101. A Normal Old Man
Although we may refer to our civilisation colloquially as 'galactic', the truth is that we are far from achieving such a status. Many factors may contribute to this, such as the large and multitudinous variety of species within the inhabited galaxy predisposing us to war, inevitably slowing our progress.
I would argue against this theory, however, for the simple fact that war has always been a catalyst for a rapid advance in technology. With necessary precautions enforced by the fragile triumvirate of the Alliance, the Empire and the Expanse in order to prevent wars of total desolation, some level of conflict is encouraged to foster a competitive environment whereby civilisations either advance or are ground under the relentless erosion of time. Although none of these titans of civilisations would admit such a thing, enamoured as they are in their own self-glorification, if they truly wished for galactic peace it would take little effort on their part to completely extinguish the flames of war, considering the significant gap in technology and power between them and the rest of the galaxy.
Therefore, I propose that the true barrier to our advancing to type III and beyond is simple astronomy - the Stellar Dead Zones. Such an umbrella term may be misleading, in light of the fact that their origins and presentations vary wildly, but it is still correct regarding the outcomes. That is to say, a complete inability to travel through them by any means. Examples include the Zona Ultima, the furthest coreward travellers may reach, preventing any attempts at entering the inner galaxy. Readings and probes simply reveal 'nothing' and expeditions never report back. It remains impenetrable to all forms of inquiry, whether they be psychic, technological, occult or other. A perfect barrier whose origin can be nothing but artificial, leaving the unasked question of whether it exists is to prevent our entry in; or to prevent something else's escape.
Ny'Sirael Thaloreth, meaning the Veil of Quiet Divinity, is another Stellar Dead Zone bordering the Woodland Expanse, though their inherently elusive nature has meant few opportunities to study this area of space. This has left us to rely on the stories of the odd pirate or outlaw competent enough to both enter and leave without detainment by the forces of the Expanse. Such individuals rank among the strongest and bravest - or most unhinged - in the entire known galaxy, yet even they utter of what they saw there in hushed whispers. Of what hides within the 'gaps between stars' and, perhaps most terrifyingly, the 'silence that speaks'.
Of course, such a list would be incomplete without perhaps the largest and most well-explored Stellar Dead Zone: The Uncharted Zone. Bordering Alliance territory, their obsession with scientific progress meant that study of this Dead Zone was inevitable. Although it has fizzled out in recent years, due to a lack of incentive coupled with no real economic reward, data from several previous expeditions has revealed it to be at least as large as the entirety of Alliance territory, and it could very well extend even further - there is simply no way of knowing at this time.
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- This is a strange transmission, its spatial origin is indeterminate. However, scientists have analysed its tachyon decay, determining its temporal origin. It is not from the near or ancient past. Rather, it arrives from the future.
***
[Unknown Place, Unitopia]
At the peak of a mountain, there was a lonely shack. It was the very definition of the word 'rickety', made of maladjusted planks of wood. Clearly, very little thought had gone into its construction, holes and leaks aplenty, each having their own makeshift, temporary fix. It was as if it were created by a blind person.
An old man entered through the door. This man was the very image of a wiseman. His long, wispy, white beard stretched down from his chin like a waterfall of clouds. His head was covered in a thick woollen hat, tufts of similarly-white coloured hair poking out of the sides. Taking off his jacket, he hung it on a post.
Or rather, he attempted to do so and missed, causing the jacket to fall onto a growing pile of them already on the floor.
This is because of the old man's most striking feature. His eyes were milky-white and unseeing in the truest sense of the word. Now it usually follows in tales such as these that a situation like this is hiding something within its unwritten depths. Perhaps an ancient, jaded warrior retreating to the mountains, or an old sage who has relinquished himself from mortal matters in pursuit of higher things. Dao-adjacent, usually.
I mention this specifically to be granted this opportunity to reiterate: this is NOT the case. This old man is, nothing more or less, than just that. A plain, boring, normal old man. I have a feeling that you don't believe me, but you will. You will.
Well, the old man was perfectly within the standard deviation about the objective reality of 'normality', an almost dead-on average being. In fact, that in of itself is perhaps what granted him his specialness. To be so...middling. Maybe it is patronising to say such a thing, but regardless, the old man had not given such ideas any thought whatsoever so I can say whatever I want and nobody can stop me.
Now then, what was truly special, was what resided in the blind old man's possession. In the corner of his room, covered in a layer of dust that indicated neglect over at least a few decades, was the fifth most important object in the entire galaxy. And the first most important object in the entire universe. Beyond that, these sort of lists tend to lose their inherent meaning, but you get the idea.
It was a book.
It seemed out of place among the rest of the ramshackle building. Not necessarily because of an inherent power or presence it possessed, but because it looked rather too modern. Paperback with a cheap, polyester cover. Written on its title was written in large, red, eye-catching letters. To an extent, one would be skeptical upon seeing it, more reminiscent of cheap knock-offs rather than anything actually of substance.
The letters read a very simple title:
Three Steps to Ultimate Power (beginner's edition)
You may be thinking of some sort of metaphorical, or political commentary, but I am here to turn that assumption on its head. The book was thin, very thin in fact. I can tell you that it was five pages long, the first being the contents and the last being the acknowledgements. Which means that, if my maths is correct, the actual substance of the book is three pages in total.
I can even tell you more than that: each page contained only a single sentence. The rest of it was blank. This was not a code or some kind of hidden message written in invisible ink. There was literally, simply, three sentences in that entire book.
Three, very easy steps that anyone who had the capacity to read could complete, that granted one absolute, unequivocable, with no drawbacks, ultimate power. This is not a joke. Its author was unknown, the acknowledgements page was blank and the contents just listed 'step 1', 'step 2', and 'step 3'. And yet, that book hid a mystery that galactic overlords would sacrifice all that they had, returning to a mortal amoeba, just to have a single glance at.
Unfortunately, the old man was blind, and therefore could not read. Oh well.