Remember the Starfighter

by Michael Kan

  He was in space. Or a life-like simulation of it. The hologram precise, pulling the data and images to form the fabric of what Julian saw.

  “There,” the agent said, pointing to his right. “The Ouryan base.”

  It was a space station. The facility in orbit somewhere, and hanging above Julian in a crescent of sparkled light. Although distant, it was so large that for a moment, he thought he could reach out to it, the base built like the Ouryan crest, and shaped into a wide and circular ring.

  For Julian, the real spectacle was what surrounded the station. “The collapsers,” he said. “There are hundreds of them.”

  It was the same hexagonal formation on display. The pattern repeating.

  The agent walked forward, and looked upward at the vast chain of interlocking ships.

  “Deployment would be imminent,” the man was quick to add. “But it seems this may all just be an illusion.”

  “An illusion?” Julian asked.

  The Ouryan was about to go on and explain the debacle. But the internal discord was there, yet again. This time with a threat.

  -- Do not defy us. We grow impatient. Stray and you will be punished.

  The grand audience waited, and demanded that the agent cease with its divergent behavior. Follow the set protocols; obey your original programming; finish your task, they warned.

  Annoyed, the Ouryan tightened its grip around the device at its back.

  “Do not underestimate me...” the agent replied in a hiss. “I am beyond any of you.”

  Julian heard the odd statement and was unsettled. Was it speaking to him?

  He looked at the figure wearily; the man’s other hand was fiddling with the silver rod.

  Julian didn’t know why the Ouryan was so slow to act. But the rod in its hand was likely some sort of mind control device. The agent needed to only activate it, and obtain the information it so wished to uncover.

  Julian crossed his arms, and knew that the end was near. However, in that moment, the advice from all those weeks ago came to him.

  Know your enemy, Richard had said to Julian. And so he recalled what had been passed on, the rumors painting the picture of a powerful figure once known for its roguish-tendencies.

  “I was told about you,” Julian said. “You’re supposed to be quite elusive. In fact, there’s no official record of you.”

  It was a statement that piqued the Ouryan’s interest.

  “Oh?” the agent said. “You know of me?”

  “Just a little,” he replied. “They call you the Destroyer, don’t they? At least to those who know you, am I right?”

  The agent paused, before slowly nodding.

  “You were the architect of some of the containment strategies. They say you commanded not only the entire Ouryan fleet, but even the main defensive arms of the Alliance.”

  “Go on,” the agent replied.

  “You must have destroyed countless Endervar ships. Kept them at bay for centuries. I was told you were one of the most successful fleet commander of all time, until—”

  “Before, the rise of the Overlord,” the agent interjected. “Yes, you know your history well, captain. Very good.”

  But the adulation could only go so far. The Ouryan looked at its current form, and raised its two arms.

  “And now I am reduced to this: hunting down renegade humans.”

  The agent breathed a long and almost painful sigh.

  “I suppose we all owe you thanks. For what you did, to protect the galaxy,” Julian said.

  “No, no, no,” the Ouryan shirked. “You think far too highly of me captain. I care nothing for life. You are all just organic residue to me.”

  It loosened its grip around the device, distracted by the strange sensation.

  “Hmph,” the agent said.

  The Ouryan had not spoken to anyone like this. Not in ages.

  Of course, it had occasionally indulged in some banter with its captives, before striking the killing blow. But this was becoming an actual conversation, one that related to itself.

  “Interesting,” the agent concluded. In spite of its mission, and the demands of its superiors, the agent secretly did wish for this take place. To speak with someone who might understand, if only a little.

  “The thrill of the battle,” the agent admitted. “There is nothing else quite like it. To fight on such an epic scale. You perhaps know something of this?”

  “I’ve been there,” Julian said. “I suppose my life has been devoted to it. I admit, I guess I’m good at it.”

  “I as well. I was spectacular,” the Ouryan said. “Hunting you, it can’t quite compare to total war. I much rather smash the Endervars, and obliterate them. They are the bane of my existence.”

  It was why the agent had come to be. The Union breeding a champion to end the Endervar threat once and for all.

  Obviously, the agent had failed in that regard. It needed to only look above and see what had superceded it: the Ouryan collapser seemingly ready to end the conflict.

  “What a lie,” it said, directing its comments inwardly, and back to the collective. The agent knew the truth, the deception devious.

  It was a secret known only to those connected to the Unity. But the collapser was a flawed weapon. Almost half or more were projected to fail, the technology inside each collapser unstable, and perhaps even incomplete.

  The agent could already envision it: weapon after weapon sputtering out. What a disgrace.

  But still, the Union would choose to wield it. Not wanting to save the galaxy, but to expand its influence over sentient life, even if the salvation it provided was all based on lies.

  The agent was underwhelmed. Within the core of the Unity, the conclusion had already been made: the war could never be won. What mattered was control over the sentient races. They would be fodder for even grander designs.

  -- Enough of this! We shall assume control.

  In the same way that they viewed organic life, the Union was now working to take over the agent.

  The high collectives had demanded that the agent act, and so they had flooded the Ouryan with a stream of protocols meant to invade its every system, and bring it to its knees.

  But very quickly, the agent effortlessly squelched the hurried attempt, the hack dissolving in seconds.

  “Pitiful,” the man replied, irritated that he had been shown no respect. “I will not be a puppet again.”

  The agent then looked back at Julian.

  “You and I are warriors,” the Ouryan said with pride. “We deserve better. This I know.”

  As the Union watched in its escalating confusion, the agent’s superiors demanded an explanation.

  -- Why do you stray?

  -- Why have you changed? Why do you adopt the organic ways?

  -- What is the source of your defiance?

  More complaints came, all of it just a nuisance. The agent could not deny it: something in its very being had changed.

  The practice had become almost habit for the Ouryan. To assimilate personalities, and incorporate them into its own. It was how it had evolved. How it tried to reclaim something lost.

  Once a man of a forgotten race, he had been stripped down to serve the Unity, and been built with a singular purpose: to slavishly serve its masters. But gradually, the agent had meandered away from its simplistic design, in favor of something more cunning, more deviant.

  It had done so over the eras, by studying the different races, and selecting traits that might advance its cause.

  Humans had just been one of the many, and the behaviors from the greatest commanders across the Alliance had all been installed onto the map of its artificial mind.

  Because of this, the agent understood things like honor, vengeance and glory. More importantly, it had used them to fuel its own agenda and strategies.

  So to locate Julian, the Ouryan had not only studied the captain’s profile and background, but it had found the treasure trove of data within the Union itself. It c
ame in the form of a replica, a virtual version of the captain that Julian had made six years ago.

  In its arrogance, the Ouryan had done more than just incorporate a piece of Julian into its being. It had assimilated the entirety of the replica, and imprinted the captain’s personality onto its own.

  It was how the agent knew Julian would return to Haven. But the Ouryan had perhaps underestimated the captain’s influence.

  It felt the silver rod in its hand, the holographic skin masking its hardened robotic grip around the device.

  How the Ouryan had so wanted to punish the captain, and make him pay for the humiliation it had suffered. Two vessels had been lost, with the Unity casting only more doubt over its abilities.

  The agent had imagined it, and toyed with all the morbid possibilities. To ruin the captain and rip that war-torn brain out of his precious skull. The agent had very much salivated at the prospect. In fact, it craved it.

  All that seemed very irrelevant now. The captain was in its grasp. And yet, the Ouryan felt no urge to exact revenge.

  Here was a man, who had died twice. If anything, Julian welcomed death.

  No, the captain was a soldier. A starfighter. He wanted to liberate his people, even if it would come at the cost of his own life.

  That’s why he had returned to Haven. To try and save it.

  Yet with that understanding, came a small dose of sympathy, along with an alien sense of idealism.

  Was this weakness? Or some bizarre asset?

  The audience replied in a chorus of shouts.

  -- Flawed you are. Weak. You disappoint us! You are no Ouryan!

  The agent balked.

  “They will never understand us,” he said. “Not like I do.”

  Although its own loyalty may have been to the Unity, the agent feared no one, including its own kind.

  Still, the agent could not ignore it. The mission and all its perceived glory.

  “I know much of you captain,” the Ouryan said. “But not quite everything.”

  It was a fact that the agent was swiftly reminded of, the vast audience urging him to act.

  -- Arendi Soldanas. The captain knows. We demand her location!

  The agent and its prey. The calm before the kill.

  The blonde-haired man nodded and held up the silver rod before Julian. It walked forward, ready to insert the device.

  The interrogation tool would end the captain, or cause significant neural damage. Once embedded into the side of his skull, the invasive machines would go to work, scanning his flesh and extracting every salvageable memory contained inside his brain.

  The process would be excruciatingly painful. With another step forward, the Ouryan activated the device, a pair of needles, jutting out from the bottom-end of the rod.

  Julian swallowed, and closed his eyes.

  “I hope you understand. But I have my orders,” the agent said. “Otherwise, I would very much like to continue our little chat.”

  “It is what it is,” Julian merely replied. “Let’s get this over with.”

  The agent silently agreed.

  “At least I wasn’t bored. You’ve earned my respect,” the figure said, slowly pulling back its arm. “But all good things must come to an end.”

  It was true. The Ouryan didn’t care for organic life, or even much for its own kind. By human standards, it was a sociopath and was certainly a master in the art of killing.

  But as far-fetched as it seemed, a small ounce of the agent valued the captain.

  “Hmph,” the agent said, the rod only inches away from its target.

  Julian expected the blow to be there already, the rod lodged somewhere alongside his head.

  He was still standing, as the seconds passed by. He waited for it. The rod cutting through flesh.

  It did not come. There had been no blow. Or any sign of pain. Only an amused grunt.

  “Very interesting,” the agent went on, becoming more emphatic. “Very, very interesting.”

  Julian timidly opened his eyes.

  In his sight was the agent, but without the silver rod. The blonde-haired man had mysteriously sheathed it away behind his waist.

  The agent nodded, moving its head up and down in a slow rhythm. Apparently, it had become distracted with something, the event sending ripples through the free galaxy.

  It would be another full minute, when the Ouryan finally responded.

  “I assume you had a hand in this?”

  In another snap of the fingers, the agent summoned the display screen. It materialized in front of Julian, the holographic image replaying in a loop.

  “It’s trending. On every news feed in the galaxy,” the Ouryan added.

  What Julian found was footage of a world captured in white. Then it was gone, the barrier lifted, the natural colors of the planet restored.

  He saw it again, when the realization dawned upon him.

  “Is this Haven?”

  “Indeed. It is.”

  As Julian continued to watch the footage, the Ouryan stepped back, hearing the cacophony of the Unity.

  The vast audience was scattering, the concerns and priorities immediately shifting into a new wave of internal bickering.

  The agent could hear it all: the high collectives ambushed by a development they had once thought preposterous. How very wrong they had been.

  It glanced back at Julian, and found itself in envy. The captain had no idea the nuisance it had wrought for the Unity. But more importantly, this human had done the one thing the agent had always sought to do in its 2,000 years of existence.

  “The Endervars,” the Ouryan said. “You’ve struck a blow against them like no other.”

  Chapter 64

  After crossing a series of checkpoints, Julian had finally found her, standing tall within the small gathering.

  She was beaming, and welcomed him with a hug.

  Alysdeon said, in a tight embrace.

  She examined him and patted his shoulders, letting out the anxiety in a mellowed breath. It had been over three days since their capture, and Julian had been worried as well.

  He was about to speak, when he realized the mask around his face was still active. Pressing the collar on his neck, Julian let the breathing apparatus release, and retreat away from his skin.

  “I’m fine,” he said in a belated smile. “Just barely.”

  Wiping the sweat off from his face, Julian was relieved. He had been spared what would have been a painful interrogation, and maybe even death. Instead, he had been delivered to a neighboring ship, one that was not directly under the Ouryan’s Union’s command, but which served the Alliance Supreme Council.

  It was a diplomatic vessel, and staffed by a wide range of alien races, all living under different conditions. Following a run-in with a lower gravitational state, Julian had arrived in the designated room, feeling the weight return to his feet and the cool air press against his cheeks.

  Alysdeon said.

  She led him to center of the room, where the three other figures stood, none of them human. They all gazed above, to the images generated by the perched holo-emitter. But before Alysdeon could begin the introductions, the latest military intelligence had started to stream through.

  Julian joined them, and saw the data buzz with colors and activity. Recognizing the live news report, he went to his comm-band, and requested a translation.

  NEWSCASTER: We are now getting reports that communication has been reestablished with the Terran world of Haven. The colony’s government is responding to the latest calls and is asking for immediate assistance.

  Furthermore, continued scans show that the colony remains populated, following the demise of the Endervar shield around the planet.

  Alliance authorities have yet to issue an official comment. However, an emergency meeting of the Supreme Council is already underway.

  While we wait, we’re receiving more information... about th
e group allegedly responsible for lifting the shield around Haven.

  We’re still trying to confirm. But they claim to be working on behalf of former Terran leader, known as Sovereign Davinity.

  According to a statement issued by the group, the Sovereign has found a way to destroy the Endervar shield. She pledges to target other systems, including homeworlds belonging to the Arcenian and Iyanas people.

  She asks that all join her cause...to begin the liberation of the galaxy.

  The report went on, the details mixing speculation with what few facts were publicly known. Julian, however, already knew the truth, and so began to tune it all out. He wished to only stare at the other picture on display. That of a blue planet, spinning in space, unhindered, and seemingly free of the war.

  “Arendi,” Julian said. “She did it. She really did it.”

  Still in disbelief, he felt the emotions swell in his chest, the sensation almost intoxicating. Although he could barely speak, Julian was elated, and felt the need to sit down.

  Finding a nearby railing, he leaned over the metal bar and tried to process everything happening around him.

  Next to Julian, the other figures were doing the same. All of them veterans of the Great War, and aligned with the Alliance in some capacity.

  The Arcenian was the first to comment, and did so by slamming his large fists down against an adjacent desk. Julian nearly jumped when he heard the loud clang, and the sound of the table topple.

  “The Ouryans. They’ll pay for this treachery.”

  Nearly 7-feet-tall, the Arcenian shouted his hostility, and flexed his scaled arms. Licking its lips, like a serpent would, the famed admiral barked, using a module at its neck to translate.

  “I would have my people declare war on them, if only they weren’t so powerful.”

  The admiral formed another fist, and angrily raised it into the air. Looking at the Arcenian with mild concern, Alysdeon spoke through her implants, so that all could hear.

 

  “Former fleet master,” the admiral corrected. “I much rather fight for my own people, rather than continue this charade of a so-called Alliance.”