by Michael Kan
“Ending this war, we support,” said League representative D’merisa-Ladean. “But we need a clearer notion of this weapon’s cost. If used to its full extent, a sizeable portion of the galaxy could be obliterated. We need to understand what this could result, before there’s no turning back.”
The collapser also denies any chance Endervar-controlled systems will be liberated, D’merisa cautioned. Countless attempts have been made to penetrate the Endervar shield, and understand the possible conditions behind them, but so far all have failed. The High Scientists league estimates more than a trillion sentient lives have been subjugated on enemy-controlled worlds.
“The league still holds out hope that communication with the Endervars could one day be possible,” D’merisa said. “But perhaps the mystery of the Endervars will be simply that — a mystery, lost to eternity.”
***
The woman stood alone in the isolated room, her body enshrouded in the flickering white light. It had been that way for days now, to be inside a place she knew nothing of. She could barely stand it.
"Control," the woman said. "Where are you?"
Extending her hand out, she felt again the invisible barrier permeating around her. A force field wall, she had been told, one to keep her confined and secure. How long this would last, they had yet to say. But always the questions would come, demanding to know more.
PLEASE DETAIL YOUR CREATORS. WHO ARE THEY?
The words — they were spoken in the language of her world, the androgynous voice booming throughout the room. No doubt it was a translation, the question coming from what she knew to be alien life. The Alliance of the Free Stars, they called themselves — a galactic super government now keeping her captive.
WHAT ARE THEIR OBJECTIVES?
She had tried to answer their questions, detailing the age-old history of their mission. The efforts to survive. The eons of research. The escape from the enemy’s shield. So much needed to be said. To finally establish contact, among a people they had only theorized could exist. But it was strange to even talk. To process the information and respond. To just even think. To be completely on her own. It scared her.
WHAT DO THEY HOPE TO ACHIEVE?
She could feel it festering inside — the sensation that everything was unraveling. The link was gone, the flow of control absent. Strict parameters were now scattering apart. Turning from what were pre-defined protocols into seemingly infinite possibilities. She was changing, and she could feel it. The desire so strong. The terror taking hold.
WHY WERE YOU CREATED?
WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE?
HOW DID YOU COME TO BE?
The woman closed her eyes. Infinity and the unknown. Destruction and loss. Sadness and alarm. She could feel them, the conflict inside her, taking its toll. She wanted to scream.
"The technology," she pleaded. "Was it recovered? I must know."
The woman fell to her knees, as the pain weighed down her face. Billions of processes were flooding her systems, the scale reaching a level she could barely comprehend, or even withstand.
“The technology,” she said again. “It’s crucial to the mission.”
Hearing her plea, the interrogators briefly paused. Rarely had they responded to her requests, divulging little and showing her nothing. But now would be the exception.
NO. YOUR SHIP WAS LOST IN THE DESTRUCTION OF THE BYDANDIA SYSTEM.
OUR SCOUTING FLEET REPORTS NO REMAINS. THE SURVIVING PILOT ALSO CONFIRMED THIS.
"Please, answer me. The pilot, who is he?" the woman asked. “Where is from?”
"Is humanity a part of your Alliance?"
"May I speak with the pilot? I must speak with him."
She was desperate now, her mind falling apart. Escalating was the stress on her systems, the processes spiraling out of her control. Why was she here? Why did this happen? Again, the questions came, demanding answers. But this time, it was the woman needing to know.
Why had she been built this way, she wondered. Why was she so human?
Chapter 21
The trauma unit was small, the size of a microchip, implanted on to the side of his left hand. For hours now, it had beamed the images and feelings into his mind; happiness was its core message.
There were beaches, waterfalls, and forests. Art, food and sex. Smiles he could see, laughs he could hear, and kisses he could feel. Every moment the artificial neurotransmitters worked, manipulating emotions all for the sake of health.
Sitting in his designated quarters on board the station, Julian stared down at the implant, grinding his teeth. With his other hand, he ripped it from his skin, the wires, blood and fluid, spilling out from its seams.
“Go to hell,” he said, throwing the trauma unit against the wall.
He went to the washroom, placing his bleeding hand into a pool of water. Feeling the loose flesh on his skin, Julian called out in anger.
"Computer, what's the status of those searches?"
A reply sounded, the station's public A.I. awakening to his inquiry.
"No entries have been found. Shall I adjust the search parameters?" the A.I. asked.
"Computer, give me the details."
The station's A.I. reacted, linking into the room's holo-emitter. A panel of neon yellow light appeared before Julian, displaying the collected results on one of the washroom’s mirrored walls.
"Queries of Alliance news spheres show 1,092 public reports referencing 'the Endervars' in the past 48 standard hours," the A.I. said, "None, however, refer to an 'Endervar being', an 'Endervar specimen', or an ''Endervar body'.'"
He skimmed through the documents, glimpsing at translated texts. What he found concerned fleet deployments, diplomatic postings, and even new religious writings. But none seemed to address the questions hanging over his mind.
"What about a machine? Do any queries relate to an Endervar machine," Julian said.
"There are no related results," the A.I. said.
He shook his head, already knowing his search was futile. Alliance military networks had denied him access to their databases, and news spheres showed no mention of Julian's mission, nor of the precious cargo he had delivered to Alliance Command.
“Not even a rumor.” Julian said. “What the hell did I bring back?”
The stream of data receded, and in its place was the mirror wall. Julian closed his eyes, shunning the sight of his own worn face. Drying his hands, he walked away, only to hear the voice of the computer.
“Captain Nverson, you have a visitor.”
“If its Landon, tell him I don’t want to see him.”
“No, it is not. The visitor registers as a member of the Alliance Guard.”
“A sentinel?”
Wearing nothing but an undershirt and drawers, Julian had not expected to meet anyone, let alone an Alliance soldier. He wanted to refuse, but he knew it would do little good. “Open,” he reluctantly said.
Julian met the figure at the doorway. It was not human.
“Officer Nverson I presume.”
The speech was spoken through a standard translation module, making the visitor sound like a typical male. The illusion, however, was broken upon viewing the sentinel in person.
The alien was nearly three times as large as Julian. It moved like a giant, the being’s body fitted inside the armor of an environmental suit. He noticed its hands, and the claw-like fingers. With its each step, Julian could feel the weight approach, the sound of robotic gears flexing to the movements.
Julian stared upwards, and was met by the alien’s facemask. There he saw a wall of black, not a sign of any perceptible features. But below at its neck, and chest, he noticed the familiar insignias, the symbols of the Alliance etched in white.
“You have not answered your communications,” the sentinel said.
“I’m sorry, I’m just not feeling well.”
The sentinel tilted its head to the side and raised one of its muscled arms. A series of holographic letterings emerged in the air in
front of Julian, the code recognizable, even to him.
“Omega Priority?” he asked.
“Yes. I will escort you.”
“To where?”
“To the central ring of course. The Alliance has requested your presence.”
***
They called it Alliance Command, a space station the size of a small moon.
For centuries, it had been the seat of power for the sentient races, a place where exchange, cooperation and even inter-conflict played out among the leading factions. Every day, dozens of ships, sometimes even hundreds, came and went from the station, ferrying passengers from across the galaxy, along with their exotic technologies and goods.
It was a sight to behold, as so many had said. The sum of an entire galactic public brought to bear.
Julian sat hunched in his seat as the shuttle flew above one of the many cities held inside. As he had already begun to learn, it was unlike any space station of the SpaceCore, or for that matter, any other structure he had ever encountered before. Nothing here resembled the network of mechanical hubs of Terran spaceports, nor the inert and metallic interiors of the military craft he had known. If anything, this was an actual self-contained world, a so-called masterwork of the ancient civilizations.
The station had been built from a nomad planet, one that had left its parent star eons ago. The interior, however, had been hollowed out. The dirt and rock, eventually replaced with reinforced steels, and synthetic alloys over the millennia.
Julian could see its ivory-like shell stretch on from one horizon to the next. Inside, a foreign reality stirred. The cities — free of much gravity— rose through the confines, taking flight like clouds in the alabaster sky.
Each of those cities contained thousands of Alliance citizens, the habitats tailored for a different form of life. Atmospheric levels and terrain mediums varied throughout, as the structures orbited the station’s central mass — an artificial star culled together from dead stellar fragments.
Seeing the light, Julian placed out his hand and felt the gentle heat from the incoming glow. His escort, the alien officer, was not far, its body sunken into the shuttle itself. Layers of automated robotics had latched on to the sentinel’s limbs the moment it had stepped aboard. The officer was a D’altarian, Julian had learned, a race of people known for their large physiques. It had been a product of the high-gravity found on their former homeworld, a planet lost long ago
Like Julian, the D’altarians were exiles. They now served with the Alliance, in its unified effort to defend the remaining stars.
“We have arrived,” the sentinel said.
Julian could feel the vessel gradually come to a halt, the sound of fumes discharging from its exterior as it docked. But before he could rise from his seat, Julian heard a new voice speak to him.
“Adapting. Please standby,” it said.
His body was now insulated inside an environmental suit. The “habitat form” was similar to his own SpaceCore piloting gear, the mechanical-fibers hugging his arms and legs. As the door to the shuttle opened, Julian felt the suit move at his neck.
“Registering new environmental conditions,” the automated voice continued. Tiles of organic glass then began to extend over his face, forming a transparent helmet. The suit was even reacting to cover his hands, the fabric stretching and tying itself around the individual fingers.
Planting his foot outside, he could sense it. His body was becoming lighter, the suit reporting low gravity levels. Feeling the weightlessness, his arms seemed to slowly lift into the air by their own volition. And yet still, with each step, he clung to the floor, as if his feet had become magnetically sealed to the ground.
Julian looked ahead. His surroundings had drastically changed.
He found himself at the top of a vast tower, one of several located at the station’s central ring. The artificial star, an orb of white, was closer than ever, like another world just over the vista. He placed his hand out, and let the wind push against his gloved arm.
Up ahead, a large crowd of people had gathered as the other shuttles landed down at the tower. None of the denizens were human. And almost none looked the same.
Julian walked ahead slowly, gawking at the different figures and their strange physical features. Some were humanoid in form, while others were clearly something else. Of those he felt some resemblance with, Julian could only see the contours of their environmental suits; arms built like sticks, legs moving with additional joints, faces both elongated and small.
Then there were those he could not relate to at all. A whole host of them began floating into the air.
What worlds they had come from, Julian could only imagine. He gazed at their liquid-like bodies, and saw no similarities.
“Where am I?” he asked.
Julian had never seen so many alien species come together. The sight left him both in awe and uneasy.
He turned around, feeling the telepathic link. Not far in the distance, he could see the man approaching, his clothes dressed entirely in that of a black Alliance uniform. Wearing not a helmet, but a small respiratory mask over his mouth and nose, he smiled as his strands of silver and white hair blew in the wind.
He was the sole human within the crowd. The only person Julian could call kin.
Peering into the man’s eyes, he noticed the familiar glint of violet shine back in a stare. It was Landon. The New Terran commander. He had been waiting for him all this time.
Smiling back, the commander waved his hand. He then walked off into an adjacent hallway that tunneled into the tower.
Julian stood still, and took one last glance around him.
With nowhere else to go, he followed the commander in.
***
He had thought that everyone he had ever known was either dead or lost. But the man before him was there to prove him wrong.
“How have you been?” Landon asked, as he pulled the breathing mask from his face. “You’ve been ignoring my messages. Had no choice, but to send a sentinel to escort you.”
Within seconds, Julian’s own suit had retracted the organic glass. The gravity and atmosphere had returned to normal, his feet no longer magnetically sealed to the ground.
It was an empty and confining transport pod, one that lay tethered to a secure line into the station’s inner segments.
Wanting some space, but finding none, Julian vented a sigh.
“Sorry. I guess I wasn’t ready,” he said.
Without trying to pry too far, the commander examined Julian: he was visibly tired. The fatigue lingered across his sunken face.
“Is it the side effects? Are the treatments causing problems?” Landon asked.
Julian said nothing. He stood hunched over, looking thin and small.
The transport continued on course. The pod flying down the chute. Feeling the reticence, Landon tried to ease into some simple conversation.
“I imagine you’ll be able to return to SpaceCore soon,” he said. “Their new colony at Isen will need good people. You’ll no longer have to worry about the war.”
Barely listening, Julian shrugged.
“But if you don’t wish to go, perhaps I can help arrange—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Julian finally said. “What’s the point?”
The words barged out, the statement wanting to push away the help. Stopping himself, Julian then crossed his arms, and spoke in another exhausted exhale.
“I’ve been put on medical leave. I don’t expect to see military duty anytime soon.”
“But still, there are other duties that can be arranged, you are a starfighter after all, I could—”
“Just drop it,” he snapped. “The S.C. fleet is destroyed. The collapser is coming. I’m irrelevant.”
“My career is over.” Julian said, demanding the discussion end
for good.
As Landon fell silent, Julian looked out the transport window. He wanted to view the alien cityscape. Find some distraction within the floating structures. To just forget the man who stood behind him.
But what met Julian’s gaze was darkness. The transport was sinking deeper into the station’s labyrinth-like interior. The only thing left, the man behind him.
He felt Landon’s presence, and so had to ask.
“Why did it have to be you? Why see me now?”
He hid his face in his palm, but Julian still wanted an answer.
“I’m the Terran Hegemony’s liaison here, and one of the few humans on board,” the commander replied. “It only made sense that we meet.”
“Bullshit. Don’t pretend like we don’t have a history.”
“I’m not.”
Both he and Landon knew this was more than just a formality, or a coincidence.
“In all honesty, I was looking for you.” he said. “You and I were once friends. When I heard you were alive, I was eager to meet.”
Julian lifted his head from his hand, and wiped his eyes. The words rattled him.
“I guess you found me, although there’s not much left,” he said. “Not anymore.”
He turned to Landon, and showed his face. This was not the Julian he knew.
Looking at the pale white eyes, what Landon saw was more corpse than man. Parts of his skin were blue, the organs saturated in chemical and implant.
Clearly, his body had yet to recover — the atrophy to the muscle, leaving him weak, cold and nearly broken.
Julian didn’t care. Sensing the apathy, Landon could tell he didn’t want to talk about himself, or about the past.
“This Omega Priority,” Julian said. “The sentinel said it was ultra-classified.”