Gods of Terra Primer | Setting History, Part 2

The Shutter was a catastrophic event that closed all access to M-level hyperspace, halting all interstellar travel, settlement, commerce, and warfare, and resulting in the collapse of Local Galaxy civilizations for centuries. The previous installment in this series ended at the onset of the Shutter, and this one opens at its end, leading to the timeline in my planned novelette, The Null Dance, and the adventures of the Meera:

190 BPE: Development of S-drive by emerging Local Galaxy civilizations, replacing the now-useless M-drive. Resumption of interstellar trade, exploration, and warfare. 

130 BPE: The Broogh Flow meanders into Tellusine space. Intermittent warfare between Broogh and Kai’Siri Koorgraada fleets. Bombardment of Terra by Broogh Giyagh6 fleet. Destruction of Giyagh6 fleet in two stages by Tellusine at the orbits of Mars and Jupiter. Jupiter’s moon Europa is destroyed in the conflict. Phobos is fragmented, knocked from orbit, and crashes into Mars. Rebuilding of Terra begins. 

100 BPE: Founding of the Second Great Tellusine Civilization, centered on Terra. Sirug becomes an imperial ally, as Kai’Siri enlist in the Tellusine military along with Mentite-, Sensorian-, Brute-, Bomb-, Cannon-, and Dreadnought-class wavetouched as special forces troops, but no Planet Killers (Officially). 

45 BPE: Creation of Indigo Sigma by Tellusine, as an elite intelligence and paramilitary organization. Personnel makeup is highly classified but suspected to involve at least one Planet Killer-class wavetouched. Maybe. 

0 PE: Reconstruction of Terra is complete. The Indian subcontinent, Africa, and South America took the least of the Giyagh6 fleet bombardment of Terra. Much of Africa, South America, and everything south of the Himalayas is once again fit for human habitation. Lagos, Khartoum, Rio de Janeiro, New Kolkata, Colombo, and Chennai become major economic and space transport hubs. 

115 PE: First contact between humanity and the alien Tathladi. Alliance between human and Tathladi against their ancient enemies, the Dinathog-Trulg. 

336 PE: The Meera is given the now-regenerated hypershard once belonging to the Mirus, becoming for a short while the second Magna. She wakes up, quits the role, and goes into hiding while those who tried turning her into a superweapon seek to re-enslave her and recover “their property.”

50 Billion PE: The far-future descendants of humanity loop back in time to ensure the evolution of humans, and thus themselves. These beings will be known to xeno-archaeologists as the Strangers, and known only by the fruits of their biological engineering and meddling with early Homo sapiens and its relatives on Terra. This generates a predestination paradox in which humanity brings about its own existence, a causal chain with neither beginning nor end.

Cruel Parodies | Inaugural Post – Dinathog-Trulg

Vanakkam. Welcome to the first in a new series of entries where I talk about… things… created from other things, without copyright infringement woes!

The title of this series is credited to SF writer S.A. Barton, who in a recent tweet showed such a parody of Larry Niven’s puppeteers – humans!

In like vein, I’ll be using templates from across speculative fiction, credited to their original sources, and from these create beings and creatures of my own only tenuously connected to the originals. I do this primarily by focusing on a particular distinctive trait, or set of traits, and use these to create the new creature or species from otherwise whole cloth.

So, for this inaugural post, let me present one I’ve already done, the vermoid Dinathog-Trulg:

The template for this species was Doctor Who’s genocidal alien mutants, the Daleks, originally created by Terry Nation. I decided to keep only the genocidal part and completely reverse their motivation: not hate, but instead love drives them to commit mass extinctions!

Dinathog-Trulg are anti-Daleks. See below:

Rather than essentially being tentacled brains in metal shells, these are free-standing two-meter long wormlike beings, with twenty-seven limbs in three sets of nine that look like worms themselves.


But back to motivation!

Dinathog-Trulg are religious zealots, and in their theology see the universe as a place of pain and suffering. In their view, a kind of hell.

So their great mission is to save all life in the universe by sending it to the realm of their alien gods, one orbital cannon blast or planet-buster bomb, at a time, such is their sick, twisted love for all life.

Kind of like the Medieval Inquisition of Terra, and its drive to, among other things, save the souls of alleged heretics by torturing and burning them at the stake.

The species’ entire society is based around a system of nine clerical and monastic orders which serve different functions, lead by a shadowy supreme figure known as the Holiest.

But what keeps them from merely killing themselves off?

Humility, of a sort.

They are convinced that until they’ve sent everything else in the universe to paradise, they themselves are not worthy to ascend, and must remain behind to suffer for the universe’s life until the very end.

They make great villains, even though they love everybody, but it’s the kind of love most of us humans would rightly be creeped out by from those in our own species.

This series continues, with the next installment being a critter inspired by one of the Traveller RPG’s aliens in a hideously cruel parody indeed!

Tf. Tk. Tts.

Mongo Fiction | I, King of Shards

This story was kind of fun to work on. It involves the experimentation by an eldritch being in the creation of my villains, the Dinathog-Trulg, and a more recent version is to be found in my second e-book, Echoes of Forsaken Galaxies, along with other pieces of microfiction you may enjoy. ~Troythulu

In my place of work, I labor on a project. On this day, I create a new race, raising them to sapience from common grubs found on a world in a dying galaxy.

Tendrils of living hyperplasm deftly flick toggles on a console of light, as displays of the species’s genetic material show its multi-helix structure, highlighting likely points of change and suggesting options.

Yes. I think I’ll tweak the code just a bit for the adult form, influencing the development of neural ganglia toward formation of two complete brains—one at each end of the body. The larval stage comes first, of course, but most of the design work goes into the thinking stage—that of the adults.

I glance in six-dimensional clarity at the sample vials and quickly assembled habitats for the larval form. They are simple forms, really, living in small mounds of a peat found only on their world. A grub emerges from its burrow, looking warily about, then focusing on me before contracting and quickly retreating into the soil.

I am the King of Shards, a hyperdimensional being with a penchant for making things. Never mind how I got my name, as even I remember not. But this race, this new order of beings, I create as the servants of myself, and of the other eight of our little clique, the Nine who are One. It is a race that will shake the universe, in this, our Grand Civilization.

I look at the virtual console. I think I’ll make them bigger, much bigger in the adult stage. The larval form is simply too small for the kind of brain mass and architecture I have in mind. I flick the appropriate genetic switches. This, I say, is how to take evolution into one’s own hands. I then actuate the change made in all the sample grubs.

I step back as if it were possible for one such as myself to take steps without feet, and look at the habitats. More grubs are emerging to the surface, all of them with the new genetics, all gathering for the final stage. They squirm and writhe about as they pile onto each other by the thousands. I step back again, observing my handiwork. Each of the grubs loses cohesion as the squirming mass undergoes biological fusion, a form of metamorphosis into a single organism. Other habitats in my workspace show the same thing. I shall have several adults to teach.


Random aggregations of larvae form distinct body-portions; sensory limbs; limbs for speech; and limbs for movement. Displays track the development of the brains in each of the new beings. Coming along nicely.

After only minutes, metamorphosis complete.

Their brains are fully developed, but empty of knowledge. They struggle to stand upright on their limbs. They make sounds without words, confused by what their new senses are telling them. I upload the very fundaments of their learning into their minds. The rest they must learn through personal instruction.

“Mas-ter…” One of them pipes and slurps as it directs its nine sensory limbs at me. I smile, the only way one of my status can smile, as my handiwork slowly rises to its nine feet, emerging from the habitat where its larval stage lived. Others like it crawl from their habitats and circle about me in obeisance. “Fa-ther…Mo-ther…” they say in unison, bowing low before their creator. Before me.

I look around at them, this time from the perspective of only five dimensions, as I direct my hyperspatial thought-streams toward them and say…

“Listen my children, for you are the dawn of a new species. I have created you, and henceforth you shall be known as the Dinathog_trulg. Listen, and heed all that I tell you…”

I say that, only now noticing in some of them just the slightest twinge of fervor, of worshipfulness, perhaps of madness, and for the life of me can’t escape the thought of a flaw in my new creations.

And it makes me a little uneasy.

Mongo Fiction | Squorium

I’d like to give a hat tip to both @LEDFlashing and @TaoAdear on Twitter for the ideas that went into this story’s title, the term used for the spacefleets of the genocidal Dinathog-Trulg species of my Gods of Terra space-opera setting. As a species bent on universal salvation from suffering at all costs, and motivated by love, making them the anti-Daleks, they are particularly dangerous and make great villains for short pieces like this one. Check out the updated version of this and other stories in my second e-book, Echoes of Forsaken Galaxies, on Amazon for Kindle! ~Troythulu

I am Priest Acolyte Ephel***rhaa***d. I stand before the Holiest of the 268 billionth Squorium, bowing low, sensor limbs averted, speech limbs silent, manipulatory limbs still.

I’ve been honored to receive the Holiest’s blessing to conduct the consecration ceremony for a newly discovered species in the Western spiral arm of a recently surveyed galaxy. They are suffering, this new species, like all life in this universe of terrible and horrific evil. We must rescue them from their suffering.

Once I receive sacrament, I rise and ask permission to speak. It is granted. “O, Holiest,” I say, in my species’ characteristic speech of sound and olfactory cues, “The species we are to meet knows not of us. Our technology would surely overwhelm them, but they will be bemused and frightened for as they seem strange to us, so must we to them. Is there not a way to deliver them from evil without their knowing?”

“Young Priest Acolyte,” The Holiest begins, “Our race has for billions of cycles scoured the universe for species to succor with the mercy of our gods. They know it not, but by their very existence they cry out for salvation, for deliverance from evil and suffering. Fear not for their own fear, for better things are in store for them when our job is done. Now, go in peace, and in love, for all life. Prepare yourself. Even now, our ships emerge from the Maelstrom. We must do our holy duty in this star system, and to do our duty effectively, they must know of us. Now go.”

I bow once more and hurry to my post, eager to do the work of the gods as commanded in our scripture all these eons of wandering the universe. To love all life as though our own. And we shall. My hearts swell with joy as we approach the new world. They’ve barely discovered space travel. More of our ships emerge from the Maelstrom, moving into position for the consecration of this wonderful new species. Just look at them down below, I muse as I see them looking skyward at our ships in orbit, such amazing, beautiful beings. All is ready. I stand at the altar as the communication channels are opened to the people below. This world is suffering, in the terrible pain of a universe gone wrong. The choir music begins, the lights brighten, and I clear my throats as I steel myself to conduct the Rite.

The Last Rite. The ships’ weapons systems awaken to consecrate the planet below.

My people can free them from misery, rescue them from terrible pain. We can help where before there was no help, we shall send them to the land of our gods. We shall send them to paradise.

One orbital cannon blast at a time.