Harry's Sacrifice (28 page)

“Those children shocked us. They were unlike anything we had expected. Oh, our geneticists had told us to expect a more complete blending of the DNA of our two races than we could have hoped for, but the psychic abilities of our offspring took us by surprise. They were powerful beings, gifted with talents that had only sporadically appeared in our population—and the human population as well—before the blending of our DNA. Those children…” Hara leaned back against the table, perching on its edge as if for support as he recalled those times long past.

They’d known what was coming and they’d also known there was no way to prevent it. Their exploration ship—which had navigational abilities a massive colony ship did not—had been cannibalized into its component parts. Even if they could have put it back together, the engines had long-since been depleted beyond repair, so it would be unable to travel the distance required to send a message to Alvia Prime. The planetary alignments had shifted so that they could not communicate from this planet to the homeworld at all. Their only option had been to wait until the colony ship arrived, centuries later.

If they went into stasis, there would be no way to communicate with the outside world, though they would most likely be conscious on some level of what happened outside their protected pod. If they didn’t go into stasis, they would not be there to help recreate the world that was possible if Alvians and humans worked together. It was a difficult situation and Hara thought they had made the best that they could of it.

“Our children all had strong psychic gifts. Every single one of them. Telepaths, telekinetics, foreseers, firestarters. You name it. They had powers far in excess of anything we had seen before. The humans of that time—those who were not living among our enclave—were afraid of them. They called them magicians and wizards. They did not understand either our technology or our children’s psychic gifts. But we did.” Hara looked up and pinned those closest to him with a canny look in his eyes. “We listened and learned from those children and when multiple foreseers told us what would come—the terrible things that would happen to our human friends at the hands of our people that we could not prevent—many of us chose to suffer the danger and the boredom of centuries of stasis so that we could be here, in this time, to try to help both Alvians and humans alike.”

“What do you propose?” The highest-ranking soldier in the room spoke. He was a general of tactics and a Prime in his own right.

Hara stood and faced the man. “I am not your leader. Nor do I wish to try to impose my will on a population that does not know me. I speak to you as a fellow soldier. A fellow Alvian who knows more about this planet and the human race than you ever will. As such, I must agree with the major. Capture and imprisonment of the humans must stop. There are secret pens beneath every Alvian city where our scientific community has imprisoned and tortured humans for years.”

“We do not torture,” another officer objected. “It is not the Alvian way.”

“Not physically, perhaps,” Hara agreed, turning to the man who had spoken. “Emotional torture. Tearing apart families. Making humans breed like animals. Ripping babies from their mothers’ arms.” Hara paused for effect, the disgust on his face clear to read—if one understood such things. “Humans are not animals. They have feelings, which our people lack. You do not understand the enormity of the pain we have caused in our ignorance of emotion. It is criminal!” Hara’s voice rose for the first time, and Harry could read him better. Outrage was the main emotion that spilled over in his words before he calmed. “Our race was never like this. We of old Alvia had—and still have—emotions. I will be the first to admit they are not always convenient or easy to deal with, but I shudder when I see what the genetic alteration has done to us. I do not understand how it went so far, so fast. How can our race survive as cold automatons?”

“They can’t.” Percival stood and walked over to Hara. “Birth rates would be nil but for the breeding programs that keep the numbers at a steady but dwindling rate. Alvians do not have children the regular way. They are all bred in incubators. This is something unheard of on old Alvia.”

“How would you know?” the general asked.

“I am a physician. I know how it was in the old days,” Percival responded. “I have studied and treated Alvians and half Alvians for my entire career. And while I slept for centuries, my mind was awake and learning all it could about the modern Alvian race. I’ve studied the genetic experiment data in greater detail than you can imagine. Without the encumbrance of my body, my mind was free to roam the pathways of thought and knowledge—to analyze data continuously. My conclusions, you will learn in time, concur with what your own scientists have recently concluded themselves. Alvians have ceased to innovate. The evolution of the race stopped when the genetic experiments started. Without extreme intervention, the race as a whole is on its way to extinction.”

Silence greeted his words. Finally, the tactics general spoke up again.

“What can we do?”

Percival met his gaze and nodded, speaking one simple word. “Change.”

“Into what?” the general countered.

Percival shrugged. “Into me. Or someone who looks very much like me. Or Harry over there. We are both half human.”

“You are?” The general seemed actually surprised.

“I suppose I am Percival Prime now. But only because my father, the original Percival Prime, found his true Resonance Mate in my mother, a human woman called Lady Gweneth. They chose to remain behind, together, sending me into stasis for the future alongside their old friend and colleague, Hara.”

Harry could see the tears in Percival’s eye as he recalled his parents, now long dead. The kind of courage it must have taken to leave his loved ones for the centuries-long sleep made Harry feel both sympathy and a kind of awe at Percival’s strength of character. Percival had made a great sacrifice for the good of humanity and Alvians alike. Harry’s already-high level of respect for the man rose another notch.

“If I hadn’t told you, could you have guessed at my lineage?” Percival asked the general.

The strategist regarded Percival for a long moment and then finally shook his head. “You look Alvian to me. I would not have known.”

“And you, Major Rollins,” Percival asked the human man. “What would you have thought?”

“That you’re an Alvian,” Major Rollins said without hesitation.

“What if I had contacted you telepathically?” Percival asked with a cunning smile.

“I’m not aware of any Alvian telepaths,” the major hedged. “I suppose I would have assumed you were human.”

Percival nodded and turned back to the crowd. “There you have it. On the outside, I look Alvian, but like Harry here…” Percival put his arm around Harry and drew him into the limelight. “On the inside we’re more than we seem on the outside. We are telepathic, empathic, telekinetic, oracular and much more. As your offspring could be. If you accept that humanity claimed Earth first and are our equals, never our inferiors. Having emotion does not make one inferior. If it did, Hara would never have been the leader of the expeditionary force. For that matter, none of your ancestors would have made it off old Alvia before it was destroyed.”

“But emotion can drive you mad,” one younger soldier piped up from the second or third row of onlookers.

“Without purpose, anyone can go mad. Your ancestors found purpose in their true mates, or in searching for them. Hara here found his purpose in trying to save his people. The warrior class has always found purpose in their duty, as have many other people through their professions and occupations. Great artists used their work to keep them sane, but there have been no great artists—or creators of any kind—since the emotion was bred out of you.”

“Are you really psychically gifted?” another younger man wanted to know.

To answer, Percival lifted one hand and pointed to a nearby chair. Without hesitation, it lifted into the air, spun around a few times and then lowered back to the ground, all at his direction. It was an obvious demonstration of telekinesis that was hard to refute.

“Percy, that’s enough of the magic tricks for now,” Hara said with a teasing smile as he spoke up again. “Look, we’ve given you all a lot to think about. You now know my feelings on the subject and have seen for yourself that humanity is able to fight back in ways you did not expect. They have regrouped, and I doubt they will be so easily captured or held in the future. We have come to a clear turning point and a decision must be made by you—the modern Alvians living here on Earth. You must decide whether to continue to blindly follow the Council or to start thinking for yourselves. I know what I would do in your place, but I am the interloper here—a visitor from another time.” Hara paused, looking at his companions. “For now, I think it is time we let the major and his friend leave in peace. I have seen enough of the city for one day and I believe the rest of you have duties to attend to and decisions to make.”

“Sir,” the major spoke out strongly, rising to his feet. “I came here for a reason. I want to see the human prisoners. And I believe it would be wise to document their captivity before anyone has time to sweep this all under the rug. If you’re speaking the truth, you’ll take me to them.”

Hara seemed surprised for a moment but then nodded.

“Of course, you are right.” The ancient turned to look at Harry. “Son, can you take us down to the pens?”

Harry swallowed hard. He’d never actually visited the pens beneath the city, though he had been in communication with several strong telepaths who were kept there.

“I will take you.” A high-ranking soldier stepped forward from the crowd. He looked enough like Grady Prime to be his brother and Harry felt somewhat more at ease. “I am Grady 2,” he introduced himself with a slight nod. “I am responsible for many of the Breeds who have been detained under this city and know the facility well.”

Hara was again surprised. “Thank you. It would be good to have a knowledgeable guide.” The diplomatic answer didn’t judge the man’s claim of responsibility, which showed Harry yet again why Hara was in charge. The man knew how to choose his words carefully.

The group gathered and made its way toward the exit of the large room. Roshin followed dutifully behind. Cormac stayed by her side while Harry was more in the lead with his ancestor and his human uncle. She felt sad but also proud that he was playing such a pivotal role in this amazing turning point. The sadness was completely selfish, she realized. She wanted him by her side, holding her hand as these events unfolded.

She felt somewhat isolated. One of the few females in the mess hall. There were only a handful of female soldiers and Roshin had as much in common with them as she did the rest of the men who towered over her. Although, if they knew about her
Zxerah
training they might respect her a little more.

For the moment, she was playing her more accustomed role of secretary and clerk. She was comfortable and happy with the task, helping get the word out to the rest of the city about these momentous events.

More and more recording bots were flying back and forth over the heads of the crowd. Some came and some left in an organized chaos of information dissemination. Roshin had taken control of most of the bots, orchestrating their activities so that the recorded actions of the group kept being fed to the rest of the Alvian populace, despite the Council’s determination to kill the live feed.

She knew from her secure datapad that
Zxerah
agents all over the city were relaying the recordings, playing them for anyone who wanted to hear and see what was going on. From the quick reports they sent directly to her, everyone in this city and beyond wanted to see and hear what Hara and his group had to say.

Roshin felt the enormity of the day’s events and knew she was witnessing history in the making, once again. It had been one amazing thing after another since she had boarded that transport heading north. In fact, the fantastic chain of events had probably started the moment she’d bumped into Harry in the hallway. So much had transpired since then. And there was much more to come. She sensed they were only at the beginning of the revolution that Ronin had hinted at for so long. And she was to have a front-row seat.

The thought was humbling and a little terrifying at the same time. Yet she knew her duty and she wanted to play her role—small as it may be. She was good at her job of recording and reporting events and she would do so as long as there was breath in her body. It was important. The truth needed to be known.

She was afraid of what she might see as they walked out of the mess hall headed for the pens. Her fragile new emotions were giving her fits. Fear, anticipation, anxiety, hope, determination… All these things and more warred within her in a cacophonous litany of emotion. It was so confusing, and yet so welcome.

Having felt things she had never dreamed of before, she would never go back to that cold, dry state she had lived in all her life. There was no going back. The alterations had been made on a genetic level, and unless something radical happened, she would keep the hard-won emotions for the rest of her life. Thank goodness.

Even if she was afraid as she stepped aboard a utility lift headed straight to the bowels of the city. Grady 2 was guiding the group that consisted of the two human pilots, the two ancients, Harry, Cormac, Caleb and a few of the officers who had piled into the lift at the last moment. A multitude of bots hovered above their heads, which she controlled.

She had left a few behind with the rest of the soldiers and could monitor their feeds on her datapad. She saw a large number of men waiting for the next lift. No doubt, they wanted to follow the main group and continue to bear witness to events.

Of all the emotions the geneticists had managed to quell, they could never really douse curiosity. And for that, Roshin was grateful. For without the desire for knowledge and truth, this revolution was doomed before it began. Apathy would kill it where the Council couldn’t.