by Paul Tassi
“This recorded archive was on the server, stolen Soran intelligence that no one has been allowed access to for millennia. 14,645 years ago, far before first contact, Sorans had invented machines to do nearly all laborious physical tasks for them. From construction to mining to harvesting, the machines were the core of the planet’s economy. But centuries passed and the technology evolved at a rapid pace to produce artificial beings that were more intelligent than their creators. War broke out as the machines tried to seize control of the planet.”
The beautiful city was ravaged by explosions. The feed cut to a battle scene that showed robots of all shapes and sizes rampaging through the street, butchering Sorans left and right with weapons Lucas had never seen before as other flying machines soared overhead dropping ordinance that consumed everything nearby in a blazing inferno.
“Eventually, the machines were defeated and technology regressed, forcing Sorans to work for themselves the way their ancestors had. This peace lasted some time until they became slothful once again. They were tired of backbreaking labor, and they began to experiment in a new field of progress, organics.”
Lucas was beginning to understand.
“Synthetics could evolve at a rapid rate, their intelligence dooming their creators as it expanded exponentially. But organics? Such quick evolution was impossible, and living things could be engineered to be docile. They tried countless combinations of DNA, using nearly every animal variety on the planet, even inventing entirely new species. But the final products all disappointed. There was something missing, and one day they finally realized what it was.”
The picture changed once more, and showed a small gray creature standing next to a male Soran. It had three clawless fingers, and short backward-bending legs resting on stubby feet. It stood a foot shorter than the Soran, and had an elongated snout with large white and green eyes. It almost looked . . . friendly.
“Using just a tiny fraction of Soran DNA, they created the first Xalan.”
Alpha was standing transfixed. He let out a loud growl that wasn’t able to be translated by his disassembled collar. Lucas himself could hardly believe what he was hearing.
“The new creature had the labor capabilities of a thousand different beasts, but the creative spark of a Soran, which allowed it to perform more complex tasks that the other prototypes could not. After initial success with the docile, intelligent creatures, they were slated for mass production. They assumed all the laborious tasks the Sorans were so desperate to avoid. After decades of free Xalan labor, the population grew fat and lazy once more. The Xalans were subject to abominable working conditions. Many died doing dangerous jobs, many starved when food was deemed an unnecessary expense. But they never complained, never seemed to lament their plight. They were bred not to care, and not to speak.”
The video showed legions of small Xalans marching into a mine, covered in black dust.
“Others kept them as pets. A family’s personal Xalan would do housework, supervise children, whatever was required of it. They were slaves, but cheerful ones. They became an indispensible part of Soran life.”
A Xalan was shown playing with a pair of Soran children. One sandy haired boy tugged on one of its fingers, and it appeared to smile, revealing teeth that weren’t sharp at all, far more square than the needles Lucas had seen a thousand times in snarling present-day creatures.
“The trouble started when the Xalans were put in charge of their own creation. The scientists no longer wanted to be bothered with the endless churning out of new organics, and so they tasked the Xalans with the responsibility. The process was uneventful for a century, but eventually one particular Xalan working in the genetic lab . . . altered things.”
The video showed a specific Xalan, but he was indistinguishable from the others. His eyes were gold, not green however.
“The Sorans now refer to him as ‘Zero’ in their history scrolls. He was a mutant, one that managed to slip by inspection after the Xalans were put in charge. He came to work in the lab himself, knowing he was different from the others. Zero had a sense of self-awareness, which his brethren all lacked. He felt complex emotions, he could . . . imagine. After years of secretive research, Zero located his mutation, and introduced it into the system, crafting it as the new template for Xalan production. The change went undetected.
“He was merely the first. After him, with each subsequent generation, the Xalans were increasingly intelligent. New mutations were added into the template. Each new lifecycle made them perhaps a centimeter taller, with skin a millimeter thicker. The Sorans did not detect these subtle changes, and did not realize that the Xalans had grown as clever as them a mere three hundred years after Zero’s first alterations.”
The scene changed to show an uprising. Xalans took up arms, no longer docile and gentle looking, but snarling and furious. They were still far from the creatures that had invaded Earth, but were definitely first generation warriors, that much was clear.
“Another rebellion, one by creatures who had seen their strength and intellect increase drastically over the past few hundred years in secret as they continued to be treated with disdain. The Soran people were caught unaware and suffered heavy losses after so much time living in peace. Xalans almost conquered the planet, but after decades of fighting were finally driven back and their ranks decimated.
“There was much debate among the Sorans about what to do with the few remaining survivors. Many wanted genocide. Complete extermination of the species. Others wanted mercy for this new race of self-aware beings. After years of argument, the last Xalans were put on a ship that was set on a course for a nearby planet in a neighboring solar system, which could sustain life.”
The circular sphere of Xala floated before them. It was the ravaged rock they’d seen before, red with the occasional patch of green and blue.
“The planet was almost barren, but there was enough oxygen and water to survive.”
The feed showed the surface of Xala, with a few hundred creatures living in a makeshift village.
“The ones who remained made an oath. Their children must never know how they came to be. They swore revenge against the Sorans, but they would invent a tale about invasion and decimation of their world. They did not want future generations to learn they were once subject to the Sorans and were a mere genetic accident. They were to be their own people, fierce warriors who would terrorize the Sorans until they had wiped them out completely.
“They had little technology, but had the knowledge to create it. In less than a millennium, great cities had been erected, genetic laboratories had been crafted, and the population had grown dramatically. Genetic modification facilitated drastic changes in the population, and eventually, Xalans were molded into a lethal species. Once Xala had built up a comparable military force, they attacked Sora and the Great War began.”
The screen showed a progression of various Xalan mutations over the years. Teeth and claws grew longer, plating appeared across the body. Their limbs and claws elongated and they shot up in height until the final frame depicted how the Xalans appeared today.
“These new generations were brought up believing all Sorans were pure evil, as they’d transformed Xala from a lush paradise into a nearly lifeless rock when they invaded years ago. The lie became truth, and only a select few carried on knowing the true origin of our species. The Council, military elite, and the Genetic Science Enclave all carry the secret, but no more than a few dozen out of billions know. The myth remains in place for the masses.
“There are records of a few that have discovered the truth over the years. The Sorans have been trying to enlighten us for millennia with propaganda promising a reunification of our people, but it is almost always intercepted and destroyed. It is why diplomatic relations do not exist with the Sorans and why self-destruction of soldiers and ships is mandated upon capture. Those who did manage to catch a glimpse of the truth have all been executed. As such, I now fear for my life. I could have kept this inform
ation to myself, rather than endangering the clan, but I have a responsibility to the truth, even if it means risking those I care about in the hope all Xalans might someday know these things. That they may know they have been deceived for thousands of years and that this eternal war is based on a lie.
“If you receive this, it is likely I am already dead. I hope your brothers may avoid extermination, but the reach of the Council is vast. If you survive the Earth campaign, and this message reaches you securely, you must find a way to broadcast this information and these documents to our people. That is your mission. I believe we can end this war if the truth is revealed. I understand this knowledge is a heavy burden, but despite your age, you were always the strongest of us, and I know it is something you can bear.”
He paused, and raised his clawed arm to his chest.
“Be well, my son.”
The hologram flickered and disappeared. Alpha stood with his claws resting on the table, his head down. He was silent, but soon growled something under his breath in Xalan. Eventually he reached for the chip and affixed it to his translator. The muttering was now understandable.
“It cannot be.”
He started rapidly sifting through scenes from the message, the Soran uprising records, the genetic reports.
“Authenticated footage, officially sealed documents. It is true. All of it is true.”
He turned to Lucas, his eyes full of fear and despair.
“An entire civilization, built on a lie. Thousands of years of history fabricated, used to stir the masses into a frenzy for war. Astonishing. Terrifying. We are Soran. The most important piece of us, Soran.”
Lucas had nothing to say. He understood the enormity of the revelation and the crushing burden Alpha now had on his shoulders. His father had tasked him with spreading the truth, something no one in his civilization had been able to do for thousands of years. No wonder his family had been targeted. Omicron’s last words made sense now.
“You will understand why we did it. We needed to be a proud people if we were to thrive.”
A race of former slaves would surely be far less proud than a race of warriors fed the tale of a destroyed homeland. According to Alpha, Xalans had been bred from birth to fight. But would they continue to do so if they knew that deep down it was ultimately Soran DNA that made them creative, intelligent, and adaptable? Alpha addressed the unspoken question.
“If word of this gets out, the public will lose all faith in the ruling class. Rebellion, a civil war to end this galactic war.”
Lucas finally spoke.
“Would that be worth it?”
Alpha paused and pondered the implications.
“They must know the truth. The Sorans didn’t decimate Xala, nor did they ravage our civilization. They created us; they spared us.”
“But you were slaves,” Asha added. “They were playing god and created an entirely new species.”
Alpha nodded.
“They are not blameless, but their crime is sloth, not wrath. This war for vengeance is unjust. The records show Xalans could have, and likely should have been exterminated after the uprising. Instead, we were granted a chance to survive across space, a chance we threw away for more bloodshed. There are many other Xalans like me who wish the war to end. Information of this nature would drive them from words to action.”
The holotable sprang to life, untouched by any of them. A warning symbol flashed as a dull alarm sounded. Alpha immediately took to the controls and discovered the source of the interruption. Lucas recognized the phrase “Proximity Alert” in the flurry of Xalan symbols.
“The Sorans have arrived.”
The view switched to an external monitor that showed eight warships heading toward them. The craft looked significantly different from the curved Xalan ships; they were far more angular, with seven appearing to be cut from the same model and one looming larger than the others. It came to a rest in front of them as the other smaller ships fanned out to surround them. A light began flashing on the table.
“We are being hailed,” Alpha said. “This is the moment you have studied for. First contact.”
He paused.
“Answer, and bridge human and Soran for the first time.”
Lucas looked nervously at the light, but eventually brought his hand up to press it. An enormous portrait rose above them. It was an older man, with fair skin, close-cropped silver hair, and a granite jawline. His dark-green uniform was clearly military, though Lucas recognized none of the symbols that adorned it. After seeing Lucas appear in front of him, the Soran couldn’t contain a look of surprise, but he spoke with a calm cadence.
«This is Admiral Tannon Vale of the Fifth Soran Interstellar Fleet. You are in restricted space operating an enemy combatant’s vessel and in violation of more edicts than I can count. What are you doing out here?»
Lucas’s brain raced to pull his many Soran lessons to the forefront of his mind.
«My name is Lucas, I come from the planet Earth,» he stammered, staring into the hologram’s eyes. Strangely, one was green, the other blue. «We have come a long way to seek refuge on Sora.»
The admiral looked down at a readout offscreen.
«We’re picking up thirteen Soran signatures onboard your vessels, with one live Xalan. Whether you are refugees or mercenaries, I don’t know, but that doesn’t give you license to be in this quadrant, nor pilot these ships, no matter how you came to acquire them. Prepare to be boarded.»
The feed went dead. The monitor showed ships closing in on the pair of locked Xalan craft.
“Well, that went well,” Asha said, placing Noah down on the table.
“It does not matter,” said Alpha, who was sifting through the holotable controls. “We will be able to explain further once we face them in person.”
“What are you doing?” Lucas asked.
“Deactivating the self-destruct sequence on this vessel. All Xalan ships are programmed to explode if subject to capture to prevent acquisition of sacred technology.”
Lucas looked around the room warily. The table readout showed airlocks opening in various parts of the ship. The Sorans were onboard.
“The time for fighting has ceased,” said Alpha calmly. “Do not resist capture, lest this journey be for nothing.”
Lucas couldn’t fight any more even if he wanted to. His body was racked with excruciating pain, only pushed away by the adrenaline surging through him having just spoken with humans from an entirely different part of the galaxy.
Alpha put his energy pistol on the holotable. “Deposit your weapons.”
“No way,” Asha said, her hand instinctively reaching for her Magnum.
“We do not need to give them a reason to destroy us.”
Reluctantly, Lucas unslung Natalie from his back and set the weapon gently on the table, taking Noah into his arms as he did so. Eventually Asha came around and did the same, placing her Magnum and blade next to one another on the glowing surface.
The three of them walked around to the front of the room and could hear metal footsteps approaching. The door opened, and a score of Soran troops marched in, head to toe in gunmetal armor, fully helmeted with identical rifles raised and pointed at them. They spread out around the room as one more helmeted figure emerged. He strode toward them with a pistol in one hand and he removed his headgear with the other. It was the admiral. He stood a few inches taller than Lucas and looked to be about sixty in Earth years, but who knew what his true age was. He eyed Lucas up and down and directed a suspicious gaze toward Alpha.
«Analyze.»
He directed the command toward a soldier next to him, who shouldered his rifle and brought out a device Lucas didn’t recognize. It emitted a green light and was swept across himself and Noah, then over to Asha and Alpha.
«No explosives on any of them,» the soldier reported. «Moderate to severe injuries. They require medical attention.»
The admiral looked around the room and saw the dead Xalan crewmembers. Takin
g a few steps forward, he saw Omicron’s black body on the ground.
«A Shadow!» he exclaimed, unable to hide his surprise. «And you killed it? Where were you trained, soldier?»
Lucas cleared his throat and spoke, his head throbbing. Noah squirmed in his arms.
«We are from Earth, sir. It’s a—»
The admiral cut him off.
«Why is your prisoner not restrained?» he asked, motioning to Alpha, who wasn’t going anywhere with a dozen rifles aimed at his head.
«He is not a soldier,» Lucas said. «He is our ally.»
The admiral scoffed, until Alpha spoke.
«He speaks the truth.»
Every soldier took one step back as they heard their native tongue spoken from his translator collar.
The admiral shook his head, a look of astonishment on his face.
«In all my years, I’ve never come across a scene like this. You have some serious questions to answer. Take them, and find the others.»
The soldiers began to close in around them.
«Sir,» the soldier with the scanner spoke again. «This one is with child.»
Lucas looked down at Noah in his arms, but then saw that the soldier was motioning to Asha.
«Take her to medical and get it out of her,» the admiral said gruffly.
“What?” Asha said in English. She began to struggle against the soldiers who were already upon her. As one came around in front of her, she cracked his helmet’s visor with a headbutt, which drew blood from her own forehead. A violent kick sent another one sprawling.
The admiral raised his pistol and fired a single silent shot. Asha’s head snapped back and Lucas’s heart leapt out of his chest as the air escaped from his lungs. But as her face came back into view, there was no wound, just a light green splash on her forehead, and she crumbled to the ground, unconscious. A tranquilizer. The soldiers started to drag her away.
“No! Asha!” Lucas cried, unable to fully process what he’d just heard. She was with child? Get it out of her? He began to struggle against the metal arms that were trying to pry Noah from his grasp. They wouldn’t take her.