by Eric Swanson
“Is that all we’re worth? Pity?” Eaton asked. The old man’s eyes locked onto their younger counterparts. But for the ravages of age, their irises were mirror images.
“That’s not what I meant.” Micah’s head shook for emphasis. “I only mean that viewed as a medical resource, we’re so marginalized…”
“Then be glad you’ll never suffer under that way of seeing things, Micah.”
Eaton continued to eat, a quiet moment left hanging between them.
In the silence, Micah considered just how right Eaton may be… In the four centuries since their ancestors’ abduction, the humans taken lived through a generation of trauma, experimentation and exploitation. The horror of being taken from Earth by forces unknown was compounded by the ghastly nature of the purpose for it all:
The humans were used as genetic stock for the Ceran race. Those taken shared some or all of a short list of traits:
- Type O Negative Blood
- Blue Eyes
- Above Average Height
- Above Average Intelligence
This group of roughly similar humans were used as the basis for genetic manipulation. Employing advanced gene therapy techniques, the humans were altered until they shared enough genetic similarity to allow for donation. That donation took the form of blood, bone marrow, organs, eyes and limbs. Anything that an ailing Ceran needed to return to a fully lived existence could be obtained from their family’s “stock”. Early in their captivity, a group of newly edited Hybrids escaped, living in isolated, simple freedom for decades. These Hybrids were only discovered after an attempt to contact Earth and obtain rescue alerted the Cerans to their location.
Shortly after the Gathering, a faction within Ceran society began to realize that captive, almost abused Hybrids made for a temporarily available resource. A violently oppressed people treated like a finite resource to be hoarded would, in due course, rebel. The faction within the leadership of Ceres, the group that more fully understood how their people could benefit from an indefinitely available Hybrid genetic supply, campaigned for their outcome by suggesting quite publicly how things would unfold. Initially, perhaps the Hybrids could be corralled, maybe they could be used for a time, incarcerated. Eventually, they would revolt (killing many), attempt to leave (surely killing some) or escape entirely. Altruism and basic decency aside, the practicality of a gentler approach to Hybrids was clear.
Given dormitories and the “right” to marry and procreate, the ensuing decades saw Hybrids settle into their role in Ceran society: secondary but valued.
Loved and embraced by the Royal Family, Eaton and Micah’s lives (and those of their preceding generations) were less trying, less dark. They lived in the higher levels of the Hybrid Block A, nearest to the rest of the Capital. Their food was fresh, their clothing washed, repaired and maintained by Royal Staff.
They lived like Royalty so they could look like Royalty.
In those days, Micah was the body double to King Artax the Just, as Eaton had been to Artax’s father Trey.
“I always value our time together, Eaton,” Micah said, gathering the dishes before he stood. “Even if our discussions tend to turn a little dark.” Micah turned to walk the plates to Gale and Eaton began to cough again.
Micah hesitated then turned back toward the old Hybrid. Eaton held out an open palm as his hacking fit stopped. He shook his head and Micah started to turn back toward the corridor.
“Micah.”
The younger Mimic turned around.
“How can our conversations be anything but dark? Neither of us has ever seen our own sun.” Eaton held Micah’s gaze for a moment, sadness on weighing on his face.
Chapter Three
(The Second Day)
0555 Hours
“Good morning, Micah.” SAMI’s soft, just slightly synthetic voice spoke into the silence of an all-too-early morning. “It is 0555 hours. Would you like to hear your schedule for this today?”
As always, Micah’s eyes opened minutes before SAMI’s voice invaded his morning. Micah’s gaze locked onto the ceiling. “Can we delay that a minute, please, SAMI?”
“Of course.” SAMI quieted and silence fell over the room.
Micah’s breathing slowed and his eyes fluttered then shut. For roughly half a minute, Micah slept.
“Today, you have—”
Micah screamed and sat up in bed. “What? I—”
“Are you alright, Micah” SAMI’s reading of the schedule broke for a moment. “Are you injured? Shall I alert the Koro-Koo?”
“No,” Shame flushed Micah’s face. “I fell asleep… Please continue.”
SAMI read his schedule for the day, largely a repeat of the prior day… which were mostly repetitions of hundreds of mornings before that. As she finished, Micah stepped toward the shower in the darkness and asked for the screen to be turned on.
“—in dramatic fashion last night, saving dozens from the burning structure. The Hybrid Separatist group claimed responsibility for the attack. Mainstream Hybrid leaders denounced the action, with Kristian Lahm saying they mourn the loss of life along with the Ceran community.” Xenophon turned back to Sallast. “How does traffic look this morning, Sallast?”
“Thanks, Xenophon.” Sallast slid to the left side of the screen as an overlay of the capital came up. Red lines, blinking like a heartbeat, lit most of the traffic pattern around the center of the city with a few yellow tracks wrapped around the outside loop. “Traffic is slow and worsening this morning, with congestion on the inner loop tracks backing things up more than 10 minutes. Be prepared for automated reroutes of your vehicle if you enter the track in the next thirty minutes or so.”
“Thanks, Sallast. Now, for a special report on the Hybrid Separatist attacks yesterday, High Barrister Tobiah.”
Stepping out of the shower as Tobiah filled the screen, Micah sighed. A large man with a square jaw, he cut an imposing figure. His deep, even timbered voice gave weight to his words. Tobiah was an ardent supporter of greater segregation of the hybrids from Ceran society. Separatists killing his people only strengthened his position. “Thank you, both. People of Ceres, I believe we are at a crossroads in our history. This inflection point will no doubt be viewed by history as either our moment of salvation or, very possibly, our moment of destruction.”
“Destruction? Come on… They’re dozens out a population of millions!” Micah whispered forcefully.
“These separatists disrespect the gift of life on this planet by not only their attacks but their insistence that they could survive apart from our society. They feed on that society like a parasite, taking from it when they benefit and then violently harming the very source of their well-being!”
Anger took hold of Tobiah for a moment and he realized with slightly widened eyes that the volume of his voice had risen too far, too fast. He took a deliberate breath and continued.
“My friends… My people… I do not mean to suggest that I am disinterested in the plight of the Hybrid. I understand the vital role they play in our present and future. I simply wish that they fulfill that role in peace, with civility.”
“But I still think they should be locked away, frozen, thawed only when they’re needed for an eye, a foot or an organ!” Micah hissed mockingly.
“Powerful words from a passionate man.” Sallast closed the segment. “The question of the Hybrid place in Ceran society is one we’ll likely be asking ourselves for some time.” A breath later: “Xenophon, what’s the word from Centauri practice?”
Micah’s eyes rolled as a reflex. Leave it to the media to slip right back into bread and circuses… Micah heard that bread and circuses phrase used by older Hybrids in his youth. Not fully understanding its true definition, he assumed by context.
All Micah could do was grumble quietly after he asked SAMI to dim the lights and screen as he left.
The Angered Walk
0610 Hours
The deep orange sun hung low in the gray, overcast morning sky. An o
lder star than Sol, the center of the Ceran solar system burned darker and cooler than that of Micah’s half-ancestral home. Micah and his Koro-Koo twins walked the slate gray path out of the Hybrid Blocks often and most days the discussions were generic small talk. Weather, sports and family chatter filled their time together.
Micah left his apartment and anger quickened his pace as he walked between then past them.
“Morning, Micah.” Reeman said as the now-hooded Hybrid passed him.
“You alright, Micah?” Roomen asked after a quick glance between the brothers.
Discretion held Micah’s tongue for a moment. Over the years he and the twins had made their daily trek through Micah’s static itinerary, the trio became close. Implied interest in Micah’s well-being through their function as his bodyguard gave way to the development of a true relationship.
They’d never encountered Micah in such a state: Agitated, tight lipped and swiftly moving toward the Royal Court.
They trailed him by a few paces. Reeman gestured at Micah, a wide-eyed gaze locked on Roomen. Roomen shook his head quickly. Reeman’s gesture came once more.
Roomen grunted another denial and Reeman, frustrated, jumped in.
“Micah,” he said, closing the short distance between them with a faster gait. “What’s on your mind, my friend?”
“I just…” Micah began, anger cutting off his words. He stopped walking, eyes scanning the capital skyline miles ahead of them. The hood hiding his face bounced forward, inertia moving the cloth. Early-risers lit precious few of the windows in the taller buildings and the morning commotion was coming in fits. Tracked cars beeped passively as they approached one another. Ninety minutes in the future, those tones would come from hundreds of vehicles carrying thousands of riders. Micah met the eyes of each of the twins over a quiet moment. “I know you have a job to do. You protect me so I can protect someone far more important. But I think we’ve gotten to be friends over the last few years…”
Micah looked for a sign of agreement.
“Is that… right? Is friend the word?” He asked.
“Sure, Micah.” Reeman replied. He gestured to his brother then himself. “We’re your friends.”
“It’d be hard to commit your life to protecting someone you disliked.” Roomen spoke unemotionally, nearly monotone as he put a hand on Micah’s shoulder. The gestured betrayed his stoic nature.
“I guess so.” Micah said. “Thank you, guys. I was watching the news this morning.” Micah’s thumb pointed back down the path toward his apartment. “… and Tobiah was addressing the attack yesterday.”
“We know you’re not them, Micah.” Reeman interjected.
“Yeah,” Micah responded and he passed his gratitude by eye contact and a nod. “I just struggle to understand how we’re supposed to be this savior race but just that. I mean, I live better than most. A nicer place, I’m safe…” Micah’s open hands waved toward the twins alternately. “But I don’t really have a life of my own. And I know that’s a ridiculous thing to bemoan… Poor me, great food. Poor me, time in the presence of people most Hybrids only see on screen.” Micah pulled his hood down and pointed at his face. “But this face buys me isolation.”
Roman and Reeman rapidly glanced about them as a reflex the moment Micah’s face was exposed. He recognized their nervous faces and pulled the hood back into place.
“On top of all that, people like Tobiah want us all isolated. We’ll end up in farms, maybe frozen until they need us.” Micah grunted in anger and started walking toward The Pillar again.
Roomen and Reeman both wanted to fill the remainder of their walk with reassurance. They wanted nothing more than to tell Micah that good-hearted Cerans would stand up to efforts of Sanballat and his supporters.
They knew better than to promise help they couldn’t hope to deliver, so quiet footfalls remained the soundtrack of their walk to the Pillar.
The Pillar
0705 Hours
Built at the end of the Ceran Third Age, the Pillar was the tallest structure on the planet for most of Its existence. Thousands of years and hundreds of monarchs later, the Pillar stood as a monument to a time when the Ceran people looked to themselves for answers rather than the stars. Two Royal Successions into the Ceran Seventh Age, the structure changed little. From a greater distance, the Pillar shone in the night as though lit by bulbs. The off-white shade of the stone was just a bit darker up close and Micah always noticed another small flaw or two with each entrance to the structure. The stone looked rough-hewn, cut from its source crudely and with imprecise tools.
The Pillar stood in the midst of the capital city, which had sprouted dozens of gleaming, clean structures of steel and glass. So distinct in its place in the capital skyline, the Pillar inspired the phrase Look to The Pillar. The words became a creed, a pledge of allegiance to the Crown and the Royals in one brief sentence.
Roomen, Reeman and Micah walked past a handful of armed sentries (comically large guns in their hands, dressed in black like the Hybrid’s escorts), most staring ahead, expressionless. The pair nearest the entry nodded at Roomen and Reeman as they passed and came into the Pillar. A soft blue light swept all three and a moment later a friendly tone came from a station further into the building.
Micah blinked against the lights shining from the ceiling then shifted so the hood blocked most of the light. Several rooms off the corridor held servers, monitored by dozens of attentive Cerans. The data on the servers was the most valuable information possible: digitized gene coding of both Hybrids and Cerans. Through the narrow entryway a high rotunda stretched nearly to the top of the Pillar, hundreds of feet in the air. Shining black stone covered the concave ceiling and light bounced around it in bits, resembling starlight.
Micah’s entire cognizant life was spent making regular trips to this building and he had yet to figure out how the light reflected off the gleaming stone like that. The walls shone and sparkled as well but were made of rock shaded a soft green.
After they reached the first chamber of the Pillar beyond the entry’s hallway, both twins walked a little slower. As Micah approached the entry to one of many inner chambers a voice called to him.
“Micah!” The voice was similar to Micah’s but higher. It belonged to Davin, Royal Prince of the Ceran people and Micah’s biggest fan in the Pillar. He stood just an inch shorter than Micah with close-cropped hair of the same shade. They hugged quickly and their identical eyes met, mostly concealed by twin smiles, Micah’s entirely by shadow.
“It’s so early! Why are you here already?” Davin inquired. He wore black pants and a loose-fitting purple shirt with a slightly open collar.
“Training with Wes and time with your father in the dome.” Micah smiled slightly, a joking fatigued expression wiped on his face. He rarely trained with Wes this early and wasn’t looking forward to the workout. “Really looking forward to my morning, Dav.”
“I bet!” The young royal laughed and threw an arm around Micah as they walked. “Guess what you’re doing tomorrow night?” Davin pointed a finger in Micah’s direction.
“When did you start playing this game with people, Dav?” Micah said. He leaned in a bit nearer and whispered. “Does anyone like guessing games?”
Davin laughed and dismissed the questions with a wave of his hand. “You don’t have any plans better than what I have lined up, trust me.”
“Well-“ Micah shrugged.
“Come on!” Davin nearly yelled and another laugh extended his words. “You’re never too busy to hang with your nephew-slash-brother-slash-son,“ Davin smiled wider, poking fun at their close genetic relationship and true friendship. “- are you?”
“Actually,” Micah brought the volume of the conversation down slightly. “I’m supposed to have dinner with Garreous, the new—”
“Courtier, yeah.” Davin nodded.
“Have you talked to him about court yet?”
“No, but Father said that he’s our best hope to figure out the
faster than light issue.” Davin was a gifted athlete, writer and immensely personable. Unlike his sister Susa, he wasn’t gifted with a great deal of scientific intellectual curiosity. The idea of faster than light travel and its associated questions and theories as to the nature of time, space and matter didn’t interest Davin. “Maybe he’ll be the one to turn us into data and send us into the stars on a beam of light!” Davin paused, allowing his joke room to breathe. He smiled brightly once again. “So, dinner with him tomorrow night?”
“That’s what they tell me.” Micah replied, a light-hearted resignation in his voice.
“Fine.” Davin said as he took a few steps away from Micah toward another corridor. “Bring him.”
Micah smiled again and his head shook. “I’m supposed to be getting to know this guy, Dav. I can’t…” Micah stopped, now genuinely curious where Davin wanted him to be tomorrow evening. “Where do you want us to go?”
“Playoffs.” Davin said, his eyebrows rose above wide eyes. “You and me. Our friend Garreous. Our suite.”
From an unnaturally young age, Davin took a strong interest in Antisar, the action, contact and strategy drawing him in. During mimic sessions, time when Micah would simply be with the Royal Family to master moving, speaking and acting like King Artax, Micah and Davin first bonded throwing a child-sized game ball back and forth. Not long after they started playing catch, Davin was throwing harder than Micah and enjoyed showing off his agility when receiving passes.
“Everyone will see us, Dav.” Micah said as his smile faded a bit. “Everyone will see me.”
Helt Arena, named for the originator of Antisar (Armin Helt), stood as a testament to engineering, famed for its unique oblong bowl structure. The shape of the bowl gave nearly every seat a great view of the gaming floor. The Royal Suite took hundreds of feet in seating space and sat in the horizontal center of the stadium. An open seating area gave a flawless perspective on the action and everyone else a clear view of the Royals.
