Before he knew it, Andre found himself back at the round eco-pod's entrance. He paused there for a second, then knocked on the door. It took a moment longer than last time, but eventually, the door opened.
The old man didn't appear surprised by his visit and greeted him warmly. "Good evening."
"Good evening, sir," Andre nodded. Andre recalled that during his prior visit, the old man hadn't been curious about his identity; Andre wanted to keep it that way. "I hope I'm not bothering you, I..."
"Not at all! Come on in," said the old man, moving aside. "You're more than welcome to visit. Like I said, I don't get many guests."
Walking through a passageway covered in ivy, Andre trailed behind the old man. Suddenly, a familiar scent hit him. For some reason, the sights and sounds soothed him.
The eco-pod felt different than his last visit. The suffocating, damp, hot air was gone, replaced by dim lighting and hazy mist. After entering the round chamber, the atmosphere turned even more pronounced: most of the lights were turned off, and everything was dripping water and shrouded by a thick fog. Andre looked up, trying to find the canopy of the palm tree, but it was engulfed in the heavy mist.
Yet, the eco-pod wasn't shrouded in total darkness. Rays of light snuck in through the skylight, scattering down through the clouds and giving everything a touch of silvery brilliance. There was more to the scene. Andre was attracted to the sporadic flickers in the clouds. Taking a closer look, he realized they were tiny zaps of lightning. The air was charged with a strange scent, but it was far from the dull, metallic odor he associated with the harbor's sightseeing areas. It was a scent that pulsed with vitality.
The old man stood before the eco-pod, his silhouette vaguely visible amidst the haze. Behind him, tiny electrical sparks frolicked on the metal frames. The old man looked like a mage from ancient fairy tales, materialized from the mists of legends.
"Are these...?" Andre was somewhat confused.
"You got here just in time. It's raining now," the old man said, his voice echoing through the fog. He then pointed to the cloud above, "This is the latest weather control tech from the Ecological Construction Department. It simulates natural clouds and lightning. It tries to replicate Earth's authentic weather patterns."
"This is truly remarkable," Andre mused, noting the wetness on his face. Tiny droplets descended steadily from the artificial clouds above. He reached out his hand, and the feeling of the raindrops hitting his palm began to stir something in his heart. Looking up at the clouds, he felt his eyes start to moisten a bit. Softly, he asked, "Is this what rain feels like?"
"Indeed," came the old man's voice. It sounded distant and dreamy, maybe an effect of the enveloping mist and thunder. "While it doesn't quite replicate real thundershowers on Earth, it's quite impressive. If we had more room, it would be even better."
Andre suddenly thought of the proposal from Morian, the Minister of the Ecological Construction Department.
"Can this device replicate other kinds of weather?" asked Andre.
"Certainly. With a big enough space, it could simulate even more powerful thunderstorms," the old man noted. "Of course, the density and quantity of clouds can be adjusted to craft a cloudy or overcast sky. It's also able to produce wind. Given the constraints of this space, I can only create circulating air currents inside the eco-pod. Besides, this thing can regulate the temperature as well. If we had a larger space, we could even simulate snow."
"Snow?"
"Yes, are you familiar with snow?" Laughed the old man, "The little ones are ever so fond of it. Come winter holiday time, they frolic in the snow, making snowmen, having snowball fights, the whole nine yards."
"Snow, for me, is something out of an old movie," Andre remarked. "I've never seen it firsthand." Suddenly, an image painted itself in his mind: a place teeming with flora, blanketed by snow, with the kids from the City of Antontas lost in wintry delight.
Brushing the daydream aside, he asked, "Why this setup? I mean, if the plants need water, why don't you simply water them? Why go through all this trouble?"
"It's more than just a greenhouse; it's a sophisticated ecological test chamber. I intend to recreate Earth's natural environment to the best of my ability," the old man explained. "Moreover, the lightning plays its part by ionizing the air, producing ozone and nitrogen ions, boosting the plants' vitality."
"Everything you just said can be done quite easily through modern technology. I am curious about the environment you're recreating. What's so special about Earth?"
"You said that you've never experienced snow," the old man chuckled, reminiscing. "Many people have lost touch with the very essence of weather. It's a spectacle confined to planets and plays a part in the rhythm of life. Our ancestors unlocked the secret of nature by observing weather patterns. Similarly, these plants have braved and embraced varied types of weather, giving rise to their vibrant evolution. Do you recall our last meeting? I mentioned that some plants rely on wind for pollination. That's just the beginning. There is this desert plant on Earth—tumbleweed. When thirst engulfs the land, its foliage shrinks, curling its branches into a ball, and its roots wither away. A strong gust of wind can send it on an odyssey which might span months or even years until it stumbles upon a wet patch. There, it will sprout anew, with roots piercing the ground. Later, it will revive from its dormant state, unroll its parched branches, and become green once more, free to thrive and multiply. In such a way, it can spread across an entire continent." The old man paused for a while, then carried on. "See? When the wind is against you, why don't you sail with it?"
After a moment of silence, Andre started talking again, "The journey of the tumbleweed strikes a chord with me. It's as if it's mirroring our voyage—we started from Earth and now we're expanding until we have the entire galaxy within our reach."
"Indeed," the old man acknowledged with a nod, "some tumbleweeds face harsh twists of fate. Some are carried by the wind into relentless deserts, others find themselves tumbling into shadowy chasms, and yet others roll into the unforgiving sea... Such tumbleweeds are forever denied a chance at a fresh start, having placed their destiny at the mercy of the wind."
"Many explorers faced the same daunting challenge," said Andre, "especially during the onset of the first gold rush. In their relentless pursuit to find out if these Lagrange points could be a viable solution for creating Stargates on the other side, they bravely plunged into the unknown. Some of them, sadly, never returned. They became lost stars in the vast universe."
"They let destiny take the wheel of their fate."
The weight of their conversation led to a momentary silence before Andre continued, "Yet, in contrast to these tumbleweeds, we can steer our destiny."
"Can we?" the old man sighed. "Are we truly masters of our fate?"
"Of course..." Considering his situation, Andre felt a twinge of doubt. However, he couldn't resist asking, "What makes you think otherwise?"
"What about the brave souls who perished in the Garden Campaign? Did they have a say in their destinies? The denizens of St. Triumph City, could they truly chart their destinies?" The old man sighed heavily, shaking his head in dismay. "No, they couldn't. Their paths were preordained, not by the stars, but by the hands of their fleet commanders and the politicians who were pulling the strings."
"Well..." Andre, feeling relieved his identity remained hidden, "In all fairness, even the fleet commanders were often caught between a rock and a hard place."
"True, and they are the ones that went down in history," the old man agreed. "At the height of the Garden Campaign, the fleets from the three Lagrange points launched into a breakneck warp drive, at full-throttle. As a result, many battleships met their doom, smashing into unsuspecting asteroids and being reduced to cosmic dust. Still, others burnt out their warp drives. They became ensnared in a never-ending warp, unable to return to normal space or reestablish communication, left adrift in the infinite cosmos. Some even had their warp paths tragically intertwined, triggering spatial anomalies that tore them apart in a flash. More soldiers died as a result of this single command than at the hands of the enemy. They all knew the grim odds, but every ship, in unwavering loyalty, upheld the order. Their courage deserves a prominent page in history; Antonios should forever sing their praises."
Andre was, for once, silently thankful for the mist that hid his fleeting emotions. After a moment of awkward silence, he gently probed, "You seem quite familiar with that part of history."
It's a period of history that everyone should memorize by heart," the old man replied, his smile tinged with sadness, "but humans often have a blind spot when it comes to learning from their past."
"Sad but true," Andre agreed. He looked around for a bit, then said, "What can these plants teach us then?"
"You know, there's a world of lessons hidden in these life forms," said the old man, "If you stay here long enough, you'll grasp just how tenacious life truly is. Within a full-blown ecosystem, lifeforms are in a constant tug-of-war. This pod, though, is a bit too constrained to showcase the full drama. In the untamed heart of a forest, the game of survival plays out in a perpetual loop. From the first time its buds poke up from the ground, a sapling struggles to grow, vying against its neighbors for sunlight. If it falls behind, it's sentenced to a life under the shadows of the other trees. It was the same for our forebears. Competition made us who we are today."
"You hit the nail on the head," Andre remarked, "Our ceaseless competition has been our driving force, propelling us to our present state."
"How do you like that eco-sphere?" the old man asked suddenly.
"I like it a lot! It's a feast for the eyes. I'm truly taken by it. Thank you," Andre said, sincerely.
"Within that small sphere, at the very least, you should realize that collaboration is the key to survival. Life is not just about outdoing one another." said the old man, "Oftentimes, banding together is more effective than competing. Without the spirit of collaboration, the journey of human life would have been cut short long ago. Here, nature allows living things to work hand-in-hand. Plants take in carbon dioxide and give out oxygen. We, and all other beings, participate in this very same rhythm. Insects feed on blooms and fruits, aiding plants in pollination. When their time comes, they return to the soil, becoming a part of nature's sustenance. The wheel keeps turning, and it's this delicate balance between competition and collaboration that has painted our world with endless shades of life."
Andre pondered for a moment and said, "Well, someone had to make the first move."
"The first move?"
"The first move toward collaboration," Andre elaborated, "Either the plants took the first step by producing flowers to lure in the insects or the insects took the initiative and started to pollinate the plants."
"It's all about adapting and evolving together," the old man responded. After a brief silence, he wondered aloud, "Have you ever come across the term LUCA?"
"LUCA?" Andre asked, shaking his head cluelessly.
"LUCA—Last Universal Common Ancestor. It's what scientists believe to be the shared ancestor of all lives on Earth," the old man explained, pointing at the eco-pods nearby, "You, me, this tulip, that sunflower, the palm tree over there, all of humanity, every type of insect, winged creature, and marine organism, all life forms owe their existence to LUCA."
"Huh? Was there ever such a being?" Andre was all ears.
"Of course," the elder stated, "It's believed by the scientific community that LUCA was possibly a bacterium thriving in the primordial seas. A simple unicellular life form, it fed on the bounty of organic compounds swirling in those waters. Try to envision a time when Earth was rife with lightning storms, its crust still warm to the touch, with volcanoes strewn about the landscape. A myriad of organisms brewed in this primordial soup. It was a feast for LUCA. If LUCA had a shred of consciousness, it would have thought it was living the dream, with the prehistoric seas brimming with food. However, that was hardly the whole story. The competition among lifeforms had already begun. The ancient bacteria spawned predators that specialized in gobbling up other bacteria. LUCA, slow and somewhat sluggish, was the prime target of these predators. For a long time, LUCA often found itself at the bottom of the food chain. Yet, evolution beckoned, and LUCA answered. Some of its kind grew stronger flagella, propelling them faster than their peers. Some developed a rudimentary form of light detection, enabling early warnings of an impending predator's approach. Others, sensing the slightest tremors, gained a crude version of hearing. These abilities were handed down to their descendants, sharpened through the ages in the arena of nature. Then, in a twist of fate, two uniquely gifted LUCA crossed paths. One, flagellum-rich, yet blind. The other was tuned to sound but lacking in speed. As if fate were toying with them, evolution granted their predators the gift of stealth. Alone, each LUCA was a sitting duck for the predators. Destiny, however, in its mysterious ways, drew them together. Against all odds, perhaps a one-in-a-billion shot, their cell membranes melded, relaying a symphony of neural pulses."
Pausing for a brief moment, the old man went on, "One of the most magnificent moments in Earth's history unfolded. By some quirk of fate, these two LUCAs decided to work with each other for the first time. They briefly merged, crafting a dual-celled life form. This new creation not only sported a sturdy flagellum but also boasted the ability to detect light. It did something unprecedented: it evaded its predators’ way before they could even detect it. Then, using its sturdy flagellum, it darted to safer waters. This might've been the very first instance of collaboration in history. As time ticked on, various LUCAs started to blend, and these newer combined entities, equipped with sharper senses, primitive vision, and increased agility, clearly outdid the solo performers. Initially, after eluding danger, LUCAs would go their separate ways. Eventually, they opted to stick together. Their membranes intertwined ever more tightly, and primitive neural networks were bridged one after another, even allowing for cytoplasmic exchanges. So, Earth witnessed its first multicellular organism. It sounds simple, but believe me, it's a tale that spans a billion years. That's right; it took a billion years, just for living organisms to embrace teamwork."
"It's truly awe-inspiring," Andre remarked, with genuine admiration.
"Indeed. Imagine this: if those LUCAs hadn't struck upon the notion of teamwork, Earth would likely be singing the same old tune from billions of years ago. The birth of multicellular beings was a quantum leap in the evolution of life on Earth. Should these cells have had the gift of thought, they definitely would have consciously chosen collaboration over cutthroat competition. Beneath it all, the cogs of evolution began whirring into motion, with cooperation stealing the show. Nature's age-old decree of survival of the fittest led to cells banding together in greater unison. As the days turned to years, the canvas of life showcased intricate multicellular masterpieces, with their cells growing by leaps and bounds. These cell clusters branched out, forging ahead as distinct organs, painting the bigger picture of elaborate life forms. We, each one of us, are the fruits of this majestic voyage," the old man pondered. "In a way, humans have walked a similar path in their social evolution."
"Huh?"
"Over time, humans have continuously learned to collaborate. When you chart the course of human evolution, the spoils of unity have often overshadowed those of rivalry."
"I think some people might beg to differ," Andre quipped. He found it amusing to be discussing such heavy topics with an old gardener tending to his plants. "Progress is often born from competition, where war is the highest form of competition. I recall a phrase—beyond the ruin of war lies the zenith of technological breakthroughs."
"You've got a point there," the old man acknowledged, much to Andre's astonishment. "At the end of the day, life's evolution is rooted in competition. It's the push and pull of competition that taught us to work with each other."
"Competition often lights the torch of innovation," Andre reflected, "It's said that our very first computer was developed in order to calculate artillery trajectories. The dawn of human aviation saw the first aircraft immediately drafted into war, and yet, in those early days, soldiers merely tossed bombs out by hand."
"There's more to it. When humans first discovered metals, their immediate inclination was to crown the tip of their spears with them, rather than fortify their farming tools. And believe it or not, the internet was developed to ensure that, if nuclear war ever broke out, military communications wouldn't fail." The old man paused, then continued. "However, it's not as black and white as it seems. Both collaboration and competition have their parts to play. Fundamentally speaking, human civilization for mankind would never have developed without unity."
"I'm aware. Humans are pack animals," said Andre.
"Just like wolves, ants, and bees," the old man responded with a knowing smile. "None have mastered the art of collaboration quite like us, though. Ages ago, our societies were simple, composed of blood-bound tribes, seldom larger than fifty souls. As rivalries intensified, tribes of different lineages united, giving rise to expansive clans. These clans, through battles or bargains, developed into even greater communities. Soon, these super-clans collaborated, forging nations. Fast forward to the dawn of the space era, Earth was split between over two hundred nations. Their collective efforts were the key that unlocked our journey to space. As we ventured into this frontier, it was the combined might of mankind that crafted the Stargates to take you across the star system in a flash, stretching our reach to the far corners of the Milky Way."
The depth of the old man's words struck a chord with Andre, causing him to regard the elder before him with a newfound admiration. "You couldn't have said it better."
"Time and again, humanity's sense of unity has been the driving force behind historical milestones. It's when we band together that we see the dawn after the darkest night," the old man mused. "All of this is just common sense, right?"
Andre took a pause, collecting his thoughts. "There's something I'd like to ask..."
"I'm out of my depth here; I'm just an old, weathered gardener, after all." The old man replied with a warm smile, modestly brushing off the compliment. He then gestured toward the cloud above his head. "Remember, every cloud has a silver lining. Just watch–"
Heeding the old man's words, Andre looked up to witness the clouds beginning to clear, revealing a sky teeming with glittering stars.
