by Paul Tassi
“What task at hand?” Asha asked, her eyes narrow.
When they reached the entryway, a scanner swept over Auran and a green light shone above them. The doors opened.
“You remember your old friends,” he said with a mischievous grin. “The ones we don’t talk about.”
Inside the room were eleven familiar bodies. Lucas had been right; they were in fact keeping the brain-dead humans from Earth on ice here. All were now wearing skintight pressurized suits, and the liquid in which they were suspended was lime green. Below each of them, they still had a floating globe of Earth showing which country Alpha had plucked them from.
“Your scientist friend explained to me about the crash and the power loss, how all of them came to lose brain functionality. Tragic, really.”
“So, what,” Asha said, “you’re going to Frankenstein them back to life?”
“Aha! I have read that story!” Auran exclaimed. “A fascinating tale of imagined science from your planet. But no. Even though our medicine improves upon your own, there is no way for us to wake these sleeping travelers. We could grow them entirely new brains, but they would not be who they were, and such practices are illegal and dangerous in any case.”
Lucas walked over to a young girl from Iran. She had flowing dark hair that floated in the tank like seaweed. Her eyes were shut. Lucas paced around the room and did a quick check of their maps. Six females from China, Iran, Brazil, the Philippines, Australia, and Denmark. Five males from Japan, Chile, Greece, France, and Zimbabwe. Lucas instinctively touched the scar on his abdomen, where the vital organs of the sixth male, a young man from Russia, lay.
“Our tour is not yet over,” Auran said, walking toward the back of the room. A door opened and he stepped inside a small tube-like lift. Asha and Lucas joined him. The doors shut and they began ascending rapidly.
“You have to understand that when we lost contact with the Spear on Makari, we thought you were dead. We were planning on getting your blessing for Project 11, but in your absence, we did what we had to in order to ensure the survival of your ‘human’ race.”
Lucas was confused.
“What did you do, Malorious?”
“Oh god,” Asha whispered, clearly just having come to some sort of realization.
The doors opened and Lucas understood.
The room before them was far bigger than the one they’d just been in, and placed symmetrically every eight feet or so was a tank like the one their son Erik had recently emerged from. In each enclosure was a tiny fetus, looking no more than a month or two old. Lucas walked breathlessly through the tanks and, making a quick count in his head, found there were thirty-six placed around the room in total. There were other scientists milling about, casting worried glances their way as they checked readouts on the tanks.
“You’re breeding them?” Asha exclaimed. “What in the holy hell …”
“First you need to understand something,” Auran said, attempting to calm them. “If we did not do this, with or without you, your sub-species would likely not survive past this generation.”
Asha’s eyes widened as she had another epiphany. “Wait, none of these are ours, are they?”
Lucas’s stomach iced over as he considered the possibility.
Auran vigorously shook his head. “Of course not, we would never … Not without your permission.”
Lucas breathed an internal sigh of relief. Asha breathed an external one. Auran continued.
“These are the descendents of the twelve passengers that accompanied you on your journey. A single pairing for each.”
“Twelve?” Lucas asked.
“I was made aware of the ordeal with the specimen who sacrificed his life to ensure your survival, but your scientist preserved his genetic material, and so his offspring are represented here as well. For some reason, we’re still calling it Project 11 regardless.”
“I don’t understand,” Lucas said. “Why do this?”
Auran walked over to one of the tanks and put his hand on the glass. The object inside was just starting to look human.
“Study of your genetics revealed that, though you are like us, you are also not like us. It is a complex issue, but suffice it to say your DNA and genes have variations from ours. Regardless of our origins, we have evolved in different, subtle ways over the years.”
“So what’s the problem?” Asha asked, still absorbing the room.
“Early experiments showed that lab-created specimens using human and Soran DNA resulted in catastrophic failure. The offspring didn’t live past a week in the faux-uteri, and data shows that the mother’s life would have been terminated as well shortly after conception. This happened when either race was the mother or father, and occurred in 100 percent of all test cases.”
“What does that mean?” Lucas asked.
“It appears Sorans and humans can never produce offspring together, despite our apparent similarities. The exact reasons why are still a mystery to me and my team, but the fact exists regardless of our ignorance. In short, to reproduce in the future, it would be up to the pair of you alone. Needless to say that brings … problems.”
“Inbreeding,” Asha said with disgust, thinking one step ahead.
“Precisely,” Auran said. “That practice has genetic, sociological, and psychological issues that could prove disastrous for future offspring. And so Project 11 was conceived to ensure the human race does in fact live on safely.”
“So what are we looking at here?” Lucas asked.
“Eighteen males and eighteen females, the first round of production, so to speak. The idea is not to mass produce humans, but to create an initial pool just large enough so that inbreeding will be a non-issue. These will be the founding fathers and mothers of the human race. Your sons are included in that as well of course, along with any other children you may voluntarily produce in the future.”
“What are you doing to them?” asked Asha. “You’re not going to make them hulking freaks like the Guardians are you?”
Auran shook his head.
“No. They are developing naturally, and your friend Alpha ensured that his ‘collection’ included physically ideal representations of your race. All the parents are in fantastic health, as are their children so far. Only preventive genes for disease and defect are being introduced into their systems, the way they were with young Erik. They require no further enhancement modification, as Kyneth knows we don’t want them to be soldiers. We have plenty of those.”
“I get it,” Asha said reluctantly. “But I’m having enough trouble with two kids. I’m not about to start raising thirty-six next year.”
Auran laughed.
“Of course, that is not your concern. We hope you will embrace these children and help them understand their former planet and its culture, but we do not expect you take responsibility for them. After their Birth Days they will have the finest care imaginable for their entire lives.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t coddle them too much either,” Asha snorted. “It’s a rather tough world out there, if you haven’t noticed.”
Lucas peered into one of the cases that housed a fetus about half the size of his palm. The display below read “F-Japan/Brazil,” indicating its gender and lineage. Her gender and lineage, rather. It was hard to think of the shape as a person.
“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Lucas said, turning to the Keeper, who simply answered with a smile. If this is what it took for the human race to survive, then Lucas couldn’t argue with the decision. It was something he hadn’t given much thought to with all that was going on, but if it was true that Sorans and humans could never reproduce, the project did seem necessary, if vaguely unnerving. But Malorious Auran had always been kind, and Lucas was sure he was the man to oversee the process, as he seemed genuinely concerned about his creations, in addition to being a secret genius content to masquerade as a simple old man.
“If there was ever a time to renounce retirement,” Auran said,
“it was to be here and now. I will ensure that humans thrive for millennia to come. You have my word.”
19
The next few weeks brought a frustrating series of meetings with top Soran military officials discussing their options for sneaking Zeta onto Xala to broadcast the message. Tannon Vale ruled out Maston’s idea of an all-out assault on the planet as cover to sneak one ship past defenses, as it would cost millions of Soran lives and trillions in military hardware as it had the last time they’d attempted to invade the enemy solar system, centuries ago. Alpha proposed some theoretical planet-to-planet wormhole he could create to transport a few of them directly to the surface of Xala. The unfortunate side effect of that plan was that the concept was entirely theoretical, and the amount of power it would take could wipe out an entire continent if something went wrong.
The meetings had a tendency to devolve into shouting matches between the brightest military and scientific minds in the room, and they were making little progress. The clock appeared to be ticking, however, as reports had Xalan troops edging further into the rim systems with each passing week. Several listening posts had been obliterated entirely. Time was running out before Xala’s next big offensive, which would claim untold numbers of lives. It was frustrating to know the next move to change the entire course of the war but be completely unable to utilize it.
Lucas was glad to be free of a thirteen-hour strategy session at some clandestine military base in the north of the continent, and he was gearing up for an evening with Sora’s elite. It was trillionaire Madric Stoller’s one hundredth Birth Day, and Lucas and Asha had been tasked with acting as Talis Vale’s envoys, as it was well known she couldn’t stand the man. Unfortunately, it appeared Lucas would have to brave the gala alone.
“You’re really backing out?” Lucas pleaded with Asha, who lay sprawled haphazardly in bed with dark circles under her eyes.
“I’ll be with you in spirit,” she said. “But do I look like I’m in any condition to go to a party tonight?”
Asha had been sick all day after palace doctors diagnosed her with a relatively common form of food poisoning from something she’d eaten at first breakfast. It took about five hours of tests to confirm the lab results, but every precaution had to be taken, given her importance. She’d been given something for the nausea, but it had completely sapped all her energy as an unwanted side effect. Even sweat-soaked and sickly, she was still quite beautiful when she managed a smile.
“Fair enough, but this isn’t going to be easy to do alone.”
Asha waved her hand lazily, scrolling through the Stream’s stories of the day.
“Stoller’s harmless, and you already met half his friends at our debut.”
Lucas scoffed.
“Let’s hope this night goes a little better than that one.”
“Well, I won’t be there to get kidnapped, so that’s a plus,” Asha said in between short coughs.
Lucas slipped on his jacket and caught a glimpse of a familiar label inside. Jolo Houzani appeared to be content with providing them unlimited sets of clothing in exchange for swiping their likenesses for his ad campaigns.
“I don’t want to do this,” he said.
“You have to. You made a promise,” Asha replied.
Lucas looked down at her; she was indeed something of a pitiful sight. The silvercoats said she’d be better by morning, and there was nothing nefarious about the illness.
“You going to be alright here?” Lucas asked.
“Auran’s sending someone up here every ten minutes to make sure I’m not dead. If they greenlight it, maybe I’ll have Noah and Erik in here for a little slumber party since I’m not contagious.”
“That sounds like a more enjoyable evening to me,” Lucas said.
“Can’t let that suit go to waste,” Asha said, winking at him. “Try not to drown in Soran fangirls.”
Stoller was throwing the party aboard his private yacht that allegedly cost as much as the GDP of some of the smaller continents on Sora. Here, a yacht was not a naval vessel but an airship, and Stoller’s was far above the city of Elyria so that the lights from the ground shone brighter than the countless stars above. Not a bad way to spend one’s hundredth birthday, Lucas supposed.
He was taken to the festivities in one of the trademark armored palace hovercraft that shuttled him everywhere. Glancing at the helmeted driver, his heart dipped a little bit as he remembered who used to drive him around.
“Hey Silo, what’s this called again?”
“Sakala. I played it in prime school before the SDI.”
Lucas sighed, and stared at the empty Stream feed in front of him.
The airship was a short distance from the palace and they were there practically within minutes. The ship was circular and looked to be at least nine or ten stories tall. The underside engines emitted a dull orange ambient glow. At the very top, Lucas could see some sort of elaborate pool and … trees? The man had foliage growing out of his hoveryacht. Lucas saw the faint shimmer of a nearly invisible barrier shielding the highest deck from the winds that whipped around them at the high altitude.
There was a line of hovercraft pulling into the docking bay as they descended, and Lucas took a sip of a vaguely champagne-like substance he’d extracted from the back of the seat next to him. Figures wearing elaborate dresses and formal suits stepped out of their crafts ahead of him and camera bots swirled around them, shooting video as they entered the airship. This was the social event of the season, Talis had told him, which was precisely why she had begged him to go in her place. There was a time, she had said, when she relished such things, but those days had long passed her by.
Here we go, Lucas thought as he stepped out into the docking bay. Cameras spun around him like moons and there were plenty of physical press there shouting at him. He began to walk toward the entrance, accompanied by what appeared to be two private security guards who were keeping the media at bay. The questions peppered him like shrapnel.
“Lucas! Lucas! No date tonight?”
“Lucas! Where’s Asha? Trouble in paradise?”
“Is that a Jolo Houzani?”
“Tell us about what really happened on Makari! Is it true you got nearly a hundred Guardians killed?”
That one hit Lucas like a brick, and he turned toward the small, mousey-looking man who’d said it. Security was already shoving him back. Lucas stomached his anger.
“I’m just here to have a good time. They say tonight will be one to remember.”
Lucas walked through a pair of steel doors, which snapped shut behind him and deflected the remaining questions being hurled toward him.
“Lucas, my boy!” roared Madric Stoller as Lucas entered the inner ballroom of the airship. “So glad you could join us!”
The man was turning a hundred but didn’t look a day over fifty. Such was the youth money could buy on Sora, it seemed. He was, however, one of the only overweight people Lucas had seen on the planet. His mustache alone looked like it weighed five pounds.
“Thank you for having me,” Lucas said with purposeful politeness. “Asha and Talis send their apologies. My counterpart is ill while the High Chancellor is indisposed.”
Stoller let out a harrumph.
“Seems to happen an awful lot when I invite her. But what do I get when I show up at one of her parties?”
Lucas waited for the answer.
“A near-death experience! She owes me a pair of hands and a liver,” he said with a belly laugh as he held out his hands toward Lucas. He could see a faint line across both his wrists that indicated a graft. He’d forgotten that Stoller had been injured in the blast at the party thrown in Lucas and Asha’s honor. But he seemed jovial enough to let bygones be bygones.
Suddenly, a little toddler waddled up and grasped Stoller by the knee. It was a boy who looked to be about Noah’s age, with dark amber hair and blue eyes. Stoller scooped him up into his arms and he rested on the man’s stomach like a beanbag chair.
“Finn, this is Lucas, our friend from another world.”
The boy nodded vigorously.
“I know.”
“Lucas, this my youngest, Finn. About your oldest boy’s age, I do believe. We should get them together at some point.”
Lucas nodded. “Absolutely. Nice to meet you, Finn.”
The boy gave him a devious smile. He seemed far too young to be anywhere near a party like this. Lucas saw dancing women in the background wearing shockingly scarce amounts of clothing, given the supposed elegance of the event. A few of them appeared to be wrapped in nothing but holograms.
“Now I don’t mean to talk your ear off. Come! Eat, drink, and try not to outshine me at my own party!”
Stoller flung his arm out toward the hall, which somehow looked even more lavish than the Earth Gala at the palace. The dancing girls might not have been wearing much, but each sparkled with at least ten pounds of jewelry, as did most of the women in attendance. In the center was a metal sculpture of Stoller looking a bit slimmer than he did in real life. The likeness gestured outward and at his feet was a spread of food and spirits that seemed like it could feed an entire continent. Perhaps there was a reason Tulwar and his ilk hated Sora’s elite so much. Lucky for Lucas and those in attendance, Tulwar was currently buried a few miles under the palace with his army scattered to the wind.
It wasn’t fifteen seconds before Lucas felt a tug on his sleeve.
“Excuse me, are you Lucas, the Earthborn?”
Before he turned around, he made sure to fix a smile to his face.
Lucas spent the next hour fleeing from admirers, gradually ascending the decks of the airship. Each floor had even more food and drink, but Lucas restrained himself from overindulging. The man he used to be on Earth wouldn’t have been able to resist.
Lucas was content to sit on a carved wooden chair by the pool filled with revelers who had the good sense to pack a change of clothes to go swimming. A few wore nothing at all, but no one seemed to mind. The pool wasn’t so much a pool as it was a pond, surrounded by real grass, brush, and trees transplanted by a man with apparently more money than he knew what to do with. Lucas caught a server by the arm and ordered a water, which got him a strange look, but a quick nod as the man hurried off.