by Paul Tassi
They sat for a solid two hours as Noah regaled them with lengthy tales of his adventures over the past few months. Where there used to be mostly babbling, the child now spoke in full, coherent sentences, seemingly beyond the usual capabilities of a not-yet-two-year-old. Lucas realized that the Soran education methods of the young likely allowed them to develop cognitively at a quicker pace than children on Earth. He thought back to Noah’s English and Soran lessons onboard the Ark in the captain’s chair. Whatever the education process was here, it was remarkable to see in practice.
Noah gave them detailed descriptions of all his new friends from the palace day care and told them about various field trips the group had taken to cities and animal preserves. Of all the children he mentioned, there was one name, Kyra, that came up in nearly every story. Lucas remembered meeting Auran’s shy granddaughter in the nursery. It seemed like an eternity ago.
Noah now spoke Soran nearly as fluently as the pair of them, though his teachers ensured that he was still keeping up with his English. They had no intention of being the ones who would let a dying tongue of a lost civilization meet its end.
Noah still had the burns on his arm and shoulder, sustained in the Norwegian nursery fire. He was deemed too young for the sorts of extensive skin grafts that would replace the damage, but it was clear he wasn’t hindered by the injury. All three of them wore wounds from Earth. A family tradition.
Eventually Auran returned to the room, interrupting Noah’s retelling of a particularly exciting wildlife preserve he’d been to the previous week.
“Whenever you are ready,” the old man said. “They’re waiting downstairs.”
It was time to truly make their family whole.
Birth Day.
The event’s meaning was more or less the same as it had been on Earth. “More” because a child was indeed being born, “less” because it was coming out of a fetal tank rather than a biological mother. Because of the Soran method of childbirth, the event could be a friendly gathering rather than a hysterical hospital visit.
Their child was ready to meet the world.
It had been a year since conception aboard the Ark, the result of two doomed souls grasping at comfort before they met their assured end. But today Lucas and Asha’s bond was stronger than ever, held together by more than just the horrific events they’d endured as a couple.
A small group had gathered in one of the palace’s many luxurious halls, this one with portraits of young princes and princesses adorning the walls from centuries and millennia past. Talis knew that, though the Earthborn were public figures, they still needed a bit of privacy. As such, the event was invitation only. In the room were Auran, Maston, Kiati, Tannon, and Talis herself, in addition to the three of them. Noah fidgeted uncomfortably in his miniature formal attire. A few other members of the palace staff were milling about nearby, medical personnel, royal guards, and the like. It was of course an event the world would love to see, the First Son of Sora, direct offspring of the famed Earthborn, but they would have to wait until the child was publicly unveiled later. It was respected tradition that Birth Days were private affairs. At least the very first one.
Maston had a new leg, fashioned from impenetrable fibro-steel and far more functional than Alpha’s makeshift offering. Kiati still lacked an eye, but she had a fashionable metal plate where a bloody bandage used to be. Their organic replacement parts were still being grown somewhere in labs off-continent. Each wore their Guardian dress uniforms from the ceremony earlier. Lucas, Asha, and Noah had been given more traditional clothes for the occasion. The family usually wore green on the day, a universally recognized symbol of new life.
In the middle of them all sat their child, a little boy helpless and unaware of the chaos he was being born into. The palace was a nice facade that would protect him from the insanity outside, but sooner or later, he’d have to come to grips with being born into a war zone, as all Soran children had. Noah too, for that matter. Lucas didn’t want the pair of them to endure the same terrors he had. He would fight so his children wouldn’t have to. His children.
It was the first time in a long while he was truly thinking about the magnitude of restarting a family. He’d always been Noah’s caretaker, but now, an actual father? It seemed like a part of him that was too rusted and damaged to start working again. He’d botched his first chance at being a good parent back on Earth before the war. Who was to say he could do any better this time around, in circumstances far more harrowing?
Lucas had tuned out most of what Auran was saying. Some ceremonial speech about the child being a gift to the world and a reflection of his valiant parents. As much as he admired Asha, he hoped the child wouldn’t have her seemingly unquenchable thirst for blood. Though he wasn’t exactly one to throw stones in that regard.
“And what is the name this child shall have?” Auran asked as he turned toward them. Noah had his arms pressed up against side of the tank and was looking up in wonder at his little brother.
“Erik,” Lucas said, snapping back to attention. It had been a topic of much discussion during the long days aboard the prison ship on their return voyage. They’d finally settled on Erik as an unmistakable Earth name. It was Lucas’s grandfather’s name, and his father once told him that it meant “powerful” in the former tongue of their family. He’d only seen pictures of his granddad, but the burly man standing proudly atop a smoking Panzer tank seemed to fit that description. Erik would have to have the same sort of strength to survive the world he now entered.
As Auran finished his remarks, the medical attendants approached the tank. After rifling through a few controls, the viscous liquid began to drain. The child was gently laid to rest on a gel cushion at the bottom of the tank as the last of the substance was flushed out, and the tiny tubes attached to various points on his body began to detach themselves. Mild heat lamps dried his wet skin and in under a minute, the process was complete. A tiny figure sat curled in a ball as the glass surrounding him sank down into the base of the tank.
“Embrace your child,” Auran said, motioning to Asha. She glanced around the room nervously and was met with small nods and broad smiles. Even Kiati had cracked a grin. Lucas saw Asha’s hands waver as she approached the baby in the miniature techno-manger. He hadn’t seen her this terrified in any battle they’d fought.
She picked up Erik and cradled him inside a cloth provided by one of the nearby silvercoats. A few seconds later, a tiny yet shrill cry pierced the room.
“The lungs of a commanding leader!” Auran said, drawing some laughter from the attendees. Asha jerked her head toward Lucas, motioning him to come over. Lucas felt lightheaded, but found he was smiling uncontrollably. When he reached the bundle in her arms, he gazed into the face of his child for the first time. All the anger, the anguish, the pain melted away in an instant.
Erik had wispy hair colored brown like Lucas’s. His features were impossible to place from either parent at such a young age, but his skin was just a touch darker than Lucas’s, hinting at Asha’s genes. The child had blue eyes, as most newborns did, and they’d have to wait and see whether they’d turn green or slate gray.
Lucas suddenly felt very mortal. Was there any way he would ever get to see Erik or Noah grow up? The war had demanded so much of his blood so far. Would it finally consume him as their plan reached its final stages? Lucas looked around the room to the smiling faces of the other soldiers present. Just enjoy the moment, he told himself, and he rekindled his own smile to mask his unease.
The week that followed had Lucas return to a life he’d long thought left behind. It was 2900, the middle of the night, and Erik was crying again in the floating monitor that hovered over their bed in the palace suite. The child squealed and squirmed in his square, plush, crib-like enclosure in an adjacent room.
“I’ll go,” Asha said as she rolled out of bed and stumbled toward the doorway. Of course they had a team of servants and palace-issue nannies at their beck and call who could be c
alming Erik for them, but the two of them decided they wanted to do things the old-fashioned way. Neither knew when they’d be shipping out again, so the goal was to spend as much time with Noah and Erik as possible before they left. They didn’t know if they had days, weeks, or months, but were determined to make every moment count. But the moments that took place at 2900 weren’t exactly the most enjoyable.
Lucas was awake now and couldn’t fall back asleep. On the monitor, Asha rocked Erik and was softly singing to him in French.
Un jour nous serons tous partis
Mais les berceuses restent encore et encore …
Elles ne meurent jamais
C’est ainsi que toi
Et moi
Serons
Lucas couldn’t help but smile, despite his exhaustion. Asha had quite a beautiful singing voice, and this week had been the first time he’d ever heard it. There hadn’t been much occasion for singing the past few years, he supposed.
He got out of bed, walked over to the kitchen area of the suite, and sat down at the broad stone table. Sliding the top of it open, he reached his hand inside the surface and pulled out a blue vial. Refrigerated drinks inside the furniture. The wonders of modern technology. He flung the container back and the liquid tumbled down his throat. His nerves started to settle within seconds. Staring around the room, moonlight glinted off the jewels of nearby artifacts.
“Bit late for a nightcap,” came Asha’s voice from behind him. “Or a bit early, I suppose.” She was always able to get Erik down almost instantly. He had far more difficulty.
“Trouble sleeping,” Lucas grumbled, staring at the empty vial.
“The kid?” she asked.
“The war,” he replied.
“I’ll drink to that,” she said, reaching into the table for a vial herself and inhaling its contents.
“Not one of their better offerings,” she said, wincing.
“What song was that?” he asked.
“One my mother used to sing to me when I was young. Haven’t heard it in twenty years, but haven’t forgotten it either.”
“Your mother spoke French? I figured you picked it up in school.”
“She was an amazing woman,” Asha said with a faint smile. “In a way I’m glad she passed before the world went to shit.”
Lucas spun the empty vial around on the table with his finger. Asha spoke again.
“What about your family? You never talk about your parents.”
“Not much to say, really. My father was a Marine, same as his father.”
Lucas drummed the table.
“But not you. Why?” Asha asked.
Lucas laughed sharply.
“I didn’t believe in violence,” he said, and Asha had to laugh at that as well.
“A group of my friends enlisted after 9/11, but I couldn’t. I didn’t believe more death was the answer. My father practically disowned me for it. Called it ‘shirking my duty’ to the country. To our family.”
Lucas stopped drumming his fingers on the hard surface and looked up.
“A few died in the desert. A few more once they got back here and couldn’t handle civilian life. The rest who stayed got cut down during the invasion, I assume.”
“What about your parents?” Asha asked.
“They were in Chicago,” Lucas said, and the look on Asha’s face showed she knew what that meant. The city was one of the first to be completely annihilated by Xalans.
“Well, he’d be proud of you now,” Asha said.
Lucas shook his head.
“Too late for that. I was an embarrassment. He felt like my wife’s brother was more of a son to him than I was. All because he wore the uniform until the day he died. Do you know the last thing he said to me?”
Asha remained silent.
“‘I’d take a dead hero for a son over a living coward.’”
Lucas thought back to the moment he’d heard that sentence spoken at the end of a heated argument. He’d hung up immediately rather than say one more word into the receiver to his father after that. Lucas had suffered many insults over the years, but none had cut more deeply.
“I never spoke to him again.”
“He sounds like a sadistic bastard,” Asha said, refusing to mask her disdain.
“Only on days that ended in ‘y,’” Lucas said, smirking, shoving the memory from his mind.
“You’re a lot of things, but a coward sure as shit isn’t one of them,” she said.
Lucas scoffed.
“And it only took murdering a few hundred humans and aliens to prove it. I suppose I should thank him for the genetic predisposition. What’s your excuse?”
Asha smiled broadly.
“I’m about 80 percent sociopath.”
“Only eighty?” Lucas said, eyebrow raised.
“Well, I need the other twenty to do this,” she said as she leaned across the table and kissed him. Lucas forgot about crying children, his father, and the endless war. He had her, and that was all that mattered now.
It was a few days later when they were summoned to the Earth Archive by Keeper Auran. They walked down the palace halls, glancing at the wall-mounted Stream feed as they passed. It showed clips of their medal ceremony and a well-dressed newsman reported on a rumor that the First Son of Sora had indeed had his Birth Day, but it was being shielded from the public. Lucas was more interested in another story that showed video footage of a tranquil Hex Tulwar in front of some sort of tribunal. He actually seemed to be wearing a sly grin, even as every pair of eyes in the room was staring daggers at him, including Mars Maston, who could be seen seated and seething in the background. Lucas waved the Stream over to his wrist communicator so he could continue watching as they continued onward. A woman’s voice spoke over the video.
“Public support for Hex Tulwar’s Fourth Order resistance movement is at an all-time low after evidence surfaced that Cleric Tulwar colluded with Xalan spies to execute the assault on the Grand Palace this year. His allies in the region have withdrawn their support for his cause, and even inside Rhylos only 41 percent of the population still considers him their legitimate leader, and a mere 19 percent approve of his recent involvement with the Xalans. Since Tulwar’s capture, SDI forces have dismantled dozens of Fourth Order sleeper cells and hidden bases after decrypting a Xalan data drive found during the rescue of Asha the Earthborn.”
Asha scowled.
“Rescue, huh? They don’t mention that I killed half the soldiers in there myself.”
“And Alpha gets no credit for being the one to unearth all that intelligence. I guess life’s just not fair.”
The broadcaster continued. A standing figure in a white tunic was gesturing at Tulwar in the video. The newswoman continued.
“Cleric Tulwar has been found guilty of treason, collusion, kidnapping, and murder and will be executed in a month’s time. Until then, he remains imprisoned at a secure location.”
Lucas glanced down and thought the “secure location” was likely the palace dungeon several miles below ground. Maston had told him there was no more secure prison on the planet, and only a few of the most dangerous war criminals were kept in the cells there. Lucas wondered if they had public executions on Sora, or if they’d grown too civilized for such a thing. Tulwar was certainly a special case. Lucas pictured an energy rifle firing squad on the promenade, led by Mars Maston. Tulwar deserves as much, Lucas thought as he remembered the way Corinthia Vale’s prismatic eyes looked when the light had left them.
At last they reached the Earth Archive and the wide doors slid open in front of them. They were waved in by a friendly attendant Lucas had seen a few times now, and the place looked exactly as it had when they’d last left it. Rumor had it eventually the contents would be moved off-site and turned into a public museum. They were of course allowed to keep anything they wanted to save before that time.
They found Auran in the books section, and he was flipping through the virtual pages of Isaac Asimov’s Foundation, w
hich were being projected out of its pedestal.
“Your culture produced fascinating literature,” he said as he saw them approach. “I should very much wish to visit Earth some day and find more like it.”
“I doubt anyone will be doing much sightseeing there any time soon,” Lucas said. “Last I checked, Alpha said the coolest temperature there should be about 250 degrees by now.”
Auran sighed.
“Such is the destructive nature of the Xalans, I suppose. Won’t you come with me?”
He motioned for them to follow him toward a door on the other end of the room Lucas had seen before. The one marked “11.”
“What is—” Lucas began, but Auran interrupted him.
“I haven’t been entirely forthcoming about my role in the Vale administration. It is true I am presently its Keeper and your ward, but I was once a scientist within these walls. The most prominent geneticist of all of Sora for a time, in fact, if I’m allowed to boast. I developed the Guardian program, which was a way to bolster an ancient protective order of our people with the strength, speed, and intelligence they’d need to survive the most harrowing missions in our current war. They have saved many lives over the years, and your presence here after your recent ordeal indicates they continue to do so to this day.”
Lucas glanced at Asha, who cocked her head. Where is this going?
“My masterpiece was a personal project for Talis Vale herself.”
“Corinthia,” Lucas said slowly. Auran nodded.
“With an unlimited budget, I created a Soran above all others. One who was very nearly perfect, a remarkable display of biology.”
Auran’s voice became grave, his eyes downcast.
“I mourned her senseless death like we all did, not just because she was my priceless work of art, but because she’d grown into a lovely person and would have been an inspiring ruler someday. She felt more like a daughter to me than a few of my own children, in fact. My heart will forever remain heavy with her passing.”
He waved his hand dismissively.
“But enough history; I simply wanted to give you a sampling of my credentials. Hopefully it will assure you that I am up to the task at hand.”