I Am The Swarm

The Ji quickly realized the flaws in their experiment.

While cultivating a civilization from scratch with their intervention wasn’t an insurmountable challenge, nurturing it to the level of a worthy adversary was nearly impossible.

The first obstacle was technology. Even if the Ji spared no expense, they couldn’t artificially elevate the technological level of this nascent civilization to anywhere near their own in a short time.

Scientific progress required a large population of highly skilled individuals to absorb and develop advanced theories. However, training such individuals took time. Even after absorbing the theories, a robust and mature industrial system was necessary to translate scientific knowledge into tangible applications. And even with an industrial system in place, converting theories into real-world products demanded raw materials.

At that time, the Ji controlled over fifty star systems, with resources beyond imagination. For a civilization to pose a meaningful threat to them, it would need control over at least twenty star systems, just to endure a war of attrition with the Ji. Otherwise, the sheer disparity in resources would allow the Ji to easily outlast and overwhelm their opponent.

Would the Ji willingly allocate twenty star systems to this fledgling civilization? The answer was, of course, a resounding no.

Thus, any civilization incapable of evoking a sense of crisis in the Ji would be ineffective as an external stimulus, even if successfully cultivated.

Moreover, Ji philosophers pointed out a fundamental paradox in this experiment. When one civilization perceives another as a potential threat to its dominance—or even its survival—it will, under normal circumstances, preemptively eliminate the threat unless it is an extremely reckless civilization.

The philosophers thus concluded that even if the experiment progressed, the looming sense of existential danger at the brink of success would inevitably compel the Ji to terminate it.

Faced with failure shortly after the experiment began, the Ji, after some disappointment and introspection, did not give up. Instead, they proposed a new idea: if cultivating an adversary was unfeasible, why not cultivate “their own”?

This “own” referred not to members of their species but rather to helpers. The Ji theorized that, in the future, their civilization might once again fall into homogeneity, leading to stagnation. In such a scenario, introducing non-Ji to break the deadlock could be the solution.

Each species perceives the world differently due to its unique physiological structure. For example, the dichromatic vision of Ratfolk would make it impossible for them to conceive of the vibrant 24-color world seen through the multifaceted eyes of a mantis shrimp.

Such variations in perception naturally lead to different understandings of reality. When these diverse perspectives clashed, could they not spark new, brighter flames of innovation?

With this line of thinking, a new experiment began.

The Ji artificially cultivated two highly intelligent species and raised their offspring in the same manner as Ji children, having them progress step by step through various levels of knowledge.

As expected, differences in perception led these non-Ji to question Ji knowledge. For instance, what appeared red to a Ji might appear blue or violet to another species. Because they were taught using Ji concepts, the non-Ji identified their blue as red, but this did not change the fact that their perception of the world remained distinct.

While these fundamental differences were relatively inconsequential, deeper cognitive divergences began to emerge as the non-Ji acquired more knowledge.

The results were promising. These clashes of perspective provided the Ji with novel ideas and fresh viewpoints, helping them overcome stagnation.

However, it didn’t take long for new problems to arise.

The Ji soon discovered another flaw in their experiment. Because these species developed under the Ji’s heavy intervention, their growth environment mirrored that of the Ji. This led to a high degree of homogeneity, which failed to spark the creative inspiration the Ji had hoped for.

Put simply, these species lacked their own culture. Their perceptions were heavily shaped by the Ji’s influence. For example, regarding the color issue, they believed the blue they saw was the same as the Ji’s red. But in reality, the color they perceived was something entirely different in the Ji’s framework of knowledge.

This cognitive rigidity stifled the intensity of thought collisions. While some intellectual clashes occurred, they were not significant enough to provide the Ji with meaningful breakthroughs.

When problems arose, the Ji sought solutions. If the lack of independent culture and the absence of a natural civilization were the issues, these would need correction.

Fortune seemed to favor the Ji. During routine exploratory operations, they discovered a planet teeming with life. This planet was home to an intelligent species that had already reached the stage of metal smelting.

The Ji were ecstatic. They refrained from interfering too much, offering only subtle guidance. When this species’ civilization reached a certain level, the Ji secretly abducted several of their top scientists.

Although these scientists’ knowledge was far inferior to that of the Ji due to the limitations of their own civilization, anyone capable of rising to the top of their field was no ordinary individual.

Once brought to the Ji’s domain, these individuals eagerly absorbed new knowledge and posed numerous questions. Their unique perspectives sparked even more collisions of ideas, providing the Ji with fresh inspiration and novel insights.

The success of this renewed experiment greatly encouraged the Ji. However, a new issue soon emerged.

Individuals from a natural civilization possessed a strong sense of identity with their own species. While some abductees chose to comply, many viewed the Ji as existential threats and refused to submit, preferring death over cooperation.

This flaw was intolerable to the Ji.

Thus, in the ensuing years, the Ji conducted numerous related experiments, eventually evolving their approach into the current system.

Whenever the Ji’s exploration teams discovered a new life-bearing planet with a potentially promising species, they would mark the star system and place it under protection. Additionally, they would bury a small starship on the planet or one of its satellites, a practice colloquially known as “planting goodwill.”

Despite their advanced technology, Ji creations were not impervious to the ravages of time. Therefore, they would carefully select a point in the species’ development, typically between the Stone Age and the early Metallurgical Age, to bury the ship.

As the species developed and eventually unearthed this “goodwill,” the Ji would be notified and begin monitoring the civilization closely.

This starship served both as an offering of goodwill and as a “test paper.” By reverse-engineering the ship, the Ji could gather data on the species’ capabilities.

The Ji had developed a mature scoring system for such evaluations.

For example, the Rikens, with their long lifespans, organizational efficiency, and abundance of advanced researchers, demonstrated a quick reverse-engineering capability. They received an “Excellent” rating in the Ji scoring system. This process typically required observation over a century or so.

Once the evaluation was complete, the Ji would make contact, claiming the starship had crashed on the planet long ago. They would retrieve the starship while showcasing their military strength. After subduing the native civilization, they would extend an invitation to visit the Ji’s domain.

The technological superiority of the Ji invariably dazzled these “country bumpkins,” making them more amenable to the Ji’s assistance offers.

Of course, this assistance wasn’t free.

The native civilization would be required to send their best scientists to work for the Ji. While these researchers were forbidden from leaking the knowledge they acquired, they could earn points through various contributions. These points could then be exchanged for theoretical knowledge or blueprints.

This transparent and fair system not only maximized the potential of these alien scientists but also minimized resentment.

Naturally, the Ji also implemented a comprehensive anti-leakage system to safeguard their interests.

Through countless experiments, the Ji had discovered that a gentle approach yielded far greater benefits than coercion. However, to ensure they weren’t fostering potential threats, each native species was confined to their home star system. Should any species display ambitions beyond their capabilities, the Ji’s military would intervene decisively.

This Ji-implemented order had maintained stability in the region for tens of thousands of years—until one event changed everything.

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