“History is a funny thing, isn't it?”

You jump as you find a hand on your shoulder. Turning around faster than you'd like you see Jesse standing, now wearing a long overcoat and a slim pair of glasses.

“What do you mean?”

“It's completely determined by the survivors,” he says, now standing right next to you. “This statue is missing one of its figures, you must have noticed?”

“Yeah, and one of the names is scratched out.”

“Each of these figures is a hero. To us, to all of us, really. They're each the members of the high council, the leaders of the races that inhabit Sayar. They've each a laundry list of achievements and honors that would take eons for me to even begin listing right now. The big one is uniting everyone here on this planet, establishing a government for all and creating a lasting peace.”

You think about asking him what happened before in the prison, but you're so relieved you're actually getting answers to your question so you decide not to press it. “Did something happen with the person who was depicted by that statue?”

“You're quick to catch on. That statue belonged to the Dromedan race, to honor their advances in technology throughout the galaxies.”

“What do the Dromedans look like?”

“Well, to say they were a race is almost a little inaccurate, for they were the only race that wasn't really alive.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“They were a race of machines controlled by artificial intelligence. Nobody knows who created them. Well, maybe except for them, but they sure as hell haven't told anybody. Anyway, they started by building artificial civilians, then an entire society followed. Its beginnings blurred by time and soon everyone soon accepted the existence of the Dromedans.”

“Things went wrong, when?”

“When Sayar was being established, this planet is not the home world of any of us here by the way, we migrated here as a mutual capital from our respective home worlds for one reason or another. It's then that the eleven figured here met with the leader of the Dromedans, a large machine that had an intelligence so advanced compared to what everyone else thought it almost seemed sentient. Turns out it was. Nobody knows if they're all connected like the Pamen are, but at the very least that the Mark VI, that's what he was called, was capable of full sentience.”

“What happened then?”

“He was an imperialist. Anything he did was to further expand his own reach. What first seemed like a bond of trust between the other eleven races turned to be a ruse for total domination. When the others learned of his true motives they had to take action.”

“They killed him?”

“Not necessarily. He may have been sentient, but in the end he wasn't tied to the body that he resided in. They could have destroyed the body and he would have made his home in the hundreds of thousands of other Dromedans.”

“So what'd they do?”

“In the simplest of terms, they starved him. Dromedans require an immense amount of power to function. Their most common energy source is called Queoquartzite. They had an ample supply on their home planet of Nastor, but with enough time they eventually mined it clean. One reason why they joined up with the high council was to trade for more Queoquartzite.”

“So you cut them off.”

“Indeed. They were pushed back to Nastor and stayed until they eventually ran out of it, causing them to shut down. Technically not dead, but for all intents and purposes the equivalent...that is, until recently.”

“Something tells me they haven't been as shut down as everybody was expecting,” You say.

“Right. Sometime in the last month there have been reported sightings of Mark I units throughout the galaxy. Mark I units being combat oriented, it obviously has sent people into a state of panic.”

“Makes sense, if some combat units are up and moving about who is to say the others can't join soon after?”

“Precisely. That's why we're so understaffed at the moment. A lot of the normal prison staff are being relegated to investigating the cause of the sightings. Normally, I'm not confined to the duties of glorified prison guard, but such are the times we live in now.”

“What is it you do normally?”

He looks to you and nods his head, “Well, my official title is Head of Archives. I oversee the documentation of our planets, and by extension the races that live on its histories.”

“Even if they're convicted criminals?”

“Technically you aren't convicted yet,” he says with a grin.

“Well, I will be. I mean, I did it, there isn't any doubt about that.”

“Judgment is only left to the council. Come, we really must get going,” he begins to walk. You almost think to question why he isn't keeping a closer eye on you, but then you remember that you have an electronic chip in your head. He'll shock you if you decide to run. You remember Pamen telling you that.

Except...Pamen didn't say it was in your head. It just said body. How do you know it's in your head? You instinctively reach your hand to the back of your head to touch an almost phantom pain just above the small of your neck. It feels wrong, but only for a moment. You must still not feel all that well about learning you're a robot.

Totally understandable.

You follow right behind Jesse, not wanting to be electrocuted in the slightest bit. You pass the statue and see the building coming closer in your view. Even so, it still seems so far away. Surely they could have made the path towards the building shorter? It feels oppressive in how tall it stands, it must be at least three times larger than any building you've ever seen on Earth. You notice a bright light shining in your eyes as you look up, “Is the light always so weird here? First the sky's purple and now sunlight just comes and goes out of nowhere?”

You can almost hear Jesse smile as he chuckles, “You're more far off than I imagined.” You pass off his snide comment, but also realize this might be the chance to finally clear up some things on your mind.

“There's a reason for that...I think,” you speak up, not wholly confident in your words.

He slows to meet your pace. You're staring at him and him at you, “Which would be?”

“I'm not from this time, not originally. This morning I woke up in a body that isn't mine on a planet that isn't mine.”

“Is this the truth?”

“My name's Alex. That much I know, but little else. But I do know I lived on Earth. That's why I don't know anything or anyone here, that's why I murdered that Cæ I guess. I had just woken up and see the equivalent to a horrible nightmare from a monster movie. Granted, I know that's a terrible excuse...”

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“Movie?”

“Ugh, okay, so a movie is a recording of a story-”

“I know what a movie is, I'm just messing with you,” he chuckles.

“I don't think you're taking this seriously.”

“I'll admit it is kind of hard to hear and accept with a straight face. It's not certainly something you hear everyday, even from those that try to escape their guilt. It's common for one to do anything and everything to escape their consequences if they're backed up against the wall, but it's rare to find someone who admits to their guilt with this weird sort of story.”

“I swear to you that it is true. Granted, I understand how totally insane it sounds, but it is ten times as confusing for me being here than anything I could make up.”

He stops and stares at you, “It does explain a few things. It's crazy to think about and even crazier to consider a reality, but I must admit I'm a big fan of crazy.”

“You really believe me?”

“I'm entertaining the thought. You mentioned your name is Alex?”

“Yes.”

“The body you're in belonged to a hermit named Roland Duschand.”

“How could I just one day appear in someone else's body? And just what am I? Robot? Human?”

“Humans needed to evolve to survive the long travel times that plagued them after Earth's destruction. They needed to effectively ditch their old bodies that would have died soon after their escape in favor for a longer lasting form, being the body you have now. A cybernetic form nostalgic to the true human body with obvious enhancements such as the databank located in the back of your skull. Of course, I shouldn't say like the body you have now. It is vastly outdated, hence why I had to update your language banks. I'm certain several other of your drives are out of date, I only managed to have a spare language bank in my office. Mr. Duschand had been living off of the grid.”

“Off the grid? I woke up in a house right in the middle of what seemed to be a city. Jayon Cæ was basically right outside, how could one be any less off the grid?”

Jesse grins, “Roland must have had some sort of secret because nobody has had contact with him for quite a while. Last time was seven years ago.”

“Seven years?! Just how is that possible?”

“Beats me. If we knew that I'm sure he wouldn't have been missing for seven years.”

“Wait a second. So if I'm in his body then where is he?”

“I don't know. I haven't heard of anybody entering someone else's body before. Although, I guess it isn't fully off of the table since your body is basically a shell. Theoretically if someone's mind had the ability to travel between hosts there really wouldn't be a problem entering one specifically constructed for human consciousness.”

“I guess...but just how could something like this happen?”

“I don't know, but one thing is still constant. You're still set to see the high council for sentencing. This doesn't change the fact that you're under arrest for murder, but maybe we can swing them in your favor to lighten your sentence.”

You nod your head, “Well then, let's go, shall we?”

“We'll need to stop by Archives to pick up your file. Just official stuff I need to present when I bring you up to the high council.”

“Is that the building right there?” You say, pointing towards it.

He nods his head, “It is that and more. The Capitol houses just about everything major relating to Sayar's politics.

“That's why it's so huge,” You say, admiring the scale of the building.

“Mhm. Now come on, we're best to make a good impression if we're not late.”

You both walk up to the Capitol building. The doors must be almost four times your height. Jesse walks ahead of you and raises his arm to the front of the door. Like how a display appeared in front of your cell one also does for the door. It's circular and a bright aquamarine in color. Some letters you cannot read are written inside of it. “Jesse Anderson, Archives,” he says. There's a sound of authentication and then you can see the doors opening before your eyes.

You see towers of what almost remind you of computer systems lining down the entire room. You see some monitors to your right on a desk stretching out around the perimeter of the room. Jesse walks over towards the nearest monitor. He begins typing on the desk face. You turn your head in confusion, but understand when you see that there is actually a light display of what looks to be a keyboard shining from a lens on the face of the monitor. Of course, it is much longer than any keyboard you recognize.

After a minute of standing in silence you see him press on the side of the monitor. He grabs a small circular chip from it and reaches into his coat pocket where he grabs a small square stick that you notice has a small circular indent on the top.

“What's that?”

“It's your file. Well, to be more specific it's the storage unit holding your file.”

“So is it going to project like a hologram or something?”

“Of course, it's also going to shoot lasers and even lift some objects telekinetically.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you're making fun of me?” You ask.

“Because it's fun to play with your expectations. Did I word it too harshly?”

“No...I just...am a bit confused.”

“Well that much is obvious.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Well, the truth of it is rather simple. I don't know if I believe you're not Roland. It's totally possible that you're just saying what you do to get sympathy and a reduced sentence. On the other hand, it's totally possible somehow you're telling the truth. I'm not so much a good judge of people. That's why I work in archives. What's in these towers already happened, there's no need for judgment on my part. However, I do know someone who is troubled when I see them. You are troubled. If I can make the process in getting you un-troubled any easier I am happy to try.”

“But wouldn't you rather do that for someone who isn't a murderer?”

“We can sit here and talk ethics all day long. Well, I mean not really, but you get me. Of course, what you did is going to have its consequences, but I can sense that if you were in a right state of mind you wouldn't think to do this even in your wildest dreams, am I somewhere close to the truth?”

“I....yeah.”

“That's all I need to hear, come on, let's go,” he says, nodding.

You're not wholly convinced of his reasoning, but for what it is worth he sees some sort of worth in you as a person. It's not even close to the worst thing to happen to you. If anything, you feel a little better about yourself.

“Where is everyone?” You ask, the question only now bothers you.

“Hm?”

“You can't be the only one who works here, where is everyone?”

“Artem and Taylor are off on vacation. They're the only two who work with me in archives.”

“And they are what, centaurs?”

This makes him laugh, “No, I'm afraid they aren't. Taylor's human and Artem is Pscarcian.”

“Repeat?”

“Oh what would be an Earth equivalent...frog? I think that's what those amphibious creatures were called. Think of a really big frog. Now, it's not exact, but it should get the idea across. You'll get the hang of it eventually.”

“Okay,” You say slowly.

“You're going to see more people when we go through the main chambers, it's definitely more populated than archives.”

“Okay, do you have any advice?”

“Don't kill anyone,” he says, bringing up the display on the door.

You go to argue, but you're not really in a position to. He speaks up once more, “Jesse Anderson, High Council.”

“Isn't this the door we just entered from though?”

“This building is used a lot by several different kinds of people, and it dynamically changes itself around depending on who needs it. Of course, they would need to have proper identification, that being the scanner. When the proper room is chosen it shifts around the building. Each room is divided by one one millionth of electromagnetic particles which basically causes them all to be as close to touching without actually doing so. They can then shift around on tracks built stable inside to rearrange themselves to whatever configuration is needed.”

“Does everyone in here have to deal with constant motion? I bet that makes several people sick.”

“It would surely suck if that were the case, ha. No, Sayar naturally emits electromagnetic pulses out into the atmosphere, the tracks synchronize to those pulses so to any inside observer it would not seem like you are moving. Of course, you'd probably feel a little woozy if you look out of any windows, luckily I don't have any here in archives.”

“All right, I'll keep that in mind.”

He nods as the door opens, I can see a long hallway extending out with a brown paneled floor. Looking down the stretch clouds your vision and you feel your head getting lighter. Here we go again.