Nessah was immensely surprised when her attempt to hail one of the gru’ul motherships was met with a response. Since the gru’ul had arrived, a team had been trying to contact them on the off chance they could be convinced to cease their senseless bloodshed.
A gru’ul appeared onscreen before her, holding a silver translation orb. It was a hideous thing, and Nessah did her best to hide her disgust even though she was certain the creature couldn’t read her facial expressions. She would do her best to remain diplomatic.
“A’vaare,” the Highest hissed. “I demand you cease your incessant attempts to contact us. I grow tired of the noise your signals generate.”
“You’ve arrived to annihilate us,” Nessah pointed out. “Of course we’re going to try to contact you. We demand that you cease your attempted genocide.” She noticed the badge on its chest marked it as the Highest. While she didn’t know what exactly a Highest represented, she assumed it was a rather lofty position within gru’ul society. Especially if her call was being handled directly by it.
“You have learned too much,” the Highest replied. “For your transgressions against your creators, you shall be destroyed.”
“So it’s true, then?” Nessah asked. “You truly created humans and the a’vaare?” A faint part of her had been hoping that what had been discovered was false. That there was no reason for the senseless bloodshed occurring right that very moment. A false hope, it would seem.
“Yes,” the Highest replied. “You were never meant to come into contact with us. We should’ve eliminated you all on the spot and started over then. My predecessor believed that such actions would prove futile and set back our work for generations and so you were spared.”
Nessah shuddered, glad that at least one gru’ul had a shred of mercy, misplaced though it may have been. To think they’d already almost been wiped out. The thought horrified her. “All of this needless torture in the name of science, all for perfection that you’ll never attain?”
“We will achieve perfection!” the Highest shrieked in rage, the emotion evident despite the translator’s mechanical tone. “Ancient is our race. The cosmos is our birthright, and we have unlocked the secrets of the universe eons ago. We will ascend and become the perfect beings we were always meant to be. Nothing shall stop us.”
“And the experiments you performed on our people and on humans will allow you to achieve this?” Nessah asked. “What is perfection to you?”
“Silence,” the Highest screeched. “You a’vaare believe yourselves to be our equals, but we both know that to be false. You are unworthy of true perfection. We will not sully it by having you learn. You would not be able to comprehend our true greatness, no matter how long you are shown it.”
“And yet,” Nessah said slowly, her anger mounting, “you had to rely on humans and a’vaare to perfect yourselves. If you still need improvement, you gru’ul are all flawed.”
The Highest was apoplectic at the suggestion. Its lesser would never understand, for it fundamentally lacked the mental faculties to be able to. “You a’vaare’s sole purpose was to test our theories before implementing them in ourselves,” the Highest said. “Your improvement served as proof of concept. Our experiments merely served to bring us one step closer to perfection.”
Nessah brought an image of a squadron of mutated gru’ul in combat with her soldiers. “This,” she said pointedly, “is failure, not perfection. Even with access to your research notes, you still weren’t able to properly implement your so-called improvements. Is that why you forcefully retrieved your only success from our custody?”
“The human that has properly evolved shall unlock the final key we need for the next step in the Mandate,” the Highest replied. “My predecessor hypothesized that it would take time for the experiment to fully transform into its improved version. You a’vaare interrupted that process and so the research is incomplete. Now that we have him, we shall study him once more.”
Nessah wisely kept silent about Reya’s existence. The Highest had made no mention of her thus far and Nessah assumed it simply didn’t know about the second success they’d had. “We won’t allow that to happen,” she said.
“It is not up to you,” the Highest said. “Our failures shall serve their purpose and punish your populace before we destroy your planet, just like we did with the other one. It is only fitting that our failures wipe each other out.”
Nessah straightened in alarm. “You glassed an innocent faction over what we learned here?” she asked, shocked. “Which one?”
“Your people call them the Rukkan,” the Highest said simply. “They had learned too much and so they too were punished. They understood their place in the universe, for they did not put up a fight.”
Nessah felt faint. While normally she might have rejoiced in the reduction of her enemy’s production capacity and military strength, the thought of every single one of her fellow a’vaare in that faction perishing made her sick. “Have you any proof of your actions?” she dared to ask.
“I shall show you what fate awaits your kind once your futile resistance has been destroyed,” the Highest said. Immediately afterwards, an image of the Rukkan home planet appeared before Nessah. Before she could say anything, the Highest started the video and forced Nessah to watch them get glassed.
The video ended, and Nessah held back her tears. “You monsters!” she accused. “All those innocent lives lost because of your hubris.” She was mortified by all the death she knew she’d just witnessed, glad she was unable to see what it was like on the surface of the planet in its final moments. It didn’t help that she recognized the weapon fired on the Rukkan. It was the same one the three motherships used to damage the planetary shields. At least now she had confirmation as to what they would do should the shields fail to stop them.
“Your pitiful lives are ours to do with as we please,” the Highest said. “As is our right as your creators.”
“You have no such right,” Nessah accused. “Clearly, it is up to us to remind you of that.”
“You will fail,” the Highest replied. “Such is the will of the cosmos.”
“We’ll see about that,” Nessah said as she forcefully ended the call. She set about contacting the Tribunal to inform them of the conversation she’d just had. Having taken the idea from the gru’ul’s playbook, she’d ensured the conversation was recorded both visually and audibly. She hoped their forces would be enough to fight back against the invasion.
For now she knew the consequences of failure. And they were not an option.
Reya watched her friends leave for combat on the front lines, surrounded by people yet utterly alone at the same time. They’d barely landed the ship before being ordered into combat far away from home. Reya herself was waiting in General Nessah’s private lobby, also by her orders. Now that the War Tribunal had risen to power and martial law declared, Reya could not refuse the order, despite no longer being military.
The news played on a holoscreen in the top corner of the room. Graphic images of the gru’ul invading densely populated areas and murdering unarmed citizens flashed by one after another. The reporters were pale faced as they informed the world about what was happening.
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It surprised Reya that the military allowed such reports, but she assumed there were simply so many reports and sightings that it was impossible to control. Especially when their main focus was the actual fighting and not frivolous news anchors.
The gru’ul displayed on the holoscreen were somehow even more hideous than they normally were, clearly deformed and mutated. Truly the stuff of nightmares. Despite the serious topics the reporters were discussing, Reya couldn’t find it in herself to care much about the content of their discussion.
She’d lost Adrian, and that was all that mattered to her. With no guarantee she’d ever see him again. Her only hope was that they’d be able to track the comm he’d been given. She asked Tassie, but it was confirmed that there was no signal to be reached. Reya hoped dearly that Adrian was alive and unharmed. She feared he would be used as an experiment once more by the gru’ul.
“Miss Ayala,” Sytha said, snapping Reya out of her thoughts, “the General will see you now.” She looked expectantly at Reya and subtly motioned towards the set of doors behind her. Reya took the cue and soon found herself before General Nessah.
“Reya,” Nessah said, her exhaustion evident in her voice, “I’m glad to see you’re unharmed after the attack on the gru’ul compound. It’s a blessing you made it out alright, all things considered.” She motioned for Reya to sit down in the chair in front of her desk.
Reya shrugged as she sat down. “A couple of scrapes and bruises from when we escaped, but nothing more than that. I guess I was lucky, if you could call losing Adrian luck.” She choked up a bit as she said Adrian’s name, unable to help herself.
Nessah’s expression softened. “I heard about that,” she said sympathetically. “It’s part of the reason I’ve called you here today.”
“You’ll help find Adrian?” Reya asked, her hopes soaring.
“Yes,” Nessah replied. “I recently had a call with the gru’ul. It was their new Highest who answered.”
“Did it say what they want Adrian for?” Reya asked, her heart rate accelerating.
Nessah nodded. “They need him to complete their experiments,” she said. “You’ve no doubt seen the news. There are mutated gru’ul attacking the populace. The Highest tried to replicate the results that made Adrian a success and those gru’ul are the resulting failures. That’s why they’ve been sent to attack the us directly while the rest of our fleet is occupied fighting the motherships in space.”
Reya’s heart sank. “What does kidnapping Adrian have to do with that?” she asked.
“The gru’ul never got the final results from their research at the facility,” Nessah replied. “The Highest believes Adrian is the key to solving the problem. They intend to experiment on him again in order to learn where they went wrong.”
Reya’s stomach fell and a cold fear washed over her. “We need to save him!” she exclaimed. “We can’t leave him there. It’s not fair to him.”
“While I agree morally, can you truly justify saving one person when the cost will be the countless lives sent to rescue him?” Nessah asked.
Reya fell silent. “I don’t care what it takes,” she said coldly. “Saving Adrian is the right thing to do and will deny the gru’ul the results they’re hoping for.”
“Can you say that to all of the families that will lose a loved one?” Nessah prodded. “Can you make them understand that Adrian’s life is more important than that of their husband, wife, or child’s?” She watched a gamut of emotions play out on Reya’s face.
“If the gru’ul keep Adrian,” Reya said, “they win. It won’t matter what our fates will be in this war. If we survive and they complete whatever next step in their evolution they’re aiming for, they’ll come back stronger than ever. Either we get rid of the possibility now or risk losing everything later.”
Nessah regarded Reya carefully. “In that case, wouldn’t it make more sense to send a strike team to wherever Adrian is and eliminate him?” she asked. Reya looked like she’d been slapped in the face at the suggestion.
“You want to kill him?” Reya exploded. “After everything he’s been through, you want to erase him because he’s an inconvenience?” Her eyes hardened. “You’re no better than the gru’ul if you do that. Adrian’s the victim in all of this,” she spat. “He never asked to be experimented on. Never had any say in what happened to him. He is not some disposable toy.”
“I understand that Adrian is a victim,” Nessah replied carefully, “but his existence is also the cause of any of this. Why is it our job to sacrifice so many of our people without a guarantee we’ll even be able to successfully rescue him?”
Reya’s mind raced, looking for an appropriate answer. “Adrian is not only the ambassador to humanity,” she pointed out, “but also the progenitor of whatever new species he and I have become. He is also technically our ambassador as well. Not only does the military have a legal duty to protect any first contact ambassadors, but you’ve also managed to fail in protecting one of two unique beings in existence.”
“With martial law declared, the law is whatever we need it to be,” Nessah replied smoothly. “While you might have been right before the war, there’s nothing stopping us from repealing that law and absolving us of that duty.”
Reya’s eyes narrowed. “Then you are a failure of an institution,” she said harshly, passing her judgement. “One that’s unable to adhere to your founding missives. If you get rid of your purpose because it’s an inconvenience to you, you have no credibility and do not merit the power you have.” She was keenly aware that her words could get her in deep trouble, especially when spoken to the War General herself, but Reya couldn’t stop herself from speaking them anyway.
“You’re right,” Nessah said with a sigh. “We do have a legal and moral duty to uphold our founding tenets, even if they inconvenience us. The fact doesn’t change that right now we are being invaded, both on the ground and in space. We hardly have the resources to spare to save Adrian.”
“You just said you’d rescue him!” Reya exclaimed. “How come you can’t do so now?”
“Because we can’t locate him,” Nessah replied. “We would be diverting resources for no reason. Vital ones to ensuring our species’ continued survival.”
“He has a comm,” Reya said. “Shouldn’t you be able to track that?” she asked.
“For some reason, we’re unable to at the moment,” Nessah said. “Either something happened to the comm, or Adrian is in a place where the rescue beacon can’t go through. I promise we’ll help Adrian as soon as we know where he is.”
“How will you find him, then?” Reya asked, her world crashing down around her.
“I’ve got a team set up who’s only task is to find him,” Nessah said. “As soon as they discover something, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you,” Reya said, relieved. “Was that the reason you called me here?”
“Only part of it,” Nessah said. She wave her hand and a holoscreen appeared off to the side of the desk that both women could view. On it was another news station, with an image of Mihn displayed in the top corner. “Your mother’s video has exploded in popularity since the gru’ul attacked. People are starting to riot and rebel, especially after the announcement the Tribunal made recently. These people are convincing others to join Mihn’s cause through social networks, and the sentiment is growing.”
“My mother has a cause?” Reya asked, perplexed. That was unlike the mother she knew. Mihn was self-centered and wouldn’t so readily commit to something that wasn’t her own vanity. Reya explained such to Nessah. “What’s even stranger,” Reya said, further reflecting on the situation, “is that my mother had the resources and connections to get her message out so quickly.”
“You think there’s some force behind Mihn’s rise to prominence?” Nessah asked. “You don’t believe her video simply propagated on its own?”
“That’s impossible,” Reya said, shaking her head. “No matter how much my mother believes she’s someone special, there’s really nothing about her that’s worth so much attention. She’s a vile, nasty person with almost no connections. The video she posted should have been drowned out by all the noise on social media. She doesn’t have a big enough following to influence so many.”
Nessah drummed her fingers on her chair’s arm. In a flash, she realized who was directing everything from the shadows. “I think I know who’s running the show,” she said. “I’ll need to do some investigating first to make sure I’m right, however.”
“Who is it?” Reya asked.
“High Diplomat Annkor,” Nessah responded, seeing no reason to withhold the information. Especially not if she needed Reya’s help. Besides, she’d already met the man. “He recently escaped the prison he was being held at,” Nessah continued. “It’s believed that a group of soldiers went rogue and freed him.”
Reya jolted. “And you think he somehow met my mother and is using her as a figurehead?” she asked.
“That’s right,” Nessah nodded. “If that’s true, Mihn just became far more dangerous than we previously gave her credit for. We need to stop them before it’s too late and we have a civil war on top of an existential one.”
“You want me to help?” Reya asked. “How?”
“You’re a Silver Star,” Nessah said. “Your words have weight to them.”
“I was hidden from the public for so long,” Reya said. “I doubt I have the influence needed to turn the world against my mother. And on top that, my medal is related to the disaster happening right now.”
“That might be true,” Nessah said, “but the people recognize you. You’re a face that isn’t High Command. If you tell your story, I believe it will have more impact than you realize. From there, your messages might be enough to stop a civil war happening.”
Reya chewed her lip. She didn’t fancy the idea of being thrust into the spotlight again. “I’ll help,” she said, “under the condition that Adrian be rescued once he is located and there truly is a team working to find him.”
“You have yourself a deal,” Nessah said. “Now, here’s what I need you to do.”
