by Michael Kan
He was in a windowless room. It was small and dark, with only a single yellow light bulb hanging from the ceiling. He wanted to move, but he remained confined to his chair, needlessly squirming in his seat.
Farcia are you there?
It was the last moment he remembered. The woman he had searched for was finally in view. Was this all a dream? he asked himself, bewildered by everything that had happened. So much violence. So much death. He sank in the chair, shocked and ashamed because of what he had seen. But in the midst of it all, she had been there. For a moment, he could even touch her. He’d only needed to follow.
Now he was here, tied down, in this confined room. Where am I? he shouted. Tell me!
The lips of his gills nearly squealed in the clumsy language. At first he heard nothing but his own echo and his panting. He continued shaking in his seat, angry at the silence. Then the door opened. The block of wall separated, revealing an entryway and soon a woman. It was not the one he wanted to see.
Red recognized her the lone, unarmed figure. A Sentinel. She had confronted Farcia and her mechanical enforcer, demanding their arrest. Now she stood only a few feet away. She was dressed in the same combat jacket. Her black hair was cut at a slant and nearly covered one side of her face.
Red scrutinized her, feeling nothing. At least, nothing from her mind. Was she even alive?
What happened? he asked. Where is Farcia?
He could vaguely read the woman’s reaction in her face. The expression seemed universal. The Sentinel’s thin lips twisted into a scowl. Her eyes and brow shrank in a glance of annoyance. She stood in the corner, silent, as the other visitor appeared.
It came as an image. The light vibrated and beamed into the room. Gradually, it emerged, the pixels meshing together to form the hologram, the skin, facial features, and fabric all filling out.
Red felt nothing from it as well. Another woman, he thought. This one, however, came dressed in a more formal uniform, one that was tinged with occasional static. His gaze moved between the two a pair of plain-skinned interrogators, each with a prominent mouth and nose, who likely belonged to the same race. Without his telepathy, he was forced to rely on what he saw. On the breast of each of them, he noticed the insignia. It was a gold symbol, which he happened to recognize.
The Alliance, he said. What do you want?
The two women if they were female did somewhat resemble his own kind. Except that they had more complicated and expressive faces. The Sentinel woman, in particular, looked especially dissatisfied and leery, as she answered with a slight frown. But it was the hologram that started first.
Your name. It’s Cieras Novaire? Also known as Red. You work as a trader, correct?
He heard the translation come through his collar. Yes he replied warily.
And your race. You align with this this Ehvine Empire?
No, no, he corrected her, trying to find the words. The Supremacy. The Ehvine Supremacy. I supply technology to my people.
Red noticed the hologram’s face and heard the niceties in the translated speech. She spoke the words, serious but unsure. They clearly knew something of him, even though he had sought to remain anonymous.
The Sentinel interrupted. She stepped forward, impatient.
You’re a long way from home. Almost sixty thousand light-years. And already you’ve caused trouble. So why are you here?
She was insistent, staring into his eyes. There was no telepathy at work, but he could feel the anger.
Or are you in league with her? Your so-called Farcia. The fugitive who attacked the station.
Her stare didn’t flinch. Answer me.
Red tried to look away. The collar was scraping against his neck. He needed to breathe.
No. that’s not true
He was confused, lost, even intimidated. But more important, he felt guilty. Red sighed, not sure where to begin.
I’m sorry, he said, stirring in his seat. I wanted to help, but
The Sentinel woman rolled her eyes. She stepped back as another hologram emerged in the room.
We’ve been watching you, she explained. Wondering if this Farcia might contact you.
What?
Over a month ago, you contacted Alliance security. Said you knew details about the white-haired woman. Then you went silent and disappeared. Surveillance networks eventually spotted you, and we’ve been tracking you ever since.
Red saw the image. It was a collection of data points, establishing his whereabouts since he had arrived in the sector. All of it was true. Six weeks ago he had contacted the Alliance, only to run, thinking he had made a mistake.
Yes, he said. I wanted to find her. But you the Alliance. You want to harm her, don’t you? You issued a kill-on-sight order. If you don’t kill her, what will you do to her? She’s innocent!
Innocent? Are you blind? the Sentinel nearly shouted.
Red shriveled in his seat, regretting the error. I know. I’m sorry, it’s just that
She needs to be stopped before more die.
I know. Of course I know. But I couldn’t help you, even if I wanted to. I haven’t seen her in over two decades. Almost twenty-four of your years.
The Sentinel barely moved. She was still suspicious. Explain this.
The data points in the hologram changed. The field updated to show new information, pinpointing contacts Red had recently made. These were no ordinary contacts. Many had criminal records.
We found you searching for bounty hunters and cyber hackers. Infiltrators who have even cracked Alliance networks. It’s what led us to watch you even more closely.
Have you been assisting her? Scouting out targets? Why were you the only one left unscathed in her attack?
The room was growing tense. The Sentinel’s stare seemed ready to dig into him. Red had no legal representative. No recourse. He possessed only vague impressions of how law enforcement operated here. He glanced down at his chained hands. He had nowhere to go.
He also had to agree it was all suspicious.
For the last month, he had been searching for them. People who could find information about Farcia, whether it be hunters for hire or alleged cyber terrorists. At the time, Red didn’t care. He was desperate.
It has to be a mistake, he thought. She wouldn’t do this.
But she had. Red had seen it, even felt it. Her telepathy was no accident. He remembered the bodies on the station floor. Then he thought back to the other reports. It was the same slaughter. Red nearly choked on the thought. In a way, this was all his fault.
I’ll tell you everything, he said. Everything I know.
He wished he could just explain to his interrogators with his thoughts. It would be almost instantaneous, and it would all be true. He was an honest man. Honesty was ingrained in his very being. But instead, Red struggled to come up with the words. The gills in his cheeks bristled with saliva and foam.
He looked away from the Sentinel toward a blank space on the wall. His gaze lingered there as he closed his eyes, almost in tears. Somehow he needed to fix this.
The Sentinel stepped away, still annoyed. She crossed her arms, looking at her counterpart.
Tell us, the other woman said more calmly. Why were you there?
He lifted his head and stared at the officer. Although she was a hologram, the facsimile felt real to him; her black and gold hair was long and shone in the light. The young officer leaned in, patiently waiting. For his two interrogators, this was their best lead a man from a distant empire, the Supremacy.
I wanted to find her. Like you, Red said, regaining his composure. I’ve been trying to find her for decades. But I had no idea she was looking for me. I swear.
Red then realized why this woman had appeared as a hologram and not in her true form. The telepathy it was what had killed so many on the station.
You must think me a weapon, like her? he asked. Yes, I’m an empath. All my people are. But I don’t possess such power. I’m
not like Farcia. None of my people are. I’m no threat to you.
We’ll be the judge of that, interrupted the Sentinel.
She stood in the corner, skeptical. Maybe even cynical. Despite her artificial nature, the Sentinel clearly had been built with emotions and personality. Strange features for a machine, Red thought.
He looked cautiously in her direction. The woman was flexing her hand and massaging the knuckles with the other. He could only wonder about the last encounter. From what he gathered, Farcia must still be at large.
The holograms then began to shift. The two women were still there, but the central image before him had expanded until it nearly filled the room.
This Ehvine Supremacythe information we have on your people is rather sparse.
It was the young officer who spoke and pointed. The hologram had become a rotating galactic map. It showed the approximate location of the Supremacy he spoke of. It was an old, outdated map, but Red recognized the features.
Yes, he said. This where did you find it?
From Alliance archives. This particular image was housed in a museum.
The officer looked up at the map, almost impressed. She was looking at a galactic empire that once spanned thousands of light-years.
The Ehvine Supremacy, she said. A legendary empire. Founded long before the Alliance.
Yes. A great empire led by a great people, he said. It was like yours. A galactic power promising peace and prosperity.
Red almost smiled under the map’s lambent grid. For a moment he felt pride, or the semblance of it.
All that ended, however, he went on. The invaders. They came to us destroying everything.
The Endervars, the Sentinel said. Records say they entered your space over ten thousand years ago.
Yes. We were one of the first to encounter them. We fought valiantly, but in the end all we could do was warn the others. Warn the rest of the galaxy.
The old map then disappeared, replaced by a present-day graphic of the region. The hologram showed no empire only a pair of moons supposedly still loyal to the galactic power. It was a drastic change. The empire that he knew was all but gone.
The Sentinel woman glanced at the image, curious.
The Endervar War is over, she said. You were liberated twenty-seven years ago.
Red shook his head. No there was no liberation for us.
We died, he said bluntly.
Red closed his hands, squeezing. He was irritated that he was still strapped to this chair. Here he was, explaining to these strangers the fate of his people. He gazed at the map, imagining it: his entire race perishing under the invasion. He recalled the stories. Of the Great War, and of the rise and fall of the invaders. The defeat of the Endervars.
So many of you speak of liberation with such glee he said, barely hiding his disdain. It’s true, the Endervars did come to us. They destroyed our fleets, captured our planets, and kept my people in a near temporal stasis.
He remembered it clearly, even now. Enemy ships the size of cities, bearing down on his home world.
But that’s where the similarities end. No, we didn’t survive our stasis. Not like your people or so many others.
Under Endervar dominion, over ninety-nine percent of my people died, he explained. The visions we saw under Endervar rule. The telepathy it killed us.
Even with our liberation, there are only a few hundred of us left. Not enough to continue the race. Not unless we use bioengineering, but even then I don’t know things will be different.
He lay there in his chair, bound and defeated. Red could barely muster any more strength or will to speak. He was tired of talking, tired of this story. He simply glanced at the blank space on the wall, wishing he were elsewhere.
The Sentinel woman saw the sad stare. She could see a semblance of a wince.
But then why are you here? she asked, kneeling in front of him. In our part of the galaxy?
He slowly turned to her. Perhaps now they would understand.
To find my Farcia, he answered. She is one of the last of us and once she was my wife.
Chapter 6
She had left behind her physical body. In this place, there was no need for such things. Arendi was traveling far. Her artificial mind was tapping into the connection. The exchange commenced. She now crossed into the central galactic network, an information hub maintained by the Alliance. It was there that she entered the destination, a virtual realm populated by billions.
The physical world was behind her. In front of her was a domain devoted to data, its people converted from the living or the recently deceased. Some called it the Graveyard, others, Utopia. Arendi, however, would always remember it by its original name.
The Ouryan Union, she said, accessing the root framework. The virtual realm responded, welcoming her for this urgent visit.
In prior decades the Union had undergone a radical change. Once, it was a galactic power, a machine empire that conspired to control the galaxy. It had even made an enemy of Arendi, along with the rest of the Alliance. But all that was now in the past.
The realm had since retreated into its own virtual universe. The great hive mind had dissolved; the various enclaves had taken over for the collective. Its population of billions made up of cultures across the galaxy had been given free rein. Control had waned in the face of liberty. And now there was no official authority, no de facto leader. The Union’s original masters were long gone. Arendi had even thought them dead.
Apparently, she was wrong. Hoping for answers, she traveled deeper into the Union and arrived at a confidential location. It was a secure and encrypted place that few knew. She loaded the codes and entered them. She then emerged, full body, inside the virtual realm. In her eyes were the stars.
Her surroundings had re-created the galaxy and placed her, hovering, along its edge. Under her feet was an invisible platform. Arendi walked along as a nebula and its ionized gases flared in the sky.
On the other end was the maker of all this. A man of great infamy. As before, he took a physical human form. His blond hair remained perfectly cropped. The strands were as platinum as ever almost a metallic white. The man was not looking at the surrounding stars, however. He was far more interested in the battle. Particularly the one Arendi had recently fought. He stood, studying the holoimages intently. His right hand pressed against his lips, clenched.
Arendi was about to speak when she noticed the man’s grin. He smiled hard, his teeth apparent.
Sentinel Soldanas. You fight well.
He watched, reviewing the data. It was the surveillance footage taken from the orbital den. In the images was Arendi, facing off against the threat. She could tell he was amused. His name was the Destroyer, after all. Destruction was his specialty.
Arendi, however, was quick to dismiss his remark.
I was naïve, she replied. The target escaped.
The news spheres had already begun reporting the incident. Over four hundred people were indeed dead, some beyond revival. The rest had sustained severe mental trauma. As she feared, more concern was building among the public and the press.
The security council wasn’t happy. They questioned me for almost two hours. Said I took unnecessary risks. Maybe they’re right, she added. But I’m tired of failing.
Hmph, he replied. You did your best. Sometimes we have to make our own path.
Arendi tried to think past her mistakes. She focused on why she was here.
The Destroyer watched the images, focusing on the mysterious machine attacker on display. The enemy skipped across the footage, stabbing and blasting, before meeting Arendi’s own deadly force.
What do you think? she asked. It’s clearly Ouryan in design. Do you know who this might be?
Arendi called up the detailed analysis. It was a schematic that showed the giant mechanical foe. She enlarged the view, reproducing the enemy’s height and stature. The opponent was taller than either Arendi and the Destroy
er’s human form. It was a titan made to infiltrate and kill.
Two tons of weight, Arendi said, walking around the attacker’s periphery. Built with tridinium armor and a stealth array.
The detailed analysis continued, cataloging the machine’s physical structure and all its technical specs. Forensics, however, had failed to recover any data from it. A self-destruct sequence had been quick to wipe its internal systems clean. Essentially, the dead machine was an empty husk. As for its reinforcements, Arendi had pulverized them into debris and gas.
Still, the blond-haired man was intrigued. Drawing his attention was the plasma cannon attached to the attacker. It was oddly placed, taking the form of the machine’s singular eye a barrel that bled blue. He then noted the machine’s various attack strategies. The stances were familiar. He smiled again, his jagged grin widening. No one used these configurations no one but him.
The Unity, he said. my old masters. It must be them.
He then closed the images. The footage and the supporting pixels faded away. Although he knew no more than Arendi did, the clues all led to the same conclusion.
Arendi saw the smirk. A wall of teeth had emerged, salivating. She could sense the satisfaction from his fabricated human face. It was a look the Destroyer only had when war was near. Perhaps he was right. Arendi watched as the man sauntered out to the platform. He looked across to the stars; the galactic arms were moving in the great expanse.
The Unity, he said. I thought them to be dead as well
He would know. The Destroyer was the one who had essentially overthrown them. Thirty years ago he had done the unthinkable and reformatted the entire Union. The result had expelled his masters from their domain and sparked a new civil war.
I was told they were crushed, he said, remembering that time from decades ago. But I’ve found no trace of their corpses. Not even as I patrol the various sectors, trying to uncover their final tracks.