Once, eons ago, there was a traveler. This traveler fancied himself a bit of an artist, much to his family’s dismay. He came from a long line of builders that assembled worlds in the tried and trusted ways of the Ancients. To the traveler, these methods lacked heart and originality. Yes, what they constructed served a functional purpose, but in his eyes, that was all they did. There was no soul or artistry to it. He didn’t want to simply build; he wanted to create. So, as most self-described artists do, he left.
This traveler roamed the stars searching for inspiration and a canvas vast enough to hold his imagination. He scoured the endless depths of space, studying the cosmos. Along the way, he had romantic entanglements with four Muses. Eight children were the by-product. It was a feat of creation worthy of celebration, yet the traveler remained dissatisfied. His ego rivaled the size of his imagination, and he felt the idea of creating with a partner cheapened the output. No, to be a true artist, he must create something of his own. As the eons passed, the traveler determined he had learned all of what infinite space could teach.
So, he went to work. With a fury, and using every bit of knowledge he’d gained from his travels, he shaped and molded a magnificent burning orb visible from the furthest reaches of time. The orb glowed with a brilliant warmth with chaotic edges that flicked and flared as if they were alive. He thought that the Ancients wouldn’t have even dared to dream of something so spectacular. No longer would his family see him as a meager builder. He was a true creator. Pleased with his work, the traveler considered what his genius would unleash next. However, he had grown tired from his eons of wandering. The exertion from his only masterpiece rendered him incapable of another undertaking. He wallowed in dismay, angered from being cheated from the countless glories he knew were still inside him. When his misery could sink no lower, something occurred to him—the children. There was hope yet. He could no longer do the physical work, but he could bring his ideas to life through his children.
Invigorated by the new possibilities, the traveler set out to gather his offspring. It cost him many promises and favors to coax them into coming with him. Many of them resented him for having abandoned them for so long. Despite their objections, he eventually gathered all eight of them.
“I have been gone for some time,” the traveler told his children. “This I know. You may hate me for it, and that is understandable. However, behold what I have done with that time.”
The traveler revealed his burning orb to his children. Some looked on in awe, others in disdain, while others were merely indifferent.
“I have created,” the traveler said. “I will teach you the basics, then you will go forth and create a wonder of your own.”
Some children protested, but the traveler would hear none of it. He was giving them a gift. Those that couldn’t appreciate it in the present, he knew, would appreciate it in the future. And so the lessons began. He taught them of the stars and comets, the nebulae and quasars, dark matter, and black holes. He dissected his creation in vivid detail so they could see how he had achieved the result. When he had taught them all that he knew, the children dispersed into the universe.
Each child toiled and labored to grasp the concepts their father had shown. They revolved around him, and as each rotated close, he would provide critiques. After all, he wanted to have some imprint so others knew he was involved with their creations. After time had passed, the traveler surveyed their progress. They all had made substantial advances, which pleased him. His sixth child, Saturn, showed promise. She constructed magnificent rings that looped her orb with intricate detail, and they moved with an organized fluidity. The others were structurally sound and passable, but only one of his children’s creations rivaled his own.
His third child, Earth, did something that none of the others, not even himself, could do. She appeared to have gone to the micro-level and painted a complex tapestry within her orb. The others focused on overall shape, size, and color but put little thought into the surface texture. She had created life in its most unadorned yet undeniably complex form. This fact wouldn’t have stood out so much had any of her siblings done the same, but none did.
The traveler showered Earth with praise and admiration for the level of skill displayed in her work.
“Children, come and marvel at what your sister has achieved. Hold her creation as the standard I seek. Settle for nothing less.”
The traveler put her on a pedestal from that day on. She—along with his creation—was the pinnacle of achievement. Earth accepted his adulation with humility and grace but was eager to continue.
“There’s still more work to be done,” she told her father.
“Of course,” he said, then loud enough for the others to hear. “If you all had your sister’s work ethic and gifts, I would die from the overflow of beauty.”
The first child, Mercury, and Saturn, gave their congratulations and put in some effort to study the details of Earth’s creation. The seventh child, Uranus, and eighth child, Neptune, didn’t seem to care much and mostly kept to themselves. The second child, Venus, adored Earth and wished to emulate her as much as possible. The fourth and fifth children, Mars and Jupiter, however, resented the attention. Jupiter, the biggest, felt his size warranted some recognition, and Mars thought his unique coloring was equally impressive.
However, none of this fazed Earth in the slightest. She kept her focus, experimenting and growing new and exciting things. Mountains, oceans, atmosphere, foliage, and trees are all names that would come later. All these wonders intrigued her father. And to his amazement, she was only just getting started. Soon came complex creatures of various sizes and aesthetics. It was the lifeforms that did it for Mars. Things had gone too far in his eyes, and he could no longer sit idly by, letting his sister take all of their father’s attention. Something needed to be done.
Mars devoted energy to studying how Earth’s systems worked. After a time, he noticed some lifeforms replicated and grew unaided. He sat with this for a considerable time until an idea took shape. He plotted with Jupiter, working in the shadows to create an ingenious virus that would unravel all the work Earth had put in. In its own right, the two brothers concluded the virus was a marvelous invention. And although they couldn’t share what they’d done with their father for fear of reprisals, they were proud nonetheless.
Jupiter beckoned to Earth. He asked her questions about how he may improve upon his work. While she was distracted, Mars snuck into Earth’s creation and deposited the virus within one of the vast oceans she had made. With the virus in place, the brothers returned to their studies, waiting for the day Earth would fall.
The symptoms of the virus were slow to take effect, but gradually it grew and evolved. At first, Earth watched the virus grow with curiosity and wonder, but by the time the virus became known as man, it was too late. They multiplied rapidly from there, operating with inherent violence she hadn’t witnessed in any of her other creations. They seemed to kill one another with no rhyme or reason, with a viciousness beyond comprehension, yet they continued to spawn and spread. Then the virus began attacking her other creations and lifeforms. They pillaged and laid waste, consuming everything in sight.
Distraught, and not wanting to burden her father, Earth sought advice from the first and oldest sibling, Mercury.
“A virus is destroying my creation from the inside out,” Earth said.
Mercury observed the virus for a spell, noting its intelligence and dominance.
“Have you tried turning them against one another?”
“Yes,” she replied. “They reduce their numbers with great violence, but then they seem to keep reproducing in other sectors.”
“What about a virus of your own?” he offered.
“I’ve tried that too. That works for a time, but as you can see, these creatures are smart and devise defenses against my concoctions.”
“Your creation seems to have an atmosphere. Can you make the oceans or weather reduce their numbers?”
“I’ve tried many things in that regard, but they fortify against those threats. Plus, I risk harming the innocent creatures.”
“I’m sorry then,” the eldest sibling said. “It is outside my realm of understanding how to stop them.”
News of the conversation made its way to Mars, and he revealed in her torment. His virus was working far better than he could have ever imagined. He visited Earth one day under the guise of friendship, but his true intention was to witness the destruction firsthand.
“Brother,” Earth said. “How lovely to see you.”
“I’ve heard you’ve been having some trouble,” he said, hiding his merriment.
He studied Earth. She looked tired and withdrawn, a fragment of her former beauty. Time had been unkind to her.
“Yes, brother. I have been battling an illness for some time now in my creation.”
Mars stared at the blue and green orb. He nearly wept in bliss at the elegant destruction he had wrought. The once beautiful lands and oceans were in disarray, unbalanced and tortured, enshrined in a thinning protective layer. His virus was everywhere, devouring and plundering, laying waste wherever it went.
“I’m sorry, sister, had I your creativity and genius, I would offer assistance, but alas, I was born in your shadow.”
“I fear all is lost. It is only a matter of time until they destroy everything, and I will have to start over.”
“Well, if anyone can rebuild, it is you, sister.”
“I don’t know. I think my best years are behind me.”
“I never took you as a pessimist.”
She didn’t respond, lost in the chaos before her.
“I’ll leave you to it then, my sister. If I can ever be of help, please let me know.”
“Thank you, brother. Be well,” she mumbled.
Mars left, and his spirits were high. If only he could see their father’s face when he laid eyes on his sister’s masterpiece in ruins. To see her fall from the pedestal their father had placed her on would bring him endless delight. His fantasies carried him the rest of the journey back to his creation. With a restored zest, he inspected his orb, analyzing a new location that was prime for innovation. As he dove into his work, he glimpsed something shiny in the distance.
He investigated. At the base of a red hill sat a tiny silver object. Mars didn’t know what it was, but something familiar about it nagged him. He zoomed in closer to study the foreign object in greater detail. A door shot open on the object, and he watched with curiosity. Creatures spilled out of the object in great numbers. And at that moment, his curiosity turned to horror—the virus. The virus he had created and used to ruin Earth’s work had somehow made its way to his creation. Mars’ defenses were nonexistent. In a state of panic, he brainstormed ways he could snuff out the virus before its roots dug in. But nothing came to him. He had designed the virus so beautifully and so perfectly that deep down, he knew there was no way of stopping it. Perhaps he could make an example of this landing party, he thought. Then he remembered that while the virus was highly adaptable and intelligent, it was also extraordinarily simple and wouldn’t shy away from the message no matter how terrible it was. He reasoned he should at least try. While working up a storm to eliminate the virus, he looked off into the distance. A sea of stars he hadn’t seen before appeared to be moving.
Then he realized they weren’t stars at all but more of the silver objects that he discovered on his creation. Their numbers stretched beyond what he could see. Mars slumped in defeat, realizing the fate that awaited. Humankind was coming, whether he liked it or not.
