When Krell had first heard about the humans of the Sol System, his first instinct had been one of pity. It seemed a cruel twist of fate that a species should evolve the necessary intelligence and understanding to leave their world behind and journey to the stars; yet be cursed with so short a lifespan they could never hope to see any of them.

He recalled double checking the datapds’s submission, certain as he was that some mistake must have been made, a zero left off somewhere. It had been at least a thousand years since a species had been encountered with a lifespan even as low as the high hundreds. Yet these humans seemed to struggle to achieve even their first century.

How could they possibly hope to take their place amongst the civilised species of the galaxy when their kind would wither away and die before making it to even a handful of their cosmic neighbours. Indeed the whole thing was a tragedy. Numerous thinkpieces clogged the datapads as the ‘tragedy of humanity’ became the latest cause celebre. Before too long, their novelty now gone, they were mostly forgotten. Why give any attention to so insignificant and ephemeral a people?

-

A few centuries later, Krell’s pity had matured into annoyance. Humans, it was well known, were impatient. They had no respect for the passage of time. While the other species of the galaxy were content to accept the realities of life on a galactic scale, humans seemed incapable of doing so. It was as if their limited lifespan had likewise limited their vision.

Rather than accepting for example that their paltry lifespan meant they were largely doomed to remain tethered to their home star; instead they had heedlessly ventured out into the galaxy regardless. Their so-called generational ships were considered quite distasteful to the other civilised species. A species living, breeding, dying, all sealed up inside one of their grotesquely large vessels. Simply awful.

Then once they did arrive somewhere, they were restless and rapacious in their growth. Humanity had established more colonies in the last fifty years than all of the other species of the galaxy combined. Twice over. There seemed to be no care or deliberation in their actions. They just did things. And kept on doing them while everyone else was taking the sensible precaution of deciding whether or not to do them at all.

Not to mention that their diplomacy left a great deal to be desired. They were insistent. Many found their communications to be downright rude. If they needed something from you they might send as many as two or three messages in a single decade, with no concern for decorum. Even when you did respond it was often a pointless endeavour. On numerous occasions Krell had replied to an enquiry, only to discover that the original questioner had apparently passed away. How were you ever supposed to work with such a people?

-

A few centuries after that, and Krell’s annoyance had transmuted into an appalled fascination. Despite their obvious and sad limitations, humans had been able to make some remarkable progress.

Their colony worlds had developed at a truly staggering pace. A standard colony belonging to any other species might see a handful of new arrivals over the course of decades. Adventurers or misfits who yearned to experience life in a small frontier community. Not so for humanity. Even without the seemingly endless stream of humans coming from Earth, their colonies would have been entirely self-populating. Some of their earlier colonies rivalled other species' actual homeworlds in population and expansion.

This galactic migration had been further spurred by their impatience with galactic travel. While the other species had been content to use the same methods that had served them well all their lives, humans insisted on pushing for something new. They seemed drawn to novelty, unable to appreciate what they already had. Not that Krell could argue with their results. There had been numerous advancements to the FTL drives that had otherwise remained unchanged since Krell’s youth.

Every year seemed to bring with it new technologies or theories that the humans had spearheaded. For so brief a species, they certainly managed to get a lot done in that time. It was almost endearing.

-

With a few more centuries of careful study under his belt, Krell’s fascination had evolved into a grudging respect.

Krell now realised that it had been a mistake to consider the lifespan of a single human in isolation. Some strange byproduct of their fleeting existence compelled them to achieve immortality through legacy and institutions. To live on beyond what few allotted years they had. While for the other species of the galaxy an individual had the time to see things through to their fruition; for humans they had to entrust that to others of their kind.

Humans even had a saying. That they “stood on the shoulders of giants.” No other species in the galaxy operated the same kind of long term collective operations that humans apparently considered routine. In fact Krell had a theory that humans were really best understood as some kind of hive mind. Or, in his more fanciful moments, what he liked to call a ‘meta-conscious’ species.

If you tried to focus on the individual human, well obviously they were dead and gone in the blink of an eye. Their institutions however, they lasted. When an individual human died, the baton would simply be picked up by the next. If you thought of a human as nothing more than the cell of a larger institution, and treated those institutions as beings in their own right, with personalities, motives and goals… Well then suddenly humanity became much easier to interact with and understand. You weren't really talking to a human, you were talking to an institution through its human agent. It wasn’t about what the human thought or wanted, it was what the institution wanted.

Yes a single human might be lucky to see one hundred years, but how long might an institution live? What might it accomplish in that time?

-

Even now, after all those years, Krell hadn’t lost his respect for humanity. It was simply tinged with what he might label as concern. With the benefit of time, some worrying trends had become clear.

Humans appeared to have a remarkable ability to adapt to the rapid pace of change they were inflicting on the rest of the galaxy. While they freely and happily shared their technological achievements with others, only humans seemed able to adopt them with any confidence. The other species of the galaxy were honestly overwhelmed by it all. Technology advancements that used to take millenia were now taking decades. It honestly felt like everyone else was being left behind, it seemed impossible to keep up with them and their frenetic pace.

There was also the issue of their sheer number. Humans had colonised nearly half of the known habitable planets in the galaxy. They were terraforming others. The last time a Galactic census was held, humanity had comprised nearly 64% of all sapient life. Krell didn’t get the feeling that number was likely to plateau anytime soon. What would happen when they couldn’t find anywhere new to expand into?

-

Case Study: The Journals Of Krell Tan’Bo - Critical Analysis by Professor James DeWitt - Mars University

It is a truly unique experience to be able to see the viewpoint of another species during the era of humanities ascendancy. To have access to their first-hand observations and conclusions is undoubtedly a gift.

Krell’s journals provide an intriguing insight into a fascinating period of galactic history. As with other non-human species his incredible lifespan allowed him to bear witness to vast tracts of time and provide a single, unbroken perspective which covered several distinct epochs.

With the benefit of hindsight we can see that Krell was not equipped to truly understand the macro-factors at play during this period. Though this atomised thinking, without recourse to structural analysis, is ubiquitous in non-human species; who seemed to operate as isolated bastions of personal/private knowledge. Nevertheless, despite their lack of academic rigour, they still retain a certain sense of wonder as they transport us back to a time when humanity was not alone in the cosmos.

I believe I can say with some confidence that I am among the very last of my kind. Over the years my kin have dwindled and diminished. Some were hunted and killed by your kind. Out of fear, or fun, or to take our power. Others seemed simply to grow weary, lost their passion for the world and its ever decreasing wonders, and in time faded away. A few of us still remain of course, the world is after all a bigger and stranger place than your kind give it credit.

We each of us have, or had, our role or duty. Some of us hung the dewy cobwebs on a fresh spring morn. Others conducted the sonorous rumble of a thunder clap. Or dusted the delicate patterns of a winter’s frost upon your window pane. Gave every star in the sky its twinkle.

All these things still go on of course. But no hand guides them, no mind directs what arrangement or composition should look most pleasing. Now it is nothing more than brute nature at play, without intent or artistry. If your elders tell you that the world used to be a more vibrant, beautiful place they are correct. The world also used to be a far more dangerous and capricious place, so make of that what you will

I don’t know if the need for us has diminished, but it certainly seems that the desire for us has. The world that your kind has built no longer seems to want us in it. Day by day we find a little less space for us, a little less welcome for us. Nevertheless I still go about my appointed duty, humble as it may be.

My purpose, if you wish to consider it that, is to set the course of the glittering motes which dance and twirl in a sunbeam. It is graceful work, perhaps not as showy or bombastic as others. It has never attracted much attention, and I have not the notoriety of some of my fellowes such as Jack Frost or Jack o' the Green. I was never well known at the best of times, my name long since lost to history. No, I shall not divulge it here.

I believe I have an entry in Munroe's Glossary of the Occult, though he does include one or two inaccuracies. Even so, I doubt any copies remain. It is for the best, there is a power in names. To know a thing's name is to single it out amongst all of the wide world, to rip it free from it and hold it in isolation. It is no mere thing.

Which is why it was an immensely distressing feeling to hear my name spoken without warning or preamble, for the first time in nearly a thousand years. I felt myself being summoned. It was an irresistible pull. Every piece of my being, grasped at and dragged screeching across the world. My very nature contained and held upon the tip of someone’s tongue. I had only a moment to divest myself of the quotidian attire I wore and robe myself in my formal raiment. In the blink of an eye I was there.

I stood before a young girl, no older than five or six.

She paid me no heed. She sat on the floor, her attention focused on some crude rag doll held in her hands. I allowed myself a moment to gather my thoughts and take stock of my new surroundings. A simple garden, grass neatly trimmed, a wooden fence, its paint well faded. Ahead of me, a rather ugly looking box of a house.

“Ahem…” I politely coughed, hoping to attract the attention of my summoner. Startled by the noise she looked up and saw me before her. The mild look of apprehension on her face dissolved in an instant, her eyes grew wide and a joyous smile lit up her face.

She repeated my name, which I shall not record here, in an excited cry and awkwardly clambered to her feet. I bowed low as etiquette and custom dictated.

“You have summoned me. Though I know not how you have come across my name. By the roots of the rivers and the bones of the earth, I am bound to heed your command.”

She merely giggled. Undaunted I continued:

“Where did you learn my name? From which ancient tome or loose lipped spirit was the information pried?”

“It’s your name silly, nobody had to tell me it.” the girl replied. She thrust forward her hand, in which was gripped the dirty rag doll. Peering closer at the repugnant trinket I did begrudgingly notice a crude similarity in garb and mien between it and myself. I began to form an awful suspicion in my head.

“You named this doll yourself I suppose?”

“Yes! It’s a funny name. Do you like it?”

“Quite so.” My pride well and truly picked, I made ready to put this embarrassing situation far behind me. “Well if you would excuse me I would depart” So spoken I drew myself up to my full height and tried to maintain as dignified an air as was possible given the circumstances.

“No I want to play” she exclaimed, as I felt myself sag in response.

The old rules dictated that I was unable to disappear without her leave. I was for all intents her prisoner though she didn’t know it. I would obey her commands until she was satisfied with my service and let me go.

“Very well child, if that is what you require of me, then we shall… play.”

With that, she skipped off towards the bottom of her garden where a small hawthorn copse lay. She paused and beckoned for me to follow. Reluctantly, though unavoidably, I accompanied her.

It has been two years since that day and she still refuses to dismiss me. In that time I have discovered that I am quite proficient at ‘Hide & Seek’ and though I am loathe to admit it, I do pride myself on the quality of my flower crowns.

Now I‘m afraid I must leave you. I have a tea party to attend and it is rude to keep one’s host waiting.