“By the damned empire!” he exclaimed. “Th... that's a... it's a Lioth!” Before his very eyes, a small quadruped was being destroyed, just like the infected Ikalians. That fact could have a very unfortunate significance, possibly the worst that he could've imagined. To dispel all doubt, he tried to obtain images from the nature preserve near the Ikali capital. He found them easily enough, but the frames only showed plants, without the presence of any animals. He continued to look, again and again, anxiety ridden, until he saw a bitter and shocking confirmation. The mutilated carcasses strewn on the ground could mean only one thing: the virus had attacked other forms of life.
He didn't think about it for a second. He grabbed the transparent sheet and ordered a complete stop.
Within seconds, subspace waves would give him the desired result. Quarkban's pupils began spinning frantically: a clear sign of panic. He awaited a notification, confirming his command, but it never came. He tried again, once, twice, three times, until he realized that it was useless. He furiously threw the sheet against the wall and turned back to one of holographic screens. He tried to capture images from the areas just outside the zone where the virus was spreading. If the error was merely in receiving confirmation that the command had been executed, no one in those areas would have experienced any symptoms of infection. At first, he couldn't establish a connection and swore. Later, some high definition feeds began to come in. They were from an inhabited area just outside the one that only a few minutes before had been the margin of the spread of the virus. The nanorobot, at that point, had replicated itself trillions of times, and if not arrested, would continue to advance like a hurricane, moving at unheard of speeds and infecting everything and everyone like a devastating tsunami. He then calculated the speed of contagion and the virulence of that monster, of which he had lost control, which would enable him to see the outcome of the command he had given. The Prrism'aarth watched dozens of rather terrified Ikalians. Some of them were running, while others were talking animatedly. Maybe it was a normal reaction to the news from the capital. Quarkban wished that with all his heart.
“We did it,” he said to himself, extending and retracting his tongue several times, deluding himself that everything was under control.
He began to pace up and down.
Incredibly, no one had come to congratulate him.
He had made this important event in Pristh's history public. Why was everything so quiet?
He decided to wait a little longer and take another look at what was happening on Ikali.
Everything seemed normal. Sure he saw crowds of hysterical Ikalians; but, in their place, who wouldn't be? Then he looked more closely. That wasn't hysteria. No. It was pain. It was the physical suffering of living creatures being consumed from the inside. He saw Ikalians screaming at the top of their lungs, then falling to the ground and rolling around; some were hurling themselves from high places and dying on impact with the ground.
They're throwing themselves off of skyscrapers to avoid suffering, the Prrism'aarth understood.
It was unmistakable. He had made errors in programming the virus and had lost control of it. Or perhaps not! Perhaps he had done the job so perfectly that he had given the nanorobots the capacity to emancipate themselves, to develop a free will and become conscious, autonomous beings.
Whatever the cause, there was no time to look into it. The priority was that nothing and no one come near the planet, which was doomed to become the largest orbiting cemetery in the universe.
Not even the Ikalian androids, like the C6 units, would be saved. Although artificial, they had biosynthetic components of vital importance installed, which, beyond the shadow of a doubt, would be attacked and destroyed by the virus. Only the most basic droids, lacking any organic elements, would survive. Since their intelligence was too limited for them to organize into complex societies, once their energy reserves were finished, they'd be extinguished forever. The only hope that an Ikalian life form might survive extinction resided in the beings on space shuttles, far away from the Ikali skies. Between large and small, there had to be hundreds, if not thousands, of them. The Ikalians wouldn't disappear from the galaxy, but, deprived of their world, they would be mercilessly ostracized, forced to live in humiliation, for centuries to come.
It was truly bizarre that no one had come over yet. Angry and tired from the catastrophe he had engendered, he left his room, went across the hallway and into the laboratory.
Silence.
He began to have a terrifying premonition.
Then a metallic noise made him jump. It was nothing more than a squeaky door, one of those old ones with hinges. Vorxion, or what was left of him, came in, escorted by two reptilians.
“Ba-bastar-bastard of a Prri-prrism'aarth! B... by the galaxy... what the hell did you do?” demanded the Ikalian, who seemed to have been stripped of flesh from head to toe. The two reptilians were dragging him across the ground, as he screamed all the while and held out a hand, seeking help.
Quarkban gave a grunt of fear and ran to his room, closing the door.
His breathing became short, but it wasn't yet the effects of the deadly virus to which he had condemned even Pristh, but the result of pure terror.
So this was the reason why no one answered me... but how is it possible that the phenomenon spread to a place hundreds of light years away?
He thought about it for a few moments, then the flash of enlightenment hit him. The virus wasn't spreading; it had always been there. But it had been dormant until they day he had released it from the lab to infect the imperialist supervisor.
The Prrism'aarth got down on the ground and curled up. Desperate and dismayed, he knew that a horrendous fate would soon reach him, but he was lucid enough to recall the existence of the Zorth'jun. The ship had been infected, just like the T'anjakhaal; and now, if it had indeed departed, it was headed directly towards Blue C. If it came in contact with the planet, it would sterilize it like a nanosurgical scalpel. But that didn't have to happen. At least Blue C could be saved. He had a few minutes of life left. But how could he contact the Earth? Then he remembered the communication between Vorxion and Xnoris about the Alpha Orionis, the ship with their allies. If Quarkban was fast enough and lucky, he could find the subspace frequencies in the laboratory's database and open a communication channel with the ship.
“My thirst for vengeance has already condemned two worlds to death,” the reptilian said, getting to his feet. “Let's try to save at least one.”
21
Namiko was like a fury as she recounted her dramatic adventures on board the Betelgeuse. The story flowed without interruption, like an avalanche of words. Then she took a break at the more distressing sections; she sighed deeply and wiped her teary eyes. No one in the Ford had the temerity to interrupt her. They were all hypnotized by the woman's magnetism. At the halfway point, when Eldgh had begun to understand his origins, everything became suddenly clear to them.
A few seconds before they found a parking space in front of the hospital, Namiko said: “And that's how the Sjunish was destroyed.”
Her listeners never blamed Eldgh for a moment. If Mike's thoughts had become fixated on proving the Ikalians' guilt, Betty's were focused on the doubts of an uncertain future. Now that the conquest of the Sjunish had failed, would the Alpha Orionis be able to face the entire imperial fleet?
A sudden stop, due to another reckless driver's maneuvering as he left the parking lot, brought everyone's attention back to the present. They were in front of the hospital.
They were there for Tylor.
Sirio's question, however, was very different. He had gotten lost several times during Namiko's narrative. He didn't care all that much about trying to understand every single detail of the affair. It was easy to understand that the Ikalians were unscrupulous imposters. What really worried him was getting his memory back. Although shaken, the Japanese woman clearly had some hold on him, an inexorable attraction. It seemed clear that he had lost his
heart to her; that he had fallen in love, and that they had lived through some good times together. Not remembering anything was a tragedy. He couldn't imagine how Namiko must feel. She had traveled trillions of kilometers in the hope of seeing him again, and when she had finally been able to embrace him, what he had done? He had stood there, motionless and bewildered. It must've broken her heart. On the way there, he tried to rack his brains, to look into the hidden recesses of his mind for the smallest glimmer of an idea. Yet he found nothing but a flash of Namiko wriggling around on television in a latex dress. No, that didn't make sense. Surely it was the product of his imagination. Better to forget that and start over.
After they got out of the car, it took another couple of minutes to get to the door of Tylor's room. It was enough time for Namiko to try to catch Sirio's gaze and fail. She saw him looking lost, deep in thought and intimidated by the situation. Fate should've held him by the hand, and allowed him to understand their feelings for each other: love, human warmth. Instead, inside the elevator taking them to the third floor, it seemed as though there was a wall of ice between them.
Having arrived after visiting hours, they had to wait and hope that they could obtain special permission. A physician appeared after about ten minutes. Their protests were in vain.
“Ladies and gentlemen, there will be no exceptions for any reason. Rules are rules and they must be respected! Especially since Mr. Ryan is not just any patient.”
Betty wondered what he meant by not just any patient. Was he referring to Tylor's notoriety or to the gravity of his medical condition?
“Doctor,” Betty said, “will you at least tell us how he is?”
“Ladies and gentlemen, it's not my job to give out information, but I'm certain that Tylor will walk again.”
Hearing the doctor say his name gave her some small comfort.
“He won't be as good as new,” the doctor continued, “but he will be able to lead a normal life.”
It was decidedly excellent news.
Betty got emotional and thanked the doctor who, overburdened by other commitments, abruptly took his leave. Everyone was happy about the excellent news, though disappointed that they couldn't see their friend. Especially Namiko. It was a silly thought, but, after losing Eldgh and Sirio, not being able to get past that threshold caused her severe anxiety. They were all together, except for the Commander of the Alpha Orionis, and yet they seemed so far away.
22
Eldgh looked like a fugitive in search of a secure place to hide, more than the Commander of the Alpha Orionis. With Namiko's departure, Xnoris' death and the Mtjugiaankh's silence, he seemed to have lost everything. He had returned to Earth, intending to make the enemy surrender, but had instead, shot them down. And annihilating them was anything but a victory. In fact, he had destroyed everything, including himself. And now what remained? What should he do? What would happen? These were unanswered dilemmas that forced him to take long meditative walks through the cold and endless mazes of the Betelgeuse. He had drafted a message to send to the Terrestrials several times; but, each time, he ultimately kept it, regarding it as totally inadequate. Then he ordered the ship to remain in orbit, ready to neutralize any threat that might come from Blue C, without any negotiation, for no reason. They had already done too much damage. Their only interaction with humans was to intercept and view some of their telecasts. Watching them for just a few minutes was enough for them to see all the hatred that humanity felt towards them. The Taahrians were depicted as unscrupulous, devious, awful monsters. They were described as an absolute evil, plotting the most terrible attacks, in orbit around the Earth. Then there were the Ikalians. The Terrestrials' only chance. In reality, few people believed that they could stop the enemy, but you had to hope for something.
Intent on watching Blue C from one of the more panoramic observation decks, Eldgh was shaken by a distressed call from his First Officer. “Commander, you need to come to the bridge immediately; it's extremely urgent!”
With the help of turbo-lifts, it didn't take long to go up the three levels that separated him from his destination.
As soon as Eldgh burst into the command center, he noticed a still image that occupied the central screen.
“Look...” the official urged tersely.
The video moved, showing the horror of a devastated world, in which the only beings left alive appeared to be near death. What was immediately apparent was the total integrity of the city's structures. What weapon could've caused such a mess?
It didn't take long for the answer. The projection of a reptilian replaced that of dismembered and decomposing bodies.
“My name is Quarkban,” the Prrism'aarth began, wheezing.
“I'm a member of the Mtjugiaankh resistance and I've created a virus.” The reptilian paused. He enunciated every single word as though it was causing enormous fatigue. “I created a virus that... that... got out of hand,” he continued. “It has consumed Ikali and Pristh. It's a... a nano... nanorobot, capable of annihilating any organic being. And it can't be... stopped. By any means! Now...” he had to take another break. Before beginning his discourse again, he let out a scream of pain. Something was moving under his skin. He brought his hand to his face. You could see that the scales had detached from his skin. Then, making the final effort of his life, Quarkban tried to complete the message. “There is presently a... a ship headed towards Blue C. It is infected. You-you must stop it from... arriving on Earth. Otherwise... I'm... sending you the...” The reptilian made one last gesture towards the holographic projector and collapsed on the floor in spasms. The communications officer stopped the feed.
“Is what I saw accurate?” asked the Commander.
“From the initial data, we have reason to believe that it was not a simulation,” the First Officer promptly responded.
“Do whatever investigation is necessary to ascertain the real situation on Pristh and Ikali.”
“As you wish, Commander.”
“What was the reptilian trying to say?”
“He's sent us a file with some of the specifications for the Zorth'jun, the ship coming towards us,” the communications officer explained.
“Good. Examine them closely. I want all details within an hour, and the five highest ranking officers in the Ready Room.”
He had to collect his thoughts.
If confirmed, this news would change everything.
23
From the ninth chapter of the sixth book of Tammhal – Astral Apocalypse:
1 The seven astral demons appeared in the days of perdition; and a scream of agony fell into the abysses of heaven and earth.
2 A cursed invisible beast drowned in the evil spirits' tears of suffering; and in the Ikalians' hearts burned a dark devouring torment.
3 The beast multiplied and the dark sea of his stingers heaped pain on the world.
4 Then the seven demons were scattered over the seven continents to kill and eradicate the damned souls; and millions of inaudible and invisible beasts devoured every living being.
5 The cities fell and rains of lava came from the mouths of the demons.
6 In one day and one night there was no more light;darkness descended; and every Ikalian was judged and taken to an astral heaven or the infernal abyss.
So read the ancient text in which no Ikalian had believed for thousands of years. This fact notwithstanding, millions of micro telecameras immortalized the end of an entire civilization, the extinction of a world and its empire. In just five days, every form of complex organic life was reduced to a shapeless mass. The oceans were transformed into floating cemeteries; the birds became writhing worms and whole forests degenerated into seas of fetid mud.
Besides the stench of death, the only testimony to a glorious past was an army of useless scrap metal called drones, and a small fleet of Ikalian spacecraft in orbit around their planet. A ridiculous flotilla of damned, impotent survivors, progeny o
f a world thrown into the abyss of hell by astral demons.
24
On worlds such as Roukar and Daephale, it was impossible to hide the images coming from Ikali.
And if on Daephale the resistance had begun to organize regarding what to do, an immediate revolution had broken out on Roukar in the space of two days and had assumed global proportions. On most worlds, however, nothing happened. The Ikalians had managed to completely conceal the news of their annihilation. But how could they go forward? How could they resist a civilization without the proper supplies, and, above all, when they were deprived of a central command to give them instructions? Each and every Ikalian's confidence was low, very low, even that of the most unyielding. The idea, therefore, was to resist, for as long as possible, in the hope of surviving for at least a generation.
Except for worlds already in revolt, Blue C remained the prime candidate for an imminent rebellion. After all, its conquest was in the early stages and the Taahrian threat loomed. For now, the Terrestrials were ignorant of events on Ikali, but one message from Eldgh would be enough to reveal everything. Assuming the Commander was aware of the facts and the humans believed him. They also had to consider the progress of the riots on Roukar and Daephale. Albeit less technologically advanced than Pristh, it wouldn't take much for them to plan a trip through space and head towards occupied planets to free them. Maybe the self-centeredness typical of Daephalians would keep them glued to their own world, but cultures like those on Roukar were too selfless and courageous to worry about the risk to themselves.
“The end is near!” exclaimed the Commander of one of the few, miserable ships which remained in orbit around Ikali.