Space Chronicles: The Last Human War (2 page)

The Head Tasker approached the surviving humans. Large, black eyes showed no emotion as he spoke through his dactah, the electronic device allowing aliens and humans to talk. It converted unintelligible clicks and high-pitched tones of Tanarac physiology into a monotone human voice, one Simon had always found annoying.

“I am assigning a temporary l
oadmaster to your stripper plow,” the Head Tasker said. “If you work hard, you may meet your production quotas by the end of the second period.”

T
he Head Tasker and Striker Twelve’s supervisor left abruptly, leaving Simon and Kelly alone, staring at ground still wet with their birthmate’s blood. He brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of his hand. She wiped another tear from her other cheek and leaned back to look into his steel gray eyes. A flood of psychic intensity like she never felt before filled her mind.

“
No. Please don’t. You . . . you can’t!”

He studied nearby bushes where the deadly beast had waited in ambush
. His eyes darted as he analyzed every detail.

I can’t stay
. Kelly could hear his thoughts.
But, if I leave, what will happen to her? What will they do if—
Simon’s
thoughts ended abruptly when the Supervising Tasker stepped into view with the new loadmaster. Emotionally cold, the alien-in-charge introduced the loadmaster and pointed one of his four long fingers at the stripper plow.

A
nger swelled. While the blue-skinned alien trilled instructions, the young man noticed the limp stun cord on the ground where the hicay had fallen. He bolted. Running headlong into tall grass at the edge of the jungle, he anticipated the searing pain from a pulse cord at any moment.

Bright light of the quarry diffuse
d into twinkling light that finds its way through a jungle canopy. He pushed hard into this unfamiliar world, one where direct light did not exist. Dimly lit plants and menacing shadows soon engulfed him. Musty odor of decay filled his nostrils along with unfamiliar humidity.

As he
leaped onto an old tree trunk crossing his path, rotten wood disintegrated under his work boot, sending the exhausted young boom operator tumbling forward over his shoulder. He came to rest under the drooping leaves of a giant fern, lungs heaving for air.

Birds twittered above, and
distant low-pitched grunts penetrated through a dense wall of plants. Unseen tree dwellers moved noisily along the upper canopy. Many strange sounds carried to him, but, to his relief, none from Tanarac pursuers. Exhausted, he wiggled a little further under concealment of the huge fern while his breathing recovered.

For the first time
in his life, Simon was free. It was, at once, exhilarating and frightening. Most importantly, he knew it was right.

“What now, buddy?”
he talked aloud. “What happened to runners before me? Did they find food? What about water? Did they just wander around until they died? And, what about hicays? Hicays!”

B
udding confidence shattered as those beasts wracked his thoughts.

I should go back to the quarry
, but . . . but I can’t. Taskers will control me, again. Freedom or captivity? Hicays or safety?

“No matter wh
at decision I make, it’s wrong,” he said as he rested.

Tree-dweller
sounds from the jungle canopy above brought him a welcomed distraction. A strange, musty smell made him rub his nose and contrasted with the sweet aromas of summer flowers. The jungle was so alive, so unlike the sterile world of his worker quarters in the quarry. He closed his eyes to bask in the intensity of the jungle.

“Help!”

Simon awoke with a start. “Kelly?”

“Help!”
Her voice rang out again, but he did not hear it. He sensed her voice deep within his mind, yet it was as strong as if she were standing right next to him. She was fighting for her life.

He
reacted without hesitation, retracing his path through the jungle. A trail of crushed ferns and bent twigs was easy to follow. When he arrived at the tall hoxta grass next to the quarry, he crouched low, carefully hiding behind a large border fern. He parted its leaves.

Kelly
was on her knees a short distance away, tugging with all her might at a bright orange stun cord wrapped around her throat. It would gradually tighten until she passed out, and she would be carried to a mind-reprogramming station. This could only mean one thing.

She
tried to follow me!

The Tasker stood
over the struggling woman, confident his weapon would to do its delicate task of choking her to unconsciousness.

Simon burst from
the jungle.

The
light blue alien, smug in his certainty of mastery over humans, ordered the human to halt. Tanarac indoctrination worked for an instant. Simon hesitated, but he quickly cast aside the behavioral conditioning and surged at his former master, driving a bone-splitting punch into a surprisingly frail midsection. The shocked Tasker folded in half, before slowly dropping to his knees, no longer in undisputed control.

Simon leaned over the crumpled supervisor with his fist poised to deliver another blow, but the injured Tanarac
collapsed onto his back, gasping for air.

“Relea
se her!” he shouted into the pale blue face.

The alien made no outward movement,
but his eyes widened. Simon wondered if he was seeing emotion in a Tanarac for the first time.

The Tasker’s eyes rolled up in their sockets
, and his body went slack. Mind-controlled stun cords lost function if the telepathic link to the owner was severed. Simon turned, expecting to see his friend free of the weapon.

What the
. . .?

The orange stun cord
now lay in a limp curl on the ground where, only moments before, she had been fighting for freedom. His lifetime team member was nowhere in sight.

He
ran to the stripper plow, hoping she had retreated to its safety. The new Loadmaster cowered by the machine, terrified by violence he just witnessed, but there was no sign of Kelly. He recalled her pleas that morning and frowned.

Is this a trap?
Is she trying to lure me back?

A dozen
Taskers approached Striker Twelve at a dead run, each twirling a radiant stun cord above his head.

Simon
ran back into the safety of the nearby jungle, only this time, he controlled his pace, resolved to cover far greater distance than he had the first time. The strong young man pushed on for hours, straining until burning calf muscles demanded more oxygen than his lungs could supply. Only then, did he seek concealment under another giant fern to rest.

Why
’d she do that to me? She broke the oath!

His thoughts fragmented as he wrestled with
his birthmate’s betrayal. Soon, exhaustion carried him into a myriad of conflicting thoughts as fitful sleep overcame him. Jungle watched over its newest intruder as afternoon shadows merged into solid blackness of night. Furling its leaves as ancestors had done nightly for eons, the fern engulfed the young man in a thin, green cocoon, sheltering him against the eyes of the night.

In th
is darkness, the young runner drifted into the dreamless sleep of fatigue, oblivious to haunting sounds of nearby jungle animals as they engaged in their eternal struggle for survival.

Following closely behind the Head Tasker, a fast-paced procession of human workers carried a makeshift stretcher with Adam’s body through the Taskers private compound.

H
uman litter bearers marveled at the sight of Tanarac children. They had never seen an alien child, much less, a whole family, but these were extraordinary times. Not since the Human War, three hundred years before, had a human harmed a Tanarac. Simon’s senseless act of violence was especially troubling, because it happened while a Tasker was attempting to save a human from the insanity of Runner Madness.

P
olitical fallout of this incident required an immediate report by the Head Tasker. He called Doctor Rosh Hadje, Minister of the Human Management Department, and took notes.

“
My science team will be there at first light in the morning,” the doctor said. “Until then, suspend mining operations, and seal the quarters of the missing humans. Instruct your staff not to discuss this situation with anyone. All residents in your family compound are restricted to the facility until I arrive.”

After
issuing directives to the Head Tasker, Dr. Hadje leaned back in his chair for a few minutes of thought before making the one call he dreaded.

“General Tragge,
” he said when he finally made the call. “Sorry to interrupt your Budget Committee Meeting, but I—”

The general interrupted him to complain.

“Yes, of course I understand your busy schedule, General, but something important has happened in Quarry 33. I chose to inform you myself, rather then send an encrypted message or a courier. We had a human incident today.”

He pa
used until the general finished griping about being disturbed.

“Yes, but
this is not just another runner. A hicay attacked a human worker on one of our stripper plows, and . . .”

Dr. Hadje
provided details that included the human attack on a Tasker. Despite his disdain for General Tragge, political rules required him to notify a select group of government officials when serious human issues arose. The general, unfortunately, topped the list. This was especially true during current political debate about the future of the captive humans.

“Thank you, Rosh
,” General Tragge responded with unusual calm. “Would you mind if I join your science team in the morning? As you can imagine, I am deeply concerned about any human attack on one of our people.”

The doctor
agreed, although with nagging doubts about the general’s agenda in view of the officer’s well-known anti-human views.

“Good,
” the general said. “I will meet you in the quarry at first light with my team.”

General Tragge
cut off their communication before Dr. Hadje could ask what the general meant by his “team.” The doctor considered calling the general back but decided he would deal with the matter in the morning. Right now, final preparations demanded attention.

In the middle of the night,
Rosh Hadje took a seat on a chartered science transport, crammed full with research team members and scientific equipment needed for “runner-events.” A young scientist, dressed in lab garb, sat down next to him. The doctor usually introduced himself to new team members, but, preoccupation over the political implications of this special investigation caused him to forget his professional manners.

“Hi, this is my first mission on the Human
Events Team,” the young Tanarac said to the doctor. “I’m really excited. How about you?”

It took a moment for Dr. Hadje to realize the young scientist was
addressing him.

“
I’m sorry,” the doctor said and closed his laptop. “Actually, I’ve been on quite a few of these trips. Trust me, they become routine. What is your specialty?”

He
avoided any hint that there was nothing routine about this trip.

“I’m a DNA branching theorist. My doctoral thesis put forth a hypothesis about why our human genetic engineering is failing. I joined this team to build a better paradigm than the tired old stuff we use now. What do you do?”

“I am Dr. Hadje, the head geneticist whose theories you’re trying to disprove.”

The doctor
smiled as the young scientist turned a deep shade of blue and squirmed.

“I’m
so sorry, Doctor. I didn’t mean . . . uh . . . I just meant . . . I was—”

“
Don’t apologize. I appreciate fresh ideas. In fact, I hope you are successful someday. I didn’t catch your name.”

Hadje immediately liked this young Tanarac.

“I’m Doctor Jix Lillip, but please call me Jix. I’ve spent a lot of years studying human genetic code. I did my thesis on spontaneous helix regeneration. You know, when the changes we make in human DNA strands revert to—”

“
I know, I know,” Dr. Hadje interrupted with a wave of his hand. “I’ve been fighting that battle for eighty years. We still have no idea how some human gene segments restore to their original code after we’ve grafted modified chains. So, what do you think of these humans?”

“Actually,” Jix glanced at his portfolio picture of the human male, Simon
, “I’ve never really met one. For that matter, I don’t even understand why we keep them in secret work camps. That seems to go against every principle of our society. Can’t we just send them back to their world?”

The doctor
sighed. “Every Tanarac child learns about the Human War in history class—how they forced us into a war we did not want. Classroom books say we pushed them back to their home world of Earth and the war ended. That’s what you were taught in basic school, right?”

Jix nodded.

“Well, that’s an oversimplification. In reality, non-human races had to join together to fight the humans. This group was called The Alliance. Tanarac stayed neutral, as is our tradition, but if you’ve seen the more extensive accounts of the Human War, you already know this.”

Dr. Hadje paused for a moment to adjust his seat and take a sip of his vitamin drink.

“Humans easily defeated minor races in spite of collective resistance by The Alliance. Races like the Daibasi, the Ma-ingor and the Lallakalli were completely wiped out. I do so miss the Lallakalli. I studied their culture extensively in undergraduate school—fabulous artisans and a very gentle race. I own several Lallakalli sculptures. Masters, they were, with chunakwa stone. Have you ever seen chunakwa stones with a positive charge?”

“Yes, sir.
In college, I saw a demonstration of its antigravity properties. I didn’t know it was used for sculpture.”

“
Indeed, it is. I have one artifact with sixteen parts. When you apply a positive charge, the stones hover and slowly revolve around each other. The movement is mesmerizing. When we get back, remind me to show you my sculpture collection.”

Dr. Had
je slipped his reading glasses on and tapped his chin.

“Now, where were we? Oh yes
, human expansion. Up to that point in the war, our empire remained neutral. War escalated until only our sphere of the galaxy remained free from conflict. Human war planners correctly anticipated our actions and merely bypassed us to focus their entire war machine on The Alliance. All along, they planned to attack us after The Alliance was defeated. ‘Divide and conquer’ I believe was the theme of their strategy.”

Jix hung on every word as
the Department Director expanded on the real history of the War. An associate of Dr. Hadje briefly interrupted their conversation with a question. After answering, the lesson resumed.

“
In the end, our leaders anticipated the human strategy, and reluctantly joined The Alliance. If we had not entered the war at that time, we risked fighting a vastly stronger human enemy after Alliance nations were defeated. It was a sad day when we were forced into war.”

One of the human files slipped off
the doctor’s lap. Its content spewed across the floor at his feet. Jix dropped to his hands and knees to recover papers for the older scientist.

“Thank you,” Dr. Hadje
said and slipped the files back into his briefcase before continuing.

“When we joined The Alliance, the Human Empire found itself
fighting too many fronts. Distant outposts fell quickly, and before long, entire star systems only took days to liberate. It took nearly a year to drive them back to their home system of Sol, but, even when faced with overwhelming odds, humans refused to give up the fight. They solidified their defenses and prepared for a final battle that they promised would be a bloody affair.”

Jix asked, “Is that when they finally decided to surrender?”

“Surrender? They did not surrender. We sent a secret emissary to Earth, trying to end the conflict without further bloodshed. Settlement negotiations went well. They would keep their home world system, but sacrifice all claims to their space empire. We thought the war was over.”

“That’s what I read in graduate history class,” Jix said, hoping to impress his boss.

“Ah, but that is where Tanarac textbooks end. Unfortunately, that is not what happened.”

Dr. Hadje took another sip of his juice.

“We presented The Alliance with the human agreement, but the Heptari Empire rejected our treaty. They claimed humans were genetically endowed with a high level of aggression, and they demanded extermination of the species.”

Jix was startled.
“Did we participate in genocide?”

“
Of course not. Heptari’s Royal Codae demanded a full, twelve-sector extermination of all humans. Our government immediately refused to participate, as did a few smaller races, but we were not strong enough to prevent the Heptari plan . . . except within our own borders.”

The younger scientist
quickly understood the nuances.

“So, we allowed our human prisoners-of-war to live
in labor camps.”

“Yes
. The ruling body of Heptari made good on their plan to eradicate humanity in other areas, but our empire, encompassing most of Sector Nine, refused to kill off our captive humans. As a concession to the Heptaris, we promised to prevent reproduction of humans, thereby ending our population of prisoners naturally.”

The younger scientist
frowned and shook his head slowly.

“
The Heptari government was furious,” the doctor continued. “They did not want to wait for our humans to die off. That tension with their empire persists to this day.”

The elder scientist leaned toward the younger
team member to emphasize a point.

“T
his is where we scientists come in. At first, our government used behavioral drugs to keep humans submissive and prevent reproduction. The Human Management Department came into being to oversee their population until they died off naturally. As time went on, ethicists argued that to knowingly bring any race to extinction was a violation of Tanarac values. They reasoned that slow genocide was just as wrong as fast genocide. Our ethics won. The Genetic Engineering Division, this department, took over perpetuation of their species.

“Before long, geneticists like you and me began to manipulate human DNA
in hopes of diminishing their tendency toward aggression. We thought some day we could return humans to the Galactic Federation of Races as peaceful members.”

Jix interrupted, “Dr. Hadje, if we intend to repatriate the humans eventually, then why keep them hidden from society?”

“Politics are ugly, son. It would be nice if things were simple, but when we notified The Alliance of our change in direction with humans, Heptari threatened war against us. Publicly, we were forced to return to the original plan of preventing human reproduction. In theory, the last of our humans in prison camps died off over two hundred years ago. Since that time, our prisoner populations have been top secret, but Heptari remains suspicious. As recently as a month ago, they demanded to scan our planet for human life traces. Obviously, we refused.

“Well, there you go Jix. Now you know why we keep humans in secret locations. Only specially selected personnel, such as
Taskers, my department, and government officials have any knowledge of our human wards.”

The doctor
answered a brief comm while Jix thought about the information he had learned.

“Sorry for the interruption
,” Dr. Hadje said and sighed. “I’ve spent my entire life studying human behavior. Even after two centuries of DNA manipulations, some humans still display unexplained aggressive tendencies. Politicians like General Tragge are aware of the problems in our human camps, and some are renewing the old call for the end of humanity. They use our persistent problems of aberrant behavior, like Runner Madness, as evidence of scientific failure. Growing threats from Heptari cause our politicians to worry. I’m afraid we scientists are running out of time. If we fail to prove our human experiment is succeeding, then you and I may be presiding over the final days of the human race.”

Jix asked a few more questions before Dr. Hadje reminded him that they had a busy day ahead
, and they needed to get some sleep. But, while the younger scientist drifted off, the director of all human affairs in the Tanarac Empire could not sleep. General Tragge’s agenda was clear—end all humans in Tanarac’s possession. Simon’s attack might be just the leverage Tragge needs.