by Eric Swanson
“There’s no way you can think that, Roomen!” Micah belted out. A few quieter passersby shot glances Micah’s way but thought better of an admonishment upon seeing his hood. His gait slowed as Micah turned toward Roomen and he shrugged, eyes wide beneath the dark cowl. “Maran Maze was without question the best Rounder the league has ever seen.”
Each team was allowed six players on the floor during play, and the Rounders typically became high-profile players on successful squads. The five other team members usually kept to a prescribed section of the field of play based on their position. Forwards and Centers toward the offensive end of the I (named for its resemblance to the capital letter I), guards at the rear of the offensive zone. Rounders were tasked with covering nearly the entire playing surface in a possession, looking to move the ball and ultimately, score.
“But Baren Arbor was so physically… dominant.” Roomen said. He took a moment longer than intended to find the right words for his argument.
“Easy to do when you’re bigger and faster than everyone you play!” Micah laughed a bit. “Maze wasn’t gifted like that. He became dominant because of his will and intelligence. Reeman, jump in here, come on!”
The thus-far-silent twin held up both hands, palms out.
“I want no part of this, guys. I’m a Comets fan. We don’t know anything about the greatest anything.”
All three laughed as they reached the end of the courtyard and the Senate House. Micah was due to meet Sanballat for lunch to discuss Garreous’ addition to the Court. As they entered the building, Micah’s mood became more somber and a serious expression wiped his light demeanor away.
A moment of quiet fell between them as the trio passed through security checks. A light blue light washed over all three before an armed guard, black-clad like the twin, waved them through. His steel gray eyes locked onto Roomen and Reeman and he gave the Koro-Koo salute, a hard-balled fist over his heart for a moment.
Roomen and Reeman paused for a moment (Micah recognized the ritual and stopped with them) and returned the salute.
Micah crossed the entry into the Senate dining hall first, the twins a pace or two behind. He scanned the room, filled with local dignitaries, elected officials and bureaucrats, seeking Sanballat. On the far side of the room a purple curtain hung over a corner. The aide Sanballat had sharply dismissed stood in front of it, also scanning the room. His wide, wet eyes reminded Micah of a creature checking surroundings for a predator.
Micah raised a hand casually, chest-high, and the aide’s frightening visage slacked with relief. Even from a distance, Micah thought he saw a bead of sweat run down the side of the man’s face before he turned away.
“Hello, Kye.” Micah smiled in an attempt to calm Kye.
“Sir,” Kye almost whispered. His eyes immediately hopped away from Micah’s hood and to the twins behind him. Like everyone who knew Micah only by his hood, Kye understood implicitly the ramifications of seeing his face.
As Micah stepped behind the curtain, Sanballat’s face fell into an expression of disdain. Ever the diplomat, he swiftly corrected and greeted Micah as warmly as his prejudice would allow. “Hello, Micah.” Sanballat sounded uncomfortable with the sound of Micah’s name on his lips.
“Sanballat.” Micah nodded in greeting as he sat and his hood fell forward a bit. Micah fussed with it for a moment, displeased with the momentary distraction.
“We are alone here.” Sanballat gestured to the area which housed their table. The curtain stopped nearly all light from invading the corner, certainly blocking the view of any curious onlookers.
“Yeah,” Micah scratched at his eyebrow in nervousness, still underneath his hood. “Sorry. I just have a hard time with anyone… seeing.” He gestured to his face then the hand slacked.
A moment of calm hung between them and the ambient chatter and commotion beyond their deep purple curtain became the only noise in their nook.
“As enjoyable as this little bit of reflection is, I believe we have other matters to discuss…” Sanballat trailed off absently. The Ceran’s slate gray eyes briefly scanned the darkened corner of the dining hall for a distraction. Finding none, he pressed on to the topic intended for this meal. “Garreous. In his wisdom,” A light coating of sarcasm on the last word, Micah noted. “Our King has assigned the two of us to assess Garreous for Court readiness.”
“Right.” Micah drew a breath and his mouth opened, but Sanballat jumped right back in.
“As I have been entrusted with this assessment process for decades, it stands to reason that I would guide you in your… part in the venture.” Sanballat let his words hang in the air, gauntlet laid.
Micah’s silence bought Sanballat another opportunity to direct the conversation. “In an effort to be forthright, Micah, I’ll lay out to you what I believe your role to be in this: as little as possible.”
“I…” Micah’s reply came as a drawn-out single letter of a word. Sanballat’s disdain for Hybrids had never been a mystery to Micah, but having it presented so pointedly… Pointedly and in complete contravention of a Royal edict… Micah’s mind buzzed and it took a beat or two for a coherent response to form.
A thread of a smile curled across Sanballat’s face as he began to feel control of the situation come to him entirely. “Do you know much of the history of my family, Micah?” The Hybrid’s name came from Sanballat with a mixture of disdain and anger. It sounded like a word the Ceran was ashamed to speak.
Another wordless, stunned pause from Micah, which Sanballat marched right through.
“It involves your people, actually.” Sanballat’s voice fell flat and he rubbed his eye for a moment with a single finger. “Our history, my family… A far-flung ancestor of mine was one of the first explorers to spend time in the Sol system.” He lazily gestured at Micah, associating the star system with the Hybrid. Sanballat’s recount of his family’s history continued in his dry tone, words awash in near-boredom. He valued the story but certainly not his audience. “Did you know that?”
Micah shook his head, unsure if a verbal reply was welcome.
“Of course not.” Sanballat’s distaste for Hybrids materialized once more in his voice. The Ceran courtier viewed his family’s role in the history of their people as pivotal, essential. Sanballat took great umbrage with the idea of anyone, Hybrid, Ceran or house pet, being unaware of his bloodline’s contribution to the greatness of the Ceran culture. To hear him tell the tale, his ancestors designed and laid every stone of the Pillar.
“Before you, before the Hybrid, before even the progenitors of human race, geniuses with whom I share blood traveled the stars. These pioneers found that mudball from which half of you came and seeded it with our genetic material.” Sanballat paused, mid-way through a story Micah had surely heard dozens of times, though never in so cruel a tone.
The curtain fluttered open and for a moment, the light, noise and life in the dining hall flooded the alcove. Far from them, near the kitchen, the crash of nearly a dozen plates falling to the floor and shattering pierced the relative silence around Micah and Sanballat. The moment their server stepped in and moved toward the table, Micah was relieved to still have his hood in place.
After some brief conversation and clear derision from Sanballat, the waiter took their orders and departed. His departure brought with it another brief flood of light and noise, then Micah and Sanballat were isolated once more.
“So, we created your race as a living repository of uncompromised genetic material, in the event we ever needed to piece back together our species’ genome.” Sanballat paused, coughed a bit and pressed on after a drink. “Millenia and millennia later, a need for that genetic material arose.”
Unsure of exactly where Sanballat was headed with his well-trod history lesson, Micah decided silence was the prudent choice.
“Why am I telling you all this, Micah?” Sanballat asked, his tone shifting from professorial and detached to something nearer to an educator of the very young.
&n
bsp; “To show me my place, I would imagine.” Micah responded, hushed. His eyes fell to the table and shame at his immediate submission flushed Micah’s face.
“No.” Sanballat said as his head shook from side to side. “Close, but no. I’m telling you this,” He pointed at Micah with a lazy finger. “Not to inform you of your place, but to ensure your clarity on the place of your entire race, Micah.”
Another quiet moment hung between them as their waiter returned with dishes and fresh drinks. In the conversational gap, Micah found a bit of courage.
“Our King ordered me to be a part of Garreous’ assessment.” Micah’s tone took on steel beneath the words. “Should we tell His Majesty together that you’re editing the terms of his edict or would you prefer to handle that on your own?” Nerves alight all over his body, Micah fought back a confident smile. His eyes met Sanballat’s and held the Ceran’s gaze for a beat.
Sanballat clenched his jaw for a moment, his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth nearly hard enough to push his eye teeth out of place. Quiet but simmering, Sanballat closed his eyes for a lengthy blink.
“I know,” His eyes still closed, Sanballat began in a halting, intentional tone. “What you are, Copy.” His cool gray eyes snapped open and Sanballat locked onto Micah. “Not a Mimic, or a Double, or someone close to the Royals who serves some greater purpose, no.”
Sanballat lazily pointed in Micah’s direction. “You are none of these things, Copy. You are a threat to my way of life.”
“I’m no threat.” Micah said after a long-held breath.
“Think what you like, Copy. Say what you like.” Sanballat continued to eat with his eyes locked on Micah. “But I know your kind. My kind is more ready for you this time.”
Their meal quickly ended moments later, as Sanballat decided while still chewing a bit of his dinner that he could tolerate Micah no longer. He stood, mumbled a terse, frustrated goodbye and left.
Deserted and still behind the curtain, Micah dropped his hood and sat in the shadows while he finished an excellent meal in peace. Sanballat’s last words to him bounced around Micah’s head in his isolation. He tried to discern their meaning but gave up and chose instead to enjoy a rare moment of peace, alone in public with his (the King’s) face exposed.
Chapter Six
(The Fifth Day)
0555 Hours
Micah’s apartment was awash in light that had never turned off. His head laid upon folded arms, Micah had fallen asleep amid a heavy load of reading on a pad. The pad blinked and twitched, words on the screen moving almost without cause.
“Micah, it is 0555 hours.” SAMI spoke and Micah started, almost straight up. A small drop of clear saliva sat on the screen, still causing the touch-sensor some confusion. As the words upon the device hopped about, the header shook just a bit less.
‘Earth and the Way Forward’ was the article Micah fell asleep reading. It was the last in an hours long series of documents he had called up late into the night. A dissertation on the science behind the Hybrid role in the genetic salvation of the Ceran people, the Way Forward paper used hard evidence to ring an alarm of self-preservation. It became a seminal document in the argument for the Gathering, which found objection initially for its necessarily traumatic beginning. In short, the Way Forward detailed a deep degradation of the Ceran genetic code which would swiftly occur under their aging sun’s radiation.
More than anything, Micah wanted to understand his place in Ceran society and why the mere mention of Earth rung a bell and its sound bored into him, deep.
“Thank you, SAMI.” Micah mumbled while he rubbed sleep from his eyes. As Micah stood, the light from the apartment ceiling glinted off the bit of spittle on the screen. It caught his attention and he wiped it away with a finger. Swiping the offending liquid moved the document on the screen away and another took its place.
“Hybrids and a Proposed Solution” sat in bold letters at the top of the screen. With few quick actions, Micah set the tablet to read the document. As the monotone voice listed authors and contributors to the paper, Micah began showering.
“—segregation without hope of liberty or greater societal integration will undoubtedly lead to unrest and agitators rising within the Hybrid community.”
“Agitators.” Micah spat the word under his breath. His teeth pressed together, tight, and a whistle of breath passed between them. Water ran down his face, rushed past his pulled lips and fell toward the gray tile floor from Micah’s chin in a small waterfall.
The paper continued to be read by the tablet’s inhuman narrator as Micah finished with his shower and stepped out. Micah furiously rubbed his hair dry with a black towel in a few short moments. He rapped the towel around his waist and stepped toward the mirror. The volume of the reading dropped just slightly as the noise from the shower waned then ceased entirely.
“The proposed Hybrid Blocks living arrangement—” Micah was taken aback by the age of the paper. Nothing he’d seen upon finding it suggested a publication date that preceded the construction and population of the Hybrid Blocks (marking the dissertation as at least 40 years old). “--serves as a waypoint to a more viable long-term solution. Several options with greater permanency and stability are proposed in the ensuing sections of this paper.”
Micah shook his head sharply, clearing the last bit of moisture and trying to move loose a nipping horrible thought in the back of his mind.
If the blocks aren’t the permanent solution…
“Micah?” SAMI broke in, shoving the stray thought away. “Roomen and Reeman await you presently and have for the last 20 minutes.”
“Thank you, SAMI.” Micah replied with a slight edge. He flipped his hood into place and left quickly. The lights in his apartment remained on and the reading of the paper resumed as the front door clicked shut, sans audience.
The Hybrid Gym
0815 Hours
The two Hybrids circled each other on a thick white pad, footfalls muted by the thick cushion on the floor. The gymnasium was empty save for the pair, lit only by a large single bulb, which hung twenty-five feet in the air. The light splashed down on the mat, breaking up the darkness which laid on the wood floor beneath the mat. Aside the padded area, the room extended a scant few feet in each direction.
Training, true physical training, was the only purpose of this space.
“Alright, now if I go for your legs…” Light red hair weighed by a layer of perspiration flopped about as Wes Ventra lunged for Micah’s legs. Deep blue eyes flipped from Micah’s legs to his face as Wes assessed his friend and trainee’s reactions.
“I step—” Micah tried to step away from the grapple. As he moved, Micah’s feet struck each other and he tumbled to the white padded floor with a thud.
“Not quite, Mike.” Wes smiled as he extended a heavily taped hand. A less wrapped hand accepted and Micah was pulled to his feet. “But we’re getting there…”
“Bruise by bruise, Wes.” Micah shook his head. Quieter the second time, more faux lament laid upon the words. “Bruise by bruise.”
Peels of low-pitched laughter came from the larger Hybrid as he threw an arm around Micah’s shoulders. Though somewhat isolated in childhood due to his role in the safekeeping of the King, Micah and Wes connected early in their formative years in school. That laugh, loud and warm, was the soundtrack for many of Micah’s less-than-proud moments as a child. Wes grew into an imposing figure as the pair approached adulthood and the Crown recognized the opportunity to train a protector for Micah with a substantial emotional attachment.
Micah’s progression toward his place as a part of the Royal family was mirrored by Wes’s path in the direction of elite military training. Wes trained with the Royal Guard, the first of his kind to wear the black of the Koro Koo. Great controversy arose with this decision. Wes’s place as a member of the Ceran Special Forces brought attention he shrunk from publicly.
Other than Micah, Wes was the only Hybrid ever granted a private audience
with the King and Queen during the reign of Artax the Just. Shortly before his graduation from the Koro Koo academy, the Royals asked to meet this friend who would be so vital to Micah’s safety and connection to his people. Naturally, the King could have simply assigned the best of the Koro Koo as Micah’s personal guard and left the matter at that. By engineering a circumstance wherein Micah was closely protected by a Hybrid childhood friend, King Artax deftly ensured a deep connection to the Hybrid plight on Micah’s part, even while his place in the Court became increasingly personal.
Micah and Wes left the grappling room through a small door that was clearly not the exit. Through the door was a massive, empty room, entirely dark. Faint light green lines ran along a grid path all over the walls, floor and ceiling. The grids remained barely there as the lights moved along the repetitive square pattern, like fading memories of the luminescent shape.
“What are we doing today, Wes?” Micah’s voice bounced around the empty space and faded like the colors on the wall.
“Oh, you’re going to like this, Micah.” Mischief formed a grin barely visible in the dark. Wes placed his palm on the wall to the right of the entryway and an input panel, black backlit in orange, appeared.
Typically, Wes employing sarcasm meant Micah was in line for more torture than training.
“Scenario 7.1 Ventra Loaded.” This room’s voice was feminine like SAMI in Micah’s apartment, just a bit higher in tone.
“Wrote this one myself. Took forever.” Wes turned away from the panel and stepped backward toward the wall. “You might want to…” He gestured to a space against the wall next to him and Micah complied, shoulders pressed against the slightly warm surface.
“Environmental constructs rendering.” The high-pitched SAMI warned.
An impossibly bright light flashed from the far upper corner of the room and blossomed into a small version of the Ceran world’s sun. As the rest of the environment sprung up around the pair of Hybrids, the sun’s color settled into its darker orange from an initially bright yellow shade. A balcony appeared beneath Micah and Wes and a building bled up the wall behind them from the floor. Moments later, thousands of frozen people appeared on the ground nearly a hundred feet below the Hybrids.
