by C. S. Harte
“Help me understand some things. Why are the Defiled attacking humans? We liberated you when we killed the Mimics, your oppressors. We’re the reason you’re free! So why are we at war?”
Samara opened her mouth. Out came a vibrating voice sound with a gurgling noise.
“Are you…” Alyana scrunched her forehead. “Are you laughing?
“Humans, you are such a naïve species. It is most surprising for you to have survived as long as you have.”
“Hey, I never claimed to be the sharpest sword in the armory.” She scoffed. “Care to enlighten this naïve species member? Why did you attack us?”
“Mimics were never our true enemies. They too, were enslaved. Their essence changed; their core corrupted. Over the eons, they became something else.” She lifted her chin. “Not all Mimics were wiped out.”
Alyana lowered her stare. “That is horrible news if true.” She had hoped to never see another Mimic in her lifetime.
“You need not fear the remaining Mimics. There are others who pose a greater threat.”
“Oh,” She tilted her head. “Who? The Voidi?”
“Those from within.”
Alyana gazed at her hands. Samara could have been reading her mind, telling her what she wanted to hear. She could also be telling the truth. It wasn’t a stretch for Alyana to believe humans had once again betrayed their kind. Something as trivial as credits would be all it would take. Throughout history, humans have shown they would go out of their way to step over the backs of others if it slightly increased their station in life.
“You know I speak the truth,” Samara continued. “We can help each other. Our goals are ultimately the same. We must stop the monster behind the mask.”
“What exactly are you looking for from me?”
“I need to get back to my home world. I must escape your prison. Should my voice be silenced, our races will succumb to the same fate.”
Alyana shook her head. “I’m not sure if I can help you…”
“There is also a ship we must find,” Samara interrupted. “There is one of yours that knows its location.”
Alyana bit her thumb.
“The human who first discovered the Voidi base on Gedia Prime, you know of him, correct? I sense you do. There is something different with his mind. He is like you but somehow more. I believe you know this to be true.”
“Before I can consider helping you escape,” Alyana wrinkled her brow. “I need to know everything. I mean everything. Let’s start from the beginning. What is this evil you keep referring to? Why is it so dangerous? Who is wearing this mask?”
14
Alyana lay awake in bed, mind whirling with Samara’s stories. To think there was a species of life older than the First League, possibly as old as the universe itself! Atua Leaga, her people called them — loosely translated as “evil gods.” She did not fully understand the complex web connecting Atua Leaga, Mimics, the Defiled, and Jonas, but if she squinted hard enough, she could see the links connecting everything.
Two months ago, Jonas entered a dark spiral triggered by yet another argument with his military leaders. Half-way through the meeting, Jonas engaged his strength neuromod and assaulted one of his admirals, throwing him into a computer terminal. When Alyana tried to calm Jonas, she saw someone unrecognizable staring back at her. In that moment of stillness, that space between thunder and lighting, his face distorted into a perverse smile just before Jonas struck Alyana, sending her flying back. After that, Jonas casually walked away without so much of an apology. She hadn’t spoken to him since. As far as Alyana knew, no one else had either.
3 am. Alyana rolled over and tried closing her eyes again. Sleep wouldn’t carry her away. Thoughts of her friend Meomi refused to fade. Alyana reread Meomi’s log a hundred times in the past couple days seeking insight on Chordans. Her encounter with them was too brief to be significant, but Alyana found solace in her friend’s words. Reading them helped Meomi live on in her mind.
Alyana sighed and sat up; her legs dangled over her bunk. On her nightstand sat a holo-photo of the Valor crew. She picked up the glass encasement. Alyana was in the middle, the only person smiling. Jonas, Whisper and Nume were to her right. Meomi, Ori, and Quip to the left. The picture was taken a couple weeks before the Battle of Final Hope. Mankind was on the brink of annihilation, but relatively speaking, Alyana was happier then. Not much had changed since the photo; humanity was at war then and at war now, swapping one horrific, nightmare alien for another.
Jonas was different then. Caring, compassionate, and in his own way, kind. Looking back, Jonas Barick died the moment Whisper did. He had lost everything that endeared Alyana to him.
4 am.
Alyana gave up on sleeping altogether. She hopped into the sonic shower for a quick cleaning and slipped into her captain’s flight suit. Her rumbling stomach led her to the mess hall. At 04:15, the spacious, semi-circle room was empty. After making herself a cup of hot tea and picking up a protein packet, Alyana plopped down at a table with a window view. Her mind drifted along with the stars outside.
To her left was Mars, the new home planet for humans while the Defiled occupied Earth. From a distance, the terraformed, formerly red planet looked indistinguishable from the human home planet. Floating white clouds partially obscured seas of green and blue. At night, the railway rings of The Circle was as bright as the LED illumination of the cafeteria.
To the right, Alyana squinted to see a tiny speck of blue — Earth, 54 million kilometers away. At certain angles, she would notice pinpricks of light, small flashes between the station and Earth — debris from the destroyed ships in the Eternal Graveyard. The Earth Defense Force victoriously held their ground against the Mimic sphereships in that field of space. It served as a constant reminder to Alyana and the other survivors of how much mankind had sacrificed up to this point. So many had to die just so she could sit comfortably in a space station, sipping her cup of tea, chewing on a protein packet.
Alyana released a deep sigh. The war isn’t over, yet. It entered a new phase that seemed to have no hope of ending… She walked to the material recycler, a 1-meter sized cube-shaped cubby at the end of the mess hall and placed her cup inside. After a few seconds, blue lasers crisscrossed the empty mug, removing a thin layer of matter with each pass. She left the mess hall before it finished decomposition.
An hour of internal debating had passed, but Alyana was no closer to a critical decision. If Samara was telling the truth about Jonas, then the Fleet Marshal and de facto leader of the human military was under the control of an alien entity. Who could I go to for help? Who would believe me and be able to do something about it? She had no doubts Jonas was compromised; he wasn’t the same person she once looked up to. But there was no one on the human side of the equation that could help her. Meomi would know what to do. But Meomi isn’t here anymore…
A terrible thought crossed her mind. Someone tried to expunge Dren earlier… The entire Phoenix Company roster was placed on the “Do Not Reshell” list. Alyana raced to her office in the Fleet Marshal wing. She needed to get her datapad which had Meomi’s captain’s logs recorded from when she was on board the Zephyr and Valor. It also contained notes and documentation for a case she had been building against Jonas.
Voids, I should’ve opted for a speed neuromod. Her lungs burned as she reached her office. Two Fleet soldiers stood in front of the office door. This wasn’t the norm.
“Good morning, Captain Harrows,” said the guard on the left with a forced smile. “Can we help you with something?”
“No,” she glanced at his collar, “Corporal. Who are you and what are you doing in front of my office?” She noticed their strength neuromods were active on their forearms. Her anger subsided, switching to concern. “Actually, I don’t care. I just need to get inside to retrieve something.”
“I’m sorry, Captain.” The soldiers moved to block the door. “We’re under orders to not to let anyone through.”
“Corporal,” she said with a cold stare, “you realize you’re talking to the Chief Secretary of the Fleet Marshal? I run the Fleet Marshal office.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” The soldier didn’t budge. “The orders came from the Fleet Marshal himself.”
For a moment, Alyana considered fighting her way past them. She had her own strength neuromod. But there was something off about these two men. Their rigid poses, clenched jaws, and coldness in their eyes — they gave off the aura of people with no hesitation to kill. She backed away. “I’ll have to get this rectified with the Fleet Marshal himself then.”
“Yes, Ma’am. That’s a good idea.” The soldiers returned to their original position.
Memories of Meomi flooded back into Alyana’s mind as she walked away. From the first day Meomi met Jonas, their personalities clashed. She often wondered if they would get so angry at each other to physically fight each other. And if so, Who would win? Meomi warned her about Jonas, about his “type” and their propensity toward violence.
At first, Alyana did not take the warning seriously. She figured it was a natural reaction when you mix two alpha captains used to having their way. What stood out was Meomi’s use of the words “tainted” and “vessel” in describing Jonas. They were odd word choices back then. Given the background of Meomi’s situation, that she was an Aorgarian vessel herself, this was something that stuck with Alyana.
Losing the datapad with Meomi’s logs were the least of Alyana’s problems now. Regardless of whether she believed Samara and her tales of ancient evils, she was persona non grata on a space station Jonas firmly controlled.
Alyana saw what Jonas did to people who disobeyed his authority. Early in the war against the Defiled, the Voidi invaded Arster Prime in the Japru System. Fleet received calls for help from the remaining colony population of 2,000 men, women, and children. Most were farmers and administrators, not soldiers. According to reports, roughly 25,000 Voidi warriors marched through the lone Anchor on the small M-class planet.
Jonas, already unanimously promoted to Fleet Marshal, lead the 6th Navy to Arster Prime. His admirals and captains devised a well-planned night rescue mission to save 80% of the hostages at the cost of 2,000 clones. Jonas disliked the plan because it required waiting an additional 16 hours for nightfall. Other planets in nearby systems faced similar fates.
According to Jonas, if they waited too long, the Defiled would entrench themselves into Fleet territories.
Against the objections of his officers, Jonas ordered an atmospheric burning of Arster Prime — essentially a death sentence for all on the surface. The process would consume all the planet’s oxygen leaving none for life to subsist. Such tactics were considered war crimes prior to the Mimic invasions.
One officer stood up to the Fleet Marshal, Captain Belmont. He tried to relieve Jonas of duty citing mental incapacitation with the support of all the bridge officers on his capital ship.
Jonas activated his strength neuromod, picked up Captain Belmont by the throat, and slammed him into the bulkheads. Others tried to help the poor captain, but Jonas ordered them to stay away. Jonas called him a traitor to Fleet, a traitor to humanity and that he did not deserve to be helped. Captain Belmont suffered multiple spinal fractures, two collapsed lungs, and numerous other life-threating injuries. By the time Jonas allowed someone to help the poor captain, the medical team could not save his life.
The practice of destroying terraformed planets worked. It created a dead zone around the Sol System, around Earth, providing a buffer between humans and the Defiled. It offered time for humanity to recover their military strength and infrastructure. Jonas ordered the deaths of a few thousand innocents so that the remaining few millions could live.
Ultimately, the story of the almost-mutiny with Captain Belmont floated out of the minds of Fleet officers. Jonas seemed to have made the right call. Then the priorities of newer battlefronts pushed out the concerns of the past.
Alyana regretted her part in Jonas’ history. She helped scrub the story of Captain Belmont. She erased all associated videos and threatened the witnessing bridge officers with demotions or discharge. She remembered strongly disagreeing with Jonas but went against her better judgment to help someone she thought was important to her. Thinking back, she wasn’t sure if she could have stopped him if she tried.
Even as the evidence was mounting against Jonas and the stories of his mental instabilities spread, Alyana could not find it in herself to turn against him. He had his problems, he always did, but he endured more suffering than most. Jonas was considered the savior of humanity at one point. His actions brought about the Blessing of the Guardians. He saved Nume countless times. He was kind to Alyana more often than not.
Much had changed since then. Jonas was no longer capable of the compassion he once showed. A darkness lived inside Jonas, which at any given time, could express itself in the form of extreme violence. Jonas had been systematically cutting Alyana’s access to Fleet resources and poisoning her reputation among the other captains. He made the decision to betray him easy for Alyana. She did not want to end up like Captain Belmont or cover up another tragedy.
Alyana stopped in front of Dren Arvol’s personal quarters and knocked.
A dreary eyed Dren answered wearing only his sweatpants. His eyes moved to her collar. “Yes, Captain?”
15
Alyana peered at Dren, taking her time looking him up and down. His faced show confusion and surprise instead of a cold, calculating ruthlessness she often saw in other clones. “Do you know who I am?”
“Yes,” he answered while fighting back a yawn. “Captain Alyana Harrows. You’re from the Fleet Marshal office.”
“Can I come in?” She examined the three by five-meter quarter for other possible inhabitants. It was much smaller compared to her captain-sized room, not much larger than a maintenance closet. There was a second bunk bed in the room. “Where is your roommate? Is he coming back anytime soon?”
“No, Sir.” He glanced behind him. “I don’t believe Private Jann has been reshelled yet. And yes, you can come in, Captain.” Dren turned to his side, making just enough space for Alyana to enter.
Alyana grazed his bare chest with her nose as she slid past him. “We don’t have a lot of time.” She closed the door to his bedroom. “First of all, thank you for showering. I need you to get dressed while I talk.”
“Is something wrong, Captain?” He touched his chin.
“I know about your…” She stared into his eyes. “Mental health issues.”
Dren took a step back and almost tripped over his chair. “I’m sorry. What do you mean, Captain?”
“You’re not getting dressed, marine.” She pointed to his dresser. “As nice as your pecs are to look at, we don’t have a lot of time.”
Dren shuffled to his wardrobe. The room seemed uncomfortably small with Alyana standing in the center.
“Let’s get to the point.” Alyana crossed her arms. “The Fleet Marshal — well he hasn’t been himself lately. I think he’s been compromised. I have proof. You know it too now, which puts your life in danger because Jonas Barick is like a Dirus viper. He will go to any lengths to get his kill. He will ensure no one finds out this truth. Trust me, his bad side makes most people’s bad sides look good.”
“Um…” Dren froze with his mouth open as she spoke.
In less than five minutes, Alyana summarized her story to Dren. She rehashed her interrogation with Samara and her personal experiences with Jonas. With great detail, she explained how someone tried to prevent his reshelling.
“By telling you all of this,” her voice wavered as she spoke, “If I wasn’t clear before, I’m now marked as a Fleet traitor. Therefore, you should believe me as I have everything to lose. Both our short and long terms goal are aligned.”
“Sir?” Dren was now fully dressed.
“In the short term, we need to run and hide. Somewhere beyond the Fleet Marshal’s reach. Voids, does he have a long reach!” She
huffed. “And we need to free Samara, the alien prisoner in the station’s brig. She’ll be able to hide us.” Alyana helped Dren straighten his collar. “But you need to understand and accept something. Coming with me is a death sentence. You will lose your tether to the replicant facility. That means, should you die, you can no longer reshell. This is probably the last life you will get.”
Dren sucked in a deep breath but didn’t speak. His eyes were focused on a point behind Alyana.
“What are you looking at?” She turned around thinking someone was behind her. “Well, I don’t have a lot of time, marine.” Alyana planted her hands on her hips.
“No,” he said with a stern face.
“No, what?” Her head jerked back. “I just gave you a 5-minute speech on why you basically have no choice but to help me!”
Dren grabbed Alyana’s arm. “Are you even here?”
She covered her face and shook her head. “Oh boy. Corpsman Walder said you had a mental illness, I didn’t realize how bad it was.”
“He told you that?”
“Listen, Smooth Pecs. Between Walder’s hate-filled gossip and Samara’s scan of your head inside the Voidi base, I have a good understanding of your situation. I know how you feel about humans and clones. Voids, it’s bad luck how some rotten apples, like Walder, survived the Mimic wars. Seems like there were more bad than good people that made it. But understand something, leaving here with me gives you the freedom you’ve been seeking. And maybe we can help you fix some of the stuff wrong in your head. You’ve already been marked DNR. I had to pull a lot of strings to put you back in that pretty body of yours.” She winked. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Dren rubbed his eyes. “Say I believe everything you’re saying. Do you have a plan to execute this? How are we supposed to break Samara out of holding? The station will enter lockdown as soon as she escapes. It’s protocol; no ship will able to leave star dock. Then, what’s your plan once we have her?”
