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| Done for James Bowers' Project #7. First part after the initial setup is his wording exactly, used with permission. Now, you tell me.. how did this story end? >:) Mwhahahh... I love open ended endings... Edit: stupid HTML... had to upload the thing four times to get it to read right. Sheesh... |
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Author’s note – the first paragraphs after the scene break are NOT written by me. They were written by James K. Bowers and are the “seed” story for Project #7. Full permissions are given by James Bowers for use within this story, and full details and permission statement can be found on his webpage at http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/libr/j/k/jkbowers/.
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The chattering of a myriad of voices came to a sudden and eerie silence as a massive screen flickered to life. At first, the only thing that could be seen was interference; the signal had to pass through many star systems, after all, and some degradation of signal was to be expected.
Finally, though, a fuzzy picture gradually began to extricate itself from the gray snow. As figures started to move on the screen, the sounds to accompany it popped alive angrily.
* * *
Dannel ached. The pounding, all-over ache assaulted his senses with shrieks from every muscle and nerve in his battered frame. Blood? No, he decided, not his own but sticky on his skin and clothes just the same. “How long?” his groggy mind asked.
The floor was hard and cold beneath him and a dim light – Marrik’s? -- shone at an eerie angle, rising from the floor a few feet to his left to cast surreal shadows on the walls. Why so dark in here? His weapon lay on the floor to his right and instinctively his hand groped for it. Gaining purchase, he dragged it closer with a rasping sound that echoed in the silence. The feel of the stark, cool metal offered him some primal comfort.
He struggled to a sitting position and bone-jarring pain surged up Dannel’s spine dashing itself like a wave on the back of his skull. He winced and sardonically acknowledged to himself that the battle must have gone well if he could accomplish so much. The surrounding carnage and the fact that he seemed intact told him it could easily have been much worse. “How much worse?” he thought with a start.
There were bodies and parts of bodies everywhere. His eyes sought familiar shapes among the dead. The light – Marrik’s! The dim light escaping from beneath his crumpled body shone an ugly red. Dead. Very much so. No doubts -- torn nearly in half.
There… some ten feet away… Lirra. Slumped against the wall, bloody, a gash in her face running from her forehead down her right cheek nearly to her chin. Her weapon was still in her hand. Well, she never was one to retreat.
Dannel revised his initial assumption. The battle had not gone well at all. He crawled across the gore-strewn floor to Lirra. Maybe, just maybe…
* * *
The view on the screen flashed again, and the image disappeared back into the depths of interference. As the viewscreen flickered and dimmed, a large creature stood and cleared his throat. He was a vorasin, a race that was one of the main reasons the galactic peace had stood for so many eons…
For not only were the vorasin telepathic, they also were extremely efficient fighters. Though humanoid, any passing resemblance to the humans on the screen was instantly dispelled by the four fully functional arms and hard outer carapace of a vorasin. And this was one of the most important vorasine of all… he was Mar’ki, the king of the entire species and heir to thousands of generations of royalty known for their sense of fairness and equality.
Mar’ki reached out telepathically to the gathered members of the galactic league, speaking to them in their own language unconsciously. You now see what has been troubling us so these past years. These “humans” are not at all like nearly every known race in the cosmos.
He began to pace, two of his hands held behind his back. His other two hands adjusted the white robe around his body in an effort to keep his robe from entangling against his feet. I know that many of you have expressed an interest in contacting these creatures in friendship, but I have been going over the archives of signals received from their eonic location. And they are very troubling, indeed.
One of the other members stood and said, “But Mar’ki, the archives are incomplete. There is much about these creatures we don’t know, as a vast majority of those signals are indecipherable! You can’t judge…”
Mar’ki held up a hand in supplication. I know, I know. It is impossible to judge thousands of developmental years of a race based on less than two years’ worth of signals. But look at what the signals have shown us!
Mar’ki turned back to the viewscreen, which flickered to life again.
* * *
There were bodies and parts of bodies everywhere. His eyes sought familiar shapes among the dead. The light – Marrik’s! The dim light escaping from beneath his crumpled body shone an ugly red. Dead. Very much so. No doubts -- torn nearly in half.
* * *
The screen froze at Mar’ki’s command. Mar’ki motioned to the look of shock and horror on the human’s face. Do you not see what I do here? The human, though wounded, knows that many of his race have died around him. And what was his first reaction upon waking?
He paused for a moment to let races view the scene before them and to allow the severity of the act to sink in. Yes. He did not go to assist his other human. He did not begin to check over his wounds. His first reaction? He reached for his weapon.
Mar’ki began to pace again. No honorable race alive fights in the way that these humans do. Not even the cannibalistic Gunrozth race fought to this extreme. And though we may be missing vast sections of human development from their signals, those that we do have show nothing but more of the same.
The viewscreen flickered again, and images began to scroll across the screen from the known good signals from the small planet in question. Scenes of the massive destruction power of nuclear bombs, invasions, natural disasters and countless images of crimes and war flashed time and time again until Mar’ki held up his hand to stop them.
I hope you can see what I am driving at here, friends. The humans are a race to be reckoned with; that much is certain. I do believe that, given another few eons, they could reach some higher level of peace within their race.
The viewscreen flashed again, though this time a star map was brought out in brilliant focus. Mar’ki stood before it and pointed out a small section of the map, which zoomed in on a small solar system with nine planets orbiting a yellow star. The third planet from this star is the human’s home planet. As you can see from these scans, however…
The view of the planets turned gray as the scan screens began. The third planet was a brilliant red against the gray, showing the sheer numbers of living creatures upon the face of the planet. Two other planets in the solar system also were tinged with red, but nowhere near the sheer density of the human home planet.
As you can see, the humans have not only developed working space travel, but they’ve also learned how to colonize planets not geared to their development. The temperature and atmospheric conditions of their home planet is not anything like these other two, and yet they still thrive.
Mar’ki motioned quickly, and the viewscreen flicked off again. They are intelligent enough to continue creating advanced weaponry. They have gained the ability to move off of their homeworld, growing and even thriving on planets that do not easily support them, at least initially. They do not show any of the galactic signs of peace, which you all know are the universally accepted judgments as to a race’s potential.
The vorasin sighed. Which is why I, Mar’ki, must recommend that this race of humans be set for extinction. I urge the other members to vote this way, as I feel that this race will never serve a worthwhile purpose in the universe as they are today. Please. Vote not with your heart or hearts, but vote for the good of the universe.
There was a murmur of voices as the assembled races discussed matters amongst themselves. After a few minutes, the vote was called and automatically tallied.
Six hundred and forty-one votes on one side, seven hundred and sixteen votes for the other…
* * *
Maybe, just maybe…
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