lockers, running a weathered hand across one of the bulkheads as though thanking the pod for bringing them safely this far. The suit waiting for him was reassuringly utilitarian, built with the same practical sensibilities as the vessel itself. He stepped into it with practised ease, fastening the seals around his wrists before checking each clasp by habit rather than necessity.
His attention inevitably drifted towards the battered grey bomber jacket that was now hanging from a hook beside the locker.
He lifted it from the hook again, weighing it thoughtfully in both hands. The thick leather had accompanied him through more boarding actions, salvage operations and miserable nights than he cared to count. Salt had stiffened parts of it permanently. Several repairs had been stitched by his own hand, each one uglier than the last. It was ridiculous to feel attached to a jacket.
Yet, he did.
With an amused shake of his head, hoping the others did not really notice, he carefully folded it instead, placing it back inside his locker with rather more care than he would ever admit to anyone else before sealing the compartment shut.
"You stay here," he said quietly with a small chuckle. "If old Jecku gets us all killed chasing visions, somebody ought to survive the expedition."
From the adjacent rack he lifted a long, spear-like instrument. It bore only a passing resemblance to a conventional blaster, its elongated barrel terminating in a broad, forked resonator array rather than a muzzle. Designed to emit tightly focused sonic pulses, the device could map submerged caverns, fracture compacted rock, drive away aggressive marine life and, if absolutely necessary, incapacitate a living target with a concussive burst. It was a multipurpose tool first and a weapon second.
The naval engineers had given it some thoroughly forgettable technical designation that Gulomi had long since ceased pretending to remember. Every sailor, diver and salvager simply called it a harpoon.
Gulomi cycled the mechanism with an experienced pull, listening for the reassuring metallic clack before securing it across his back, and only then did he glance towards Jecku.
The Patriarch's wonder was genuine - that much Gulomi did not doubt. But, he had seen that same brightness in people's eyes before, on bridge officers convinced victory was inevitable, on politicians promising peace if only everyone followed them for one more campaign, on preachers who believed the Force had personally chosen their cause above all others.
"I hope you're right, Father," he said at last, his tone warm but measured. "Finding something extraordinary is why we came." His gaze drifted back towards the glowing forest beyond the viewport. "But I'd rather settle for the truth."
A few moments later, the three of them were standing amongst the forest: Tsuu swam ahead, followed close behind by her submarine droid, which bobbed and swivelled to take recordings and readings of the diversity surrounding them. The Selkath ran her fingers along the length of a thick-stemmed plant protruding from a crack in the rockface before cutting a small sample from the uppermost part. A small cloud of luminous liquid drifted out from where she had severed it before it diluted into nothing within the gentle current.
Through their internal suit comms, Father Jecku's voice cautioned, "Are you sure we should be damaging these plants? I can sense their sacred energy."
A sharp click of Tsuu's tongue echoed back her derision, "Come now, Father. Even on ancient Ithor, botany and cultivation was allowed of the plantlife. I know we spend a lot of time at sea, but any good gardener knows you have to prune now and then. Besides, I'm just taking a few small samples."
He did not answer, but his silence still sat like a weight upon the party. Instead, he took slow, careful steps forward through the great luminous plants. Their emittance lit up his helmet with a kaleidoscope of colours and his eyes expanded to be filled with it all, as he too opened up his spiritual essence to the essence of what he was seeing.
"I don't know where these plants came from," Tsuu's voice dared to break the silence again, "But these readings confirm one thing: they are the source of the disturbance we have been tracking. Their super-dense structure requires a much higher nutrient concentration than any of the usual Öetragan aquatic flora. The trench’s mineral upwellings are feeding them perfectly, but in doing so they’re starving everything else. These organisms aren’t toxic, they’re simply too hungry to sustain a balance with all the other life in the ocean."
Gulomi found himself wandering a few paces from the others, his heavy boots sinking gently into the fine sediment as he turned a slow circle beneath the glowing canopy. Every direction revealed another impossible arrangement of colour and form, each plant swaying with a languid grace that made the trench seem less like the ocean floor and more like some forgotten woodland where gravity itself had softened. He reached out with a gloved hand, careful not to disturb the nearest frond, watching tiny shoals of translucent fish weave effortlessly between its leaves before disappearing into the darkness beyond.
He looked towards the glowing forest stretching away into the abyss with wonder.
Suddenly a great beam of light consumed the space around them and the crew suddenly peered upwards through the plant tendrils to see a great dark shape descending towards them: long and cylindrical, far larger than their own vessel, it was the source of the light that now blinded them. After a moment, the light dipped away and they saw a vast submarine vessel. Its hull was plated in a darkened, tarnished metal, with enormous glass observation domes running along its sides. Rows of great turbines rotated slowly, pushing out streams of bubbles, and a lattice of glowing conduits traced its length like veins, along with the hard shells of tiny crustations that had attached themselves to the outside.
There was a scrambled static on their headsets:
"..hoy there...yoohoo! Ah, that's it, I think that's your frequency!" A boisterous voice chimed through, "I thought I detected something down here but I didn't expect to find some folks down in my fields. Guess the secret's out now, eh?"
He let out a long laugh that was slightly squelched by a disruption in the comms system.
"You must have so many questions and I'll answer them all but you must come aboard and meet me in person. I can show you all my work!"
With that the comm cut out abruptly.
"Who..." Tsuu began with a squeak of confusion in her voice, "What? What even is that ship!"
Gulomi instinctively lowered himself into a partial crouch, one hand settling against the haft of the harpoon rifle across his back as his eyes followed the enormous vessel's slow descent. He was no naval architect, but he had spent enough years around ships to recognise careful engineering when he saw it. Nothing about the submarine suggested haste or improvisation. The hull carried the unmistakable confidence of something built to remain beneath the waves for years at a time rather than merely visit them.
His eyes travelled methodically from bow to stern.
"No visible weapons..." he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Observation domes. External work lights. Docking bay. Those turbines are turning far too slowly for an intercept."
His gaze lingered on the weathered plating, where marine life had colonised the seams and joints.
"And look at the hull." He pointed towards the crustaceans clinging to the metal. "Nothing scrapes a vessel clean faster than combat manoeuvres. Whatever this thing is, it hasn't been fighting anybody. I'd wager she's been living down here for quite some time."
"Look..." Jecku thrust an arm in the direction of the great vessel, "The ship is setting itself down just ahead
The vessel’s turbines slowed to a deep mechanical hum as it descended, stirring the glowing flora as it drew closer. Hydraulic anchors extended from its underside, embedding into the trench wall with a hiss of compressed air. A ring of external lights flickered to life, illuminating a docking bay that opened like the mouth of a leviathan. The water shimmered with reflected warm light, casting the three explorers in a surreal glow as the ship settled into place, waiting.
The Mon Calamari tightened his grip around the resonator's worn handle out of long-practised habit, though he made no move to raise it. His large eyes remained fixed upon the opening docking bay as the submarine settled into the trench with surprising gentleness.
"I'd still rather not walk blindly into another man's ship," he admitted. His gaze flicked between Jecku and Tsuu before returning to the vessel. "But think about it; if whoever's aboard wanted us dead, we'd never have known they were here. One nudge from something that size and our pod would be another salvage job."
The corners of his broad mouth creased into a faint smile within his suit.
"Instead, he introduced himself, apologised for the interference, and invited us aboard." Gulomi gave the resonator a reassuring pat. "Let's keep our eyes open and our helmets sealed... but I don't think we're walking into an ambush."
Without another word, he started towards the illuminated docking bay, curiosity overcoming caution by just enough to keep his boots moving.
Slowly, with curiosity getting the better of them, the two other undersea explorers followed.
"Incredible…" Tsuu breathed, her black beady eyes widening as they distorted through the curved transparisteel of the cylindrical growing tank. Inside, a small specimen of the bioluminescent flora swayed gently, its tendrils glowing with the same hypnotic colours they had walked through moments earlier, "Who would have thought such a beautiful, tranquil plant could be so vicious. But, there's no question as to the readings."
The group stood inside the mysterious ship's Hydroculture Bay, where all sorts of saltwater flora specimens were being grown and nurtured. Pipes murmured softly overhead, and the air carried the faint herbal scent of Ithorian incense.
Across the chamber, staring out of a small porthole as though trying to lose himself in the glow outside, stood their host: an Ithorian in a long blue oilskin trench coat, clutching a bent herbal pipe between trembling fingers.
Their mysterious host: Captain Koko, self-proclaimed nomad of the seas.
He had greeted them with boisterous pride, eager to show the fruits of his years-long labour: he had spent several years acquiring and then cultivating these rare untainted Ithorian plants from various Herdships across the galaxy. Once he had successfully adapted them to the chemical and bacterial composition of the Öetragan ocean, he had planned to seed the flora across the Öetragan seabed with this trench being his testbed.
But when Gulomi and the others explained the consequences of his garden, the captain’s exuberance had drained from him like water from a cracked hull. Now he stood slumped, taking shallow, uncertain pulls from his pipe like a fish gasping on a shoreline.
"This garden was meant to be a gift," he said finally, in a clear but strongly accented basic, that echoed softly from his twin mouths around the chamber, "Me and the world above have never clicked, but that doesn't mean I don't care about our history. What we lost all them' years ago."
He turned, his large round eyes searching each of their faces for something: absolution, perhaps, or condemnation.
"I never sought fame or fortune. Heck, nobody was even supposed to know I did this - it was my gift to the world and to Mother Jungle. But now, you're saying folks're suffering from just this one garden? Can't say I ever fathomed the ancestral plants to outcompete the local life."
Tsuu raised her head up, "Ithorian flora is unlike anything else in the galaxy. Dense biomass, complex genetic structures - almost animal-like. Some species, like the Baffor and Vesuvague trees, even show signs of partial sentience. Beautiful, yes. Sacred, yes. But they are not passive. And these aquatic strains are just as demanding as their land-based cousins. Their nutrient intake is... extreme."
Father Jecku stepped forward, opening his mouths as though initially to speak to the Selkath's conclusions, but then instead seeming to think better of it and address their host directly.
"Captain Koko, I came here as a representative of the Partom people, yes, but also as an individual with a deep spiritual connection to the Holy Mother. I would be lying if I said I was not concerned about the effect the garden here will have on my people, but I also cannot deny the miracle of life I stand amongst here. You have done what took the Kalco Herd generations to accomplish: seeded a new spiritual centre from Ithor itself."
He spread his hands, as though embracing the glowing tanks around them.
"No righteous being would seek to cut down the rainforest on Dunio and I believe the same reverence should be shown here. Balance was found on land. It can be found in the sea."
"Buuut..." cut in Tsuu, "As you quite rightly pointed out, Father, that cultivation took generations and, while no longer in living memory, it is known that the initial effect on the indigenous Öetragan species was devastating and several delicate ecosystems were lost forever. Just as we are on the brink of seeing in our waters now."
A sharp crack echoed through the bay as Koko’s pipe snapped in his grip. He stared at the broken pieces, shoulders sagging.
"Oh dear..." he murmured, voice trembling, "This wasn’t how it was s’posed to be. I just wanted to give somethin’ back. I’m a silly old fool."
Gulomi stood a little apart from the others, the battered folds of his pressure suit still damp from the passage through the docking chamber, and allowed the quiet machinery of the Hydroculture Bay to fill the space where an easier man might have offered reassurance. His large eyes moved from the broken pipe in Koko's hands to the luminous specimen suspended within the nearest tank, following the slow drift of its tendrils as they opened and curled in the circulating water. There was nothing malicious in it. No poison, no disease, no deliberate corruption. It was simply alive, and alive in a manner that demanded more than the world around it could afford to give.
He knew something of that. New Dac had carried its answer in its name from the beginning. It had never pretended to be the world they had lost, however often old sailors spoke of handed-down stories of Dac as though the seas of Scarif were merely another coastline of the same ancient home. They had brought what they could with them: fragments of culture, hatchery records, songs preserved through a thousand years of exile, and species that had survived in tanks, vaults and wandering fleets when their native oceans had ceased to exist. Yet New Dac had only endured because, eventually, his people had accepted that memory could not be allowed to consume the place in which it was being kept. They had changed their customs, changed their vessels and, in places, changed themselves. What survived was not a restoration. It was a continuation.
Gulomi drew a slow breath through the suit's open collar and stepped closer to Koko, though he stopped short of intruding upon the old Ithorian's grief.
"You're not a fool," he said at last.
His voice was quiet, stripped of the humour that had accompanied much of their descent, but there was no softness in it that could be mistaken for pity.
"A fool would have done this for applause or money, or because somebody in an office told him the figures looked promising." His gaze passed across the growing tanks, the nutrient pipes and the careful systems that had plainly occupied years of patient labour. "You built all of this where nobody would ever see it, because you thought something precious had been lost and you believed you could give part of it back." The Mon Calamari's broad mouth tightened slightly. "I understand that."
For a moment, he looked towards Jecku. There was sympathy in his expression, but also an old and unmistakable caution. Gulomi had watched sincere convictions harden into orders before. He had seen commanders sacrifice ships for symbols, and governments prolong wars because admitting the truth would have cost them more pride than lives. Reverence did not make a belief false, but neither did it make the consequences disappear.
Gulomi then turned towards the porthole, where the forest beyond moved in great luminous swathes beneath the passing current, beautiful enough that destruction already felt like a kind of vandalism.
"My people built a new home after the old one was taken from us," he continued, his voice lower now. "We carried pieces of Dac with us. Some belonged and some did not. There were things my people wanted so badly to restore that we nearly forgot Scarif had been alive before we arrived." His gaze remained upon the submerged forest. "New Dac survived because, sooner or later, we accepted the new part mattered."
He fell silent again, resisting the temptation to decide merely because everyone else had reached the point where they wanted one. There was too much at stake for instinct alone, and too much beauty before him for certainty to come easily.
"That's exactly why we must not risk what we have built here on Öetrago chasing the ghosts of Ithor," came the approving voice of Tsuu, who had stopped her fixation on the plants as Gulomi's take of New Dac began to resonate with the assembled sentients, "Back in those ancient days, Ithorians did not even set foot upon the planet, it was so sacred but, in losing it, we have opened ourselves up to living as one with nature. We are free to eat its fruits, walk its diverse biomes and study its many mysteries - I say we are better off as we are: learn from the past, yes, but not seek to return to it."
There was an uneasy grumble from the four lungs of her Herd Leader, "Now, Tsuu, just because we live in the modern age with all its advancements, does not mean that you can sidestep the sacred nature of Ithor and Mother Jungle herself. Time does not change what is immortal and eternal..."
"Why should it not?" Tsuu's voice became an octave shriller, "Our deities are a reflection of the world they preside over, so are as much a subject to change as any aspect of nature."
Father Jecku exhaled deeply and angled his head downwards, "You are a smart young woman, Tsuu, but I brought you along because I also thought you respected our faith more than others in the Herd, "Perhaps, to put it in your own terms, Koko's garden here is just one more change that is all within Mother Jungle's plan."
"You think so?" Koko's stupor broke slightly at the notion and he lifted his head, "You know, I saw the Oracle once on my Herdship. I think it was the one before last... uh, Oracle Sheelak I think... Doesn't much matter; point is that her sermon really spoke to me. She was talking about the depth's of the Holy Mother's love; bout' how there is no depth where Her love won't find you. Got me thinking bout' all the sea life on Ithor and how we had this big tank of it on the ship. Then I thought bout' Öetrago - that's where she was from, see - and I thought about how the plants should really be on a planet, deep in the oceans, not high up in space."
He propped himself up and began pacing, prodding at the air before him with the broken tube of his pipe.
"That's when I started collecting up them' plants - it felt like a mission. A holy mission I had to complete on my own. I think you're right, sir Jecku, sir - Mother'll find a way to make it work."
"Ooor..." Tsuu drew out her words once again, shrugging as she did so, "Maybe we need to make it work. I'm sorry, but doing nothing is not an option here. At their current rate, these plants are going to deplete the oceanic ecosystem within months and then will essentially starve themselves to death. This is not a situation we can leave up to fate and the only certain way to remove the threat is by culling this plantation before it grows larger."
Koko shrunk back a bit again, leaning against the wall, "Not sure my heart can take all you're puttin' out there missy."
He scrunched up his eyes and tapped the broken pipe against his temple, seemingly in thought.
"There must be some other way to keep the plants," he shook his head, "We can't go killin' them. Don't seem right."
"Indeed!" Father Jecku offered simply.
"You know, you were talkin' about nutrients before," Koko's eyes shot open fully again, "On the Herdships, we had to feed the plants this mix of chemicals to keep em' thriving. Can't we do the same here?"
Tsuu rubbed one of her mouth tendrils and gave a thoughtful whine, "Hmm, it might slow down the ecosystem collapse, but the plants would spread even faster until we could not keep up with the amount of nutrient replacement necessary. The better answer would be to introduce a vector to modify the plants to slow their metabolism - then they might stay contained here in the trench and give the rest of the ecosystem a fighting chance to adapt. Still, many of the more sensitive organisms would still face extinction and that's if we could successfully create such a vector."
Koko was up again and speeding towards a console on the other side of the Hydroculure Bay.
"I'm certain we could!" he exclaimed, thrusting away the broken pipe pieces finally so that he could tap at the screen, "If it means keeping the garden, I'll work night and day. With your help, I'm sure we could do it even faster!"
Jecku almost yelped, his Ithorese words tumbling out out of sync "Now, hold on! Modifying these plants on a genetic level! How is that better than the corruption of Ithor by the extra-galactic invaders? We absolutely must not play god here!"
Gulomi watched the argument pass between them without interrupting. He had spent enough years in command rooms to know that people often raised their voices when the choice before them had already frightened them, and that certainty was most loudly proclaimed by those who feared what doubt might demand of them.
His large eyes settled upon the glowing specimens within the tanks. He was no biologist, though. He could not have explained the chemistry of their hunger, nor the precise means by which Tsuu might teach them to survive upon less. He was not a priest, either, and had long ago learned to distrust anyone who claimed to know the intentions of powers that never had to answer questions themselves. What he understood were consequences. Ships lost because somebody had waited for perfect intelligence,or cities damaged because officers had mistaken caution for cowardice. And, most of all, promises made at the end of wars, then quietly abandoned once the signatures had dried.
He also understood survival.
"Perhaps we have already played god," Gulomi said at last.
The words were delivered without accusation. He turned his head towards Jecku, his expression thoughtful rather than confrontational.
"Your people carried these plants away from Ithor. You kept them alive aboard vessels, fed them mixtures they could never have found for themselves, and brought them to worlds where they had never grown before. Koko adapted them to an ocean they were never shaped to inhabit." His gaze passed briefly towards the old captain. "None of that was natural, but neither was it wicked." He stepped nearer to the cultivation tank and rested one gloved hand against its frame. The plant within continued its slow movement, heedless of the debate surrounding whether it deserved to exist. "Living things change other living things. Settlers change worlds and worlds change settlers. Sometimes we are careful, sometimes arrogant... and sometimes we only discover the difference after the damage has begun."
His broad mouth tightened as he considered the luminous forest beyond the hull.
"If we destroy them now, the oceans may recover. I understand that; i is the safer answer, and old soldiers develop a great affection for safe answers after seeing what happens when clever plans go wrong, but these plants are alive as well. They are not an invading army and they did not choose to be planted here, and they are not consuming the ocean out of hatred or greed. They are doing what every living thing does when it finds itself somewhere it can survive." Gulomi looked towards Tsuu. "I think the garden should remain."
He raised a webbed hand before the declaration could be mistaken for an endorsement of inaction.
"It has become part of this world now," he continued. "The lesson of a new home cannot always be that which does not belong must be destroyed. There's already been enough of that."
Tsuu let out a long, weary sigh, her mouth tendrils drooping slightly as she looked between the assembled party.
"All right... but you do realise what you're all gambling here; We are part of the ecosystem we're threatening and the rational argument still is that one undersea garden is not worth betting all of Öetrago on."
Her voice softened, though the edge of frustration remained, "Buuut..." she stretched out her words again, "If there were any planet in the galaxy with the tech to stabilise a collapse like this, it would be this one, with all its many generations of Ithorian terraforming knowledge. I can reach out to my friends at Mother's Aid and hope they’re willing."
Koko turned from the console, his coat shifting with the movement. For a moment he looked genuinely put out, jaw tightening, shoulders stiff, but then he exhaled sharply and let out a nervous, bubbling laugh.
"I don't want lots of folks tramplin’ my garden..." he muttered, rubbing his hump, "But I s’pose it's better than havin’ the whole thing destroyed."
He looked to Gulomi, the edges of his dark eyes softening with something like gratitude.
"I think your words went a long way, Mr Gulomi. Perhaps I should make the oceans of New Dac my next adventure," A faint chuckle emanated from both mouths, "Though I promise I won't go plantin’ any more gardens... unless invited."
Father Jecku remained quiet, hands folded before him, but the gentle bobbing of his neck betrayed an inward satisfaction. The path ahead was uncertain, but it was a path that preserved the miracle he had found and that was enough.
Gulomi remained by the cultivation tank for a moment longer, listening to the others whilst his gaze followed the gentle movement of the plant within. He had expected resistance from Tsuu and, truthfully, was glad of it. He had spent too much of his life around people who agreed with the person holding the highest rank, right up until the consequences arrived. If they were going to gamble with an ocean, somebody ought to keep reminding them that it was a gamble.
Still, something about Koko's sudden determination drew a broad smile across the old Mon Calamari's face. Perhaps it was simply good to see a man who had been shrinking beneath the weight of his mistake suddenly standing upright again.
"Well, there you are," Gulomi said, giving the Ithorian captain an approving nod. "You've spent years learning how to make these things grow. Seems only fair you spend a little while learning how to make them behave."
His attention shifted towards Tsuu.
"And if Mother's Aid can bring people who know what they're doing, bring them. As many as you need. Koko can complain about strangers trampling his garden once we're certain there's still an ocean outside it to complain about."
There was humour in the words, but the thought remained with Gulomi after he had spoken. Scientists from Mother's Aid, Ithorian cultivators, Koko's years of solitary experimentation, whatever knowledge the Partom Herd could provide. Perhaps contacts of his own on New Dac could contribute something as well. His people had spent centuries learning how to introduce fragments of one dead world's ecology into another living one without allowing either to destroy the other. There would be marine biologists on former-Scarif who had wrestled with questions remarkably similar to this, even if the species and seas were different.
For years, Gulomi had thought of those connections largely as remnants of another life. Names gathered through campaigns, negotiations and reconstruction efforts, scattered across worlds which had briefly discovered how much they needed one another before returning to their respective governments and old suspicions. The Second Outer Rim Conflict had ended more than twenty years ago, yet he could probably still find a Selkath engineer on Manaan who would answer his call, or an old quartermaster on New Dac capable of making a shipment appear somewhere it was needed without first demanding seventeen authorisations.
The thought amused him. Perhaps there were worse things to inherit from a war.
Gulomi finally turned away from the tank, some of the heaviness having left his expression.
"You know, Captain," he said to Koko, "I think you should visit New Dac." His broad mouth curled upwards before the Ithorian could mistake the invitation for another lecture. "Not to plant anything. We've had quite enough people arriving on our worlds with grand plans for improving them." He chuckled. "But you might find a few people there who understand what you were trying to do. More importantly, they might know how to help you do it properly."
He glanced between Tsuu and Jecku, then around the strange Hydroculture Bay that had, within the space of an hour, gone from the private sanctuary of an eccentric old captain to the centre of a problem that might require expertise from half a dozen worlds to solve.
For once, that prospect did not irritate him. It inspired him.
"Maybe that's something we've forgotten," Gulomi mused, more thoughtfully now. "Every world keeps solving the same problems by itself. Then, when things become too large, we call for a government, a corporation or a fleet to come and solve them for us." His eyes returned briefly to the glowing forest outside. "Maybe sometimes all you really need is to know who to call." The old captain smiled. "Let's save your garden, Koko, and the ocean with it. Then, perhaps, I'll make a few calls of my own."
Koko stopped his work and turned to them all with a smile and, with a break in his voice, as though he was choking back tears, he nodded to them all.
"I can't thank you all enough for believing in this place," he said, eyes wide and wavering, "I now know I was wrong to have attempted this all by myself. Why, if I had folks like you helpin' me all along, we could've got it right first time. I just know it."
He made a firm fist with his long fingers and shook it triumphantly, "But I swear to you, we'll make it right now. For Öetrago, for the legacy of Ithor and for all life, we'll make Mother Jungle proud."
The following audio log was recovered from the remains of an unregistered deep-sea vessel discovered off the southern coast of New Dac. The hull was breached but no bodies were found. Records indicate an escape pod was jettisoned shortly before the craft went down.
"Funny thing about oceans: they're alive. They can be hurt, they can be healed and they can be corrupted... but they change slowly and quietly. By the time you notice, you realise the tide’s been turning for years."
"On Öetrago, that turn began with a garden and a small group of people."
"Leavin' that garden where it was brought hope to some, hardship to others. The trench changed the waters around it for good. The delicate organisms were the first to go: little feeders, slow crustaceans. Whole fishing families around southern Urwala had to pack up their nets and find new lives elsewhere."
"But people don’t give up easy. Not when the sea’s in their blood."
"Mother’s Aid brought their healin' touch. Partom engineers built nutrient rigs that hummed day and night. Tsuu’s teams pruned the glowing flora with the patience of old Ithorian gardeners. And slowly... very slowly... the oceans found a new balance."
"They were not what they once were, but they were no longer dying and that trench... that strange, shimmerin' forest... It became part of Öetrago's story: a wound, a wonder, a responsibility."
"Father Jecku went home with stories of miracles. He downplayed the warnings, sure, but also promoted the responsibility of all to protect and preserve these wonders. His words stirred the Herd, enough that volunteers lined the docks to help stabilise the waters. Even the Kalco mystics came and the Oracle herself blessed the work."
"Some left, driven out by hard times. But Jecku stayed respected as the one who defended the garden when others wanted it cut down."
"Tsuu Loth stayed too. Joined Mother’s Aid proper. Built a floating outpost above the trench, staffed with scientists, mystics and anyone stubborn enough to help.
She mapped the spread of the flora, kept the nutrient systems running, and wrote studies that travelled far beyond Öetrago’s shores."
"Still sharp‑tongued. Still brilliant. Still the perfect mind to tend the garden."
"Ean Gulomi didn’t stay forever. Just long enough to make sure the systems were stable and the people trained."
"After that... he felt the galaxy had disappointed him one too many times. Governments failing on all sides and GalactaWerks slipping through every net. Ordinary folk left to fix the messes."
"So he built something new."
"The Fellowship of Worlds. Engineers, mystics, planners, ex‑naval officers: all working together to help Outer Rim worlds help themselves. No corporate leash.
No Republic oversight. Just cooperation between peoples."
"Öetrago was one of the first to join. And Gulomi... well, he became one of its early leaders: steady, principled, a man who knew how to build bridges between people who’d never spoken before."
"When conflict brewed in the Outer Rim again, the Fellowship stood quiet but firm - proof that unity didn’t need a senate or a corporation to exist."
"And when the time came, Gulomi stepped back. Left the politics to others. Went back to workin' with his hands, where he could do more good. No fanfare. Just a legacy of compassion... I like to think he still remembers the garden."
"And as for me... I stayed a while. Longer than I ever planned. Worked with Tsuu’s people, helped build a vector to calm the plants without killing their spirit. I never liked to let on how much I really knew about bio-engineering, but I think Tsuu started to catch on..."
"My supplies helped: seeds, parts, data. I never said where I got it all. Gulomi asked once. I just smiled."
"When the work was done, I didn’t make a speech. Didn’t gather a crowd.
Just left a note thankin' them for lettin’ an old fool do somethin’ good."
"Now I set off again to new worlds and new challenges. I managed to preserve some of Öetrago's failing species in my tanks and there are countless oceans in the sky that would welcome them. Gulomi spoke about New Dac... that sounds nice."
"Oceans change. People change. But hope... Hope’s a stubborn thing."
"It tends to grow just where you need it."
RSS Feed