Hybrid

by Ballan, Greg

  * * * *

  “They must be appropriately punished for their actions,” a Council member stated.

  “What point is there in punishment?” another challenged. “They are no more, and we are no more. Punishment is futile at this point.”

  The Council had been debating for nearly three cycles to decide the fate of the forty remaining Seelak survivors. The last of their beasts had recovered, and were being held captive within the massive hull of the incapacitated Worldship. Jakor sat in his customary location, sadly looking at the empty seat that was once occupied by his departed friend, and the nearly vacant hall.

  He quickly noted that more Esper had died from wounds received in battle over the last few hours before this meeting. There were scarcely two hundred Esper in a hall meant to hold almost ten thousand, and those in attendance were far from perfectly healthy.

  “Enough,” the Elder Council spoke as he raised his slim silvery hand. “I have heard enough debate. Any more discussion is pointless.” He began addressing the small crowd. “The Seelak shall be punished for bringing us to this end. Whether history deems us petty or wise for inflicting punishment is irrelevant, because we will pass, history will never know of our existence. The beasts that the Seelak created were engineered to feed off emotion. I gather that the Seelak have emotions, though granted not as strong or prevalent as ours. Let those who remain share confinement with the monstrosities they created. Let them be the source of food for their own creations. The beasts will never be able to be fully satiated by them and will never fully recover, and they will be tormented by the beasts as long as they continue to live. We will entomb them in the hull of our Worldship; it will serve as their final prison and burial place for all eternity,” he said in a ringing tone.

  There was absolute silence throughout the chamber as the remaining Esper struggled with the horrible fate that the Council had prescribed for their enemy.

  “Is that not excessive, Elder?” Jakor asked.

  “What is the appropriate punishment for homicide, genocide, and the attempted destruction of an entire ecosystem, soldier?” the Elder countered.

  “Surely, you are aware of Seelak society; most fought unwillingly and were forced to follow orders or be eliminated. We have no soldiers or military minds in these survivors. They are a few working-class drones and some crippled scientists.”

  “Scientists who created genetic monstrosities to destroy us, Jakor,” the Elder replied forcefully.

  Jakor arose to his impressive height, his hand instinctively reaching to his staff. “I cannot allow this.”

  “You would dispute the Council which has ruled our world for over half a million cycles, warrior?” the Elder asked in a soft yet powerful voice.

  The tension in the chamber was palpable. Several soldiers stood from their positions, looking to Jakor, ready to follow their leader's example. The fact that the other warriors seemed prepared to follow Jakor didn't go unnoticed.

  The mightiest of all Esper warriors was silent, however his body had assumed an aggressive posture, and there were several gasps when he activated his Sentient Staff.

  “Jakor?” the Elder whispered, his eyes never veering from the exposed weapon. “You have brought us this great victory, you saved this planet. Would you tarnish that by now rebelling against us? Would you now turn on your own people, your own culture? You would raise a weapon against your own kind?”

  Jakor stared into the Elder's eyes, the warrior's own blue eyes burning like two hot young suns. The Sentient Staff deactivated. “No, Elder, I will abide by your words out of respect for this body, not because I approve of them.” He placed the weapon back in its pouch.

  “As you wish,” the Elder answered, visibly relieved that his authority would not be challenged. “The Seelak will be punished. Those are the words of the Council. Are there any other objections?”

  No others objected.

  “Then, carry out the will of this governing body, for there are still more hard decisions to make.”

  Jakor bowed and departed with the other remaining warriors. He did not agree with the Elder Council, but it was not his place to argue. He understood the Council's anger and understood the crimes in which the Seelak were guilty, but to be entombed alive as food for some laboratory creations, made him shudder. He silently wished that the grenade had had sufficient force to destroy the two creatures they captured. He knew that if Sennek were alive, he too would disapprove of the course of action being taken.

  The warriors escorted their captives toward the towering structure that was the Worldship. The craft was almost completely buried into the side of a large mountain, only a small portion of its gigantic hull protruded. The captives were silent, yet hesitant, as they were forced up the ramp leading into the access bulkhead.

  As they approached the entrance to the ship, the captives spotted the creatures being forced back, deeper into the ship, by five soldiers armed with Sentient Staffs. It was then that the Seelak finally realized what their fate was. Widespread fear and panic overtook the small band of forty battered Seelak. Jakor and his warriors were hard-pressed to drive the reluctant prey into the bulkhead opening. He heard shrieks and several pleadings for mercy from their captives. Normally, he was immune to such things, but this time his entire being was wracked with pity as he personally drove several Seelak forcefully into the ship.

  Only one Seelak went without hesitation, the one that Jakor had spoken with earlier. He had accepted his fate and walked into his doom with no trace of fear or reluctance. He turned toward Jakor and bowed slightly, then entered his final confinement.

  He suddenly turned and looked up at his captor “Can I know your name?”

  “I am Jakor.”

  “I am Keelal.”

  “Keelal, this is not my wish. Now it is my turn to be sorry. This act shames me,” Jakor confessed.

  “Then we both carry the shame for the hideous acts committed by our races, warrior. Fret not, I'll lay no blame to you if you will lay no blame to me for these horrid acts committed by forces outside our control,” the Seelak whispered. “It will be our little secret.”

  Jakor grinned. “Our secret then,” he agreed sadly.

  “Live well, Esper.” Keelal turned and entered his first moment of imprisonment.

  “We shall not, Seelak, for we are both doomed races,” Jakor whispered.

  The five soldiers retreated from the inside of the ship and closed the massive metallic door behind them. Jakor locked eyes on the seven-foot enhanced Seelak as it picked up its first victim. It gave Jakor a look of pure ice water, as if saying with its eyes, “This is not over. We will meet again.”

  “Place the warning markers.” Jakor ordered.

  Several Espers rolled a large chamber in front of the door and magnetically fused the chamber into place. The pillars on either side of the chamber were marked with both Esper and Seelak, as well as other mathematical symbols that they had hoped future races, including the primitive species already inhabiting this world, would be able to identify. It was a clear warning not to disturb this chamber. Jakor watched with reluctant satisfaction as the final work was done to the warning markers.

  “Bury it,” he ordered.

  On his command, the series small charges set above the chamber detonated. Tons of rock and debris fell on top of it, completely burying the Mothership inside the huge mountain of rock and debris that had been created when the ship initially crashed into the giant hillside. Jakor studied the mountainous landscape that contained their ship and its new occupants.

  He shuddered involuntarily at their fate. The beasts seemed to only obey the soldiers of their kind, and there were no soldiers left to command them. He could not imagine a more terrible fate than to be imprisoned as food for some genetic mutant monsters. He shook his silvery head, then turned his powerful shoulders and headed back toward their main encampment.

  What will be our fate? They could no longer live in this world, and they had no more resources to
leave the main landmass they were on.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  A Seed of Hope is Planted

  The sun was setting as Jakor settled himself in his quarters. This had been the most trying of times. The fighting was over and the prisoners entombed. There was little else for a soldier to do to occupy the time remaining.

  Jakor was tired—a deep down tired from physical fatigue and mental anguish. There would be a black stain of guilt upon his race for what they had done this day; whether History remembered it or not, Fate would not forget, and Fate had a way of making all who defied her pay and pay dearly.

  He settled his massive frame on his spartan bed and closed his eyes. He relaxed each part of his body, allowing the deep sleep to take him.

  “Jakor!" a voice whispered in his mind. “Jakor, please reply."

  The soldier opened his eyes and became alert. “Who is contacting me?” he replied, broadcasting a general telepathic reply.

  “You must come to the Great Hall in the Council, we will meet you there.”

  Jakor stood, and silently made his way to the Council Chamber. He entered the vast hallway that was created from living rock, and made his way toward the Great Hall. He quietly entered the hall from a seldom-used doorway and studied the seemingly empty chambers. He could sense the presence of others, and knew that they were deliberately concealing themselves. Jakor walked into the open, stopping at the large podium.

  “I have come as you requested,” he began. “Why do you hide from me?”

  “No one is hiding, Jakor, we are just making sure that you have come alone.” The elder made his way down from the aisles of seats.

  Jakor was shocked to see the Council Elder along with the two most senior members of their committee.

  “Elder!” Jakor began. “Why have you summoned me in this way?” He was more puzzled than angry.

  “There is one last great deed that we must accomplish, soldier, and it cannot be done without you. The four of us represent the highest members of our sects,” the Elder explained.

  “Mishall is the premier Scientific mind left to us now that Sennek has expired, Kaylar is our finest cleric, and I am the most gifted in the Scholarly pursuits. You, soldier, are the strongest, most powerful of us all. You are a product of a combination of all of us. We need your genetic traits, along with ours, to pass on to this race of beings that is dominating this planet. Our time must soon end. This world belongs to them now, not to us. But, we can leave some of them the knowledge of our race—in an indirect way—to use and hopefully to avoid the mistakes that we made.

  “How is this possible?” Jakor asked.

  “By utilizing a sentient micro virus,” Kaylar replied. “We take our own genetic material and implant it into one of our engineered micro virus; the virus will then be programmed to seek out certain host bodies that will be the most compatible hosts for our particular genetic traits. Those with enhanced knowledge and intellect will likely become hosts for the virus that contains the Elders or Mishall's genetic material, those superior in the warrior skills will be infected by the virus carrying your genetic traits. Only a scarce percentage of those who possess these traits will be ideal matches, but only the ideal matches will benefit from the gift. The virus will keep searching, moving from host to host until the perfect hosts are found.”

  “What then?” the soldier asked as his interest peaked.

  “It will then combine itself with the host DNA and become a part of that being's genetic pattern, passing along the enhanced coding to its offspring for generations to come and ensuring that what we will always be somewhere within the native species of this planet,” Kaylar replied.

  “I understand, but why would you do this? There is an unspoken reason, I wish to hear it,” Jakor said almost too forcefully.

  The Council members looked at each other guiltily and then the Cleric responded. “I have had a vision of the future, the distant future, Jakor. Our actions in the governing body will have hideous consequences on the Simian species of this planet. The things we entombed will not die. I saw them sleeping a great sleep for thousands of years then being freed by some mishap, reigning terror upon those of this world, unchecked, reproducing themselves, and eventually harvesting the Simians like we would harvest the native fish in the nearby body of water.” The cleric shuddered. “We have erred greatly, and only in this way can we try to atone for the harm we have sentenced upon those yet to come.”

  “I knew it!” Jakor replied. “I knew entombing those Seelaks was a mistake.”

  “Yes, it was.” the Elder agreed. “We were angry, blinded by a need for vengeance upon the Seelak. Our thirst for vengeance blinded us to what we were doing. Only after, when our minds were quiet, did we understand the ramifications of what we had done.”

  “We can still free the Seelak. My men and I can have them free within the week if we work continuously. I will personally bury my staff into the creatures that took Sennek's life. I will do this gladly,” the soldier offered eagerly.

  “You will fail,” Kaylor answered sadly. “You would only succeed in creating a landslide, killing yourself and the others who would tunnel with you. The explosion has unsettled the area around the ship. Any further disturbance would be catastrophic.

  “Only by having your genetic material in one of them will allow them any hope of survival. When the time is right, the virus will release the entire power of its coding into the Simian host. It will become a hybrid species, utilizing the strengths from you and whatever strengths lie inherent within the host. It will be his job to right the wrong that we have committed. The role of the one carrying the Elder's genes will be to remember us, some of our history, to seek your hybrid out at the right time, and give him the instrument of transformation which will enable him to utilize your strengths.”

  “What is that instrument?”

  “Your personal weapon, the Sentient Staff that acknowledges you as its only master. Your memories and your personality will be encoded into the virus. In this way, the staff will accept its new master,” the cleric replied.

  “How will this weapon be found?”

  “Its exact location will be programmed into the Cleric virus; it will be found, I assure you,” the cleric answered.

  “Will you partake in this, Jakor, mightiest of the Warrior sect?” the Elder asked.

  “I will.” Jakor handed over the weapon that had been carried for generations by his ancestors.

  “Come then, let us proceed.” The Elder gestured.

  * * * *

  It took the scientist several cycles to create the precise coding for each particular micro virus, and then another several cycles to implant the genetic material from each Esper member into each microorganism. When the work was completed, the cleric released their creations into the air, watching with some measure of satisfaction as the wind carried off the fruits of their labor.

  “That is all that will be left of us,” the Elder remarked sadly. “Let us hope that we have done our work well. The very life on this planet will depend upon it.”

  * * * *

  There was a swirling of purple and blue. Shanda was once again back in the hospital room. What had seemed to pass like days were only scant minutes. The bond with Alissa had been the most intense thing she had ever experienced. Both women removed their hands and quietly retreated into themselves momentarily.

  Shanda looked up at the young waitress who was also collecting herself. “That's absolutely fantastic.”

  “Those viruses found homes in our ancestors, passing down the gifts from generation to generation, waiting for the proper time to be revealed. My gift was the gift and burden of this knowledge, and to bestow the Sentient Staff to its proper heir. My family has carried this object for generations.” Alissa pointed toward the duffel bag by the corner chair.

  “And that heir would be Erik,” Shanda answered. “Erik has the genetics of that huge Esper in his bloodstr
eam?” she said in disbelief.

  Alissa nodded. “As I have cleric's genetics and you have the Elder's genetics. He will need your gifts at a later time, but now he needs the benefit of what resides deep inside him. He must take up the Staff and end the Seelak threat once and for all.

  “What finally happened to the Esper?” Shanda asked with a burning curiosity.

  “They chose to terminate their existence and end the threat they were to humankind,” she answered sadly. “The images of their deaths are too painful for me to recall. I only know that they met their end bravely and with great honor. The Esper never meant to harm us; it was anger, justified anger, which led them to imprison the Seelak survivors. They realized the consequences of their actions too late, as you saw.”

  “Now Erik has to clean up the mess,” Shanda replied.

  “Erik is a formidable man,” Alissa answered. “But as you see, he's no match for a genetically enhanced Seelak. Once he transforms, the odds will be even. Between his native skills and Jakor's skills, there's a good chance that he will prevail in the upcoming battle.” Alissa walked over to Erik's hospital bed and studied him.

  The hideous tears in his flesh were no longer oozing blood, the bruises and contusions on his face had seemed somewhat lighter, and his nose seemed to be undergoing cosmetic reconstruction at a cellular level. Shanda noted that his heartbeat was stronger and regular; his breathing seemed to be slightly easier.

  “Whatever you gave him seems to be working,” Shanda remarked thankfully.

  “Yes, though I never thought it would have to do so much, he was damaged very badly during this conflict. I regret that I did not foresee this final encounter. Perhaps I could have prevented it.”