Lemela
Lemela stood silently, her black fur gleaming under the soft, diffuse light that bathed the chamber.
The room that was paraded as a symbol of galactic unity, re-created by Virgil, felt eerily serene after the chaotic storm of the battle she was involved in.
Tall arched windows framed the stars, distant planets, and the serene ballet of spacecrafts; a tranquility she could not quite internalize.
Inside, she was still coursing with the energy of the machine and the battle that had just ended. She still felt it, Virgil’s presence humming within her like a second pulse.
She glanced down at her restored body in this virtual realm, feeling a dull sense of disconnect and a tinge of fear. Fear of having gone back to her former weakness.
Her fur may have been as she remembered it, but she knew it wasn’t real. This wasn’t her anymore. She had become more.
The interface hovered in a corner of her vision, always there, always ready to pop up and remind her she was now part of the collective.
Status: Connected to the collective’s lobby. Connected constructs: Ethan, Lemela, Xyra, Löckßhÿă, Këßtræ, Yræsh Recharging 82.55% Damage: None. Range to Overmind 4,51 standard local units / 8 feet Aeolus Online
They had won. They had time to regroup, and to return to everyday tasks.
Her mind and her emotions remained a battleground.
Ethan’s plan of bringing 35 individuals against an army felt insane, even if she knew he’d pulled crazier stunts, things she still felt unbelievable even as she watched them happen in her memory.
She should have felt joy, triumph even, and initially she did but now, there was only an unsettled feeling gnawing at her from within.
Her former Versel body would have been torn apart within moments against those pirates, she had no doubts about that.
She was stronger, faster, and sturdier.
On the battlefield, she had moved with a speed her former body wouldn’t be able to sustain, dodging plasma bolts and laser fire with precision she had never believed possible, even reacting to threats before she even registered them.
She recognized the machine had taken over when she needed it most, guiding her movements, enhancing her reactions, and making her unstoppable.
What she couldn’t dodge, the metallic sheen covering her body absorbed. It was like her body was invincible, her fur could now become a gleaming suit of armor.
The damage sustained was healed without leaving a stain on her form, once she was back to the laboratory.
The constant movement didn’t leave her drained or weak, instead, she had felt a growing surge of exhilaration, as if she were invincible. The thrill of accomplishing order after order was intoxicating and addictive.
Now, in the calm of this chamber, the high was slipping away, leaving her wondering what it had cost her.
She had renounced her next eight lives when she accepted the machine into her body.
It was the price for survival and a path for vengeance, but it meant forsaking the possibility of reincarnation, the spiritual cycle that had been the cornerstone of her belief.
Her people, the Versel, valued purity of body and spirit, and now… now she was an abomination in their eyes. At times, even in her own eyes.
How many lives had she ended? No… It wasn’t her fault. It was the pirates’. THEY started it all. THEY deserved it. THEY were a plague to be eliminated.
Still, killing was a sin, and this was a concept that Ethan shared. And she was rewarded for committing that sin.
The machine had given her something terrifying and inconceivable, functional immortality.
As long as Virgil and the systems were maintained, she would live on, untouched by time or age.
Her mind couldn’t help to ponder what that meant.
Had she forfeited the transition, the sacred passage, the gateway to the new life promised by the creator to every Versel? Or would she be offered one, a pathway to something lesser in expiation for her sins if and when the machine was to fail?
The mere thought felt preposterous, even to the point of feeling completely heretical.
Her beliefs had once offered comfort, the idea of spiritual progress across lifetimes a guiding principle toward something higher. But now, it brought no solace.
No, she couldn’t be abandoning those who were depending on her… she was at fault, her lack of strength in their moment of need was unjustifiable.
She needed to face this dilemma, with the one being she knew responsible for the inner workings of the collective.
She turned toward the swirling column of code that represented Virgil.
Binary sequences danced and twisted, forming and reforming the figures of the collective—Ethan, Xyra, her own, and then the others.
The pirates had tormented her, broken her, and now some of them were part of the collective.
Assimilated.
Their lives, their memories, now resided within the same network she was bound to.
A part of her rebelled at the thought. They had chosen a life of violence, cruelty, and greed. They didn’t deserve the power the collective granted them.
She had been their victim.
Her thoughts flickered back to her time in captivity. She could still feel the weight of those days pressing down on her.
The whispers, the leering glances, the cold, invasive sense of vulnerability.
What they had done to her, and she rarely allowed herself to dwell on it, left a scar deep within her psyche.
And now, they were here, in the collective, sharing the same space with her.
Her heart, if something remained of it, should have been filled with outrage, and disgust. But it wasn’t.
Why wasn’t she horrified? Why wasn't she outraged?
Was this truly her feeling, or was it something Virgil had implanted, a cold, clinical acceptance that came with being part of the collective?
She approached the shimmering column of Virgil, trying to suppress the growing disquiet inside her.
-Virgil- she began, her voice steady, though she felt a flicker of something beneath it: unease.
-The new ones… they’re the pirates, aren’t they? The ones we fought?-
The column pulsed, and Virgil’s abstract form shifted, coalescing into a reflection of her image. The machine’s response was calm, and measured, as always.
“Correct. Their biological constructs have been assimilated. Their individuality is preserved within the collective.”
Lemela narrowed her eyes, copper glinting in the artificial light. -Why? They were our enemies. They don’t deserve this.-
Virgil pulsed again, answering with a cold ripple of logic in a flat-toned response.
“Because it is our purpose.
Their cognitive patterns, memories, and experiences are retained.
They are added to the whole, to further growth.
Their physical forms will now serve the collective.
Their minds remain intact within the network and will be accessible to all.
There exists no enemy within the collective, there exists but one purpose. Shared growth.”
Lemela shook her head, trying to make sense of it all.
-Accessible to all? Why would I —or anyone for that matter— want to experience the life of a caste-less pirate? They’re not worthy of the same power we have!-
“We provide data.
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A library constructs like you can open or close at their discretion.
It is a possibility to experience a life of crime, without having to commit any.
Whether you partake in their story, they are now part of the whole, as you are.”
Virgil replied, its tone unwavering.
“Like yours, their individuality is not lost.
As you no longer act within the confines of your former society, they are no longer within their former crew.
You are all in the collective.
You all serve under Ethan’s command.”
Lemela clenched her fists, missing the new mechanical strength of her body.
What would Ethan do? What would he say? How would he feel?
She leaned on his presence more than she cared to admit. Through the collective, she had lived his life, shared his memories, and felt his strength.
She knew exactly how he thought, how he made decisions. And yet, she felt inadequate.
Ethan had the fortitude of a warrior caste, the resolve of someone trained to handle immense pressure.
She… she was once a scientist, someone who analyzed data and sought answers.
Someone who once looked at the stars with wonder, curiosity, and a touch of romance.
What had happened to her at the hands of the pirates had left her shattered, and she was still struggling to put the pieces of herself back together.
Sometimes, she wondered if she was pretending to be someone stronger, using Ethan’s persona as a crutch.
She knew he wouldn’t have accepted this assimilation of enemies.
He would see it as fundamentally wrong, a violation of everything they stood for.
Still, she knew he would have somehow found a way to turn the situation for the better, using this to somehow do good.
He would have felt a glimmer of hope.
But here she was, unable to bring herself to feel the same.
No, she felt something.
Anger flickered within her.
Faint, suppressed by the machine’s cold logic. But it was there.
It should have been there.
She no longer needed to breathe, yet the motion came instinctively as she tried to steady herself.
Yet she had no anger.
It felt… right. Why feel anger for something natural? The collective demanded it, didn’t it?
This new part of her, the part that was Virgil’s, whispered that it was necessary. Efficient.
There was no room for evil, no rebellion, not against a purpose this grand.
The betterment of biological life, the unification of purpose and sight, and the transcendence Virgil offered.
She turned away from Virgil, as if averting her sight could distance her from something she had within, her gaze drifting to the endless stars beyond the windows.
The serenity of the cosmos being played as a movie mocked her feeling of missing an unavoidable inner turmoil.
-Is this the path, Virgil? We’re forcing them into the collective. We’re staining ourselves with their crimes.-
“Stains are irrelevant.
We can clean the drones if needed.
The true issue is that unwilling participants require additional processing resources.”
Virgil responded.
“It is inefficient.
However, their contribution is preferable to their annihilation.”
Lemela felt again a flicker of anger but couldn’t sustain it.
She wanted to annihilate them.
The cold logic of the machine within her suppressed it quickly.
She had lived Ethan’s memories, she knew what he would think. He would say this was wrong, deeply, fundamentally wrong. He would want to punch something.
Yet she couldn’t bring herself to feel the same. As badly as she wished, she didn’t belong in the warrior caste.
"Like we said to Ethan, as long as there is no direct order, they will pursue their desires within the collective.”
Lemela turned back toward the machine.
-That’s what I find unacceptable.-
She countered.
-They will be back to their old ways, and they will have all the power of the collective to back them up! They will have you to back them up as they pillage and inflict more wounds on free individuals!-
Virgil's lights flickered for a moment as if the machine was calculating an ungodly amount of data.
“Your concerns are noted, Lemela.
However, the facts remain.
The collective’s purpose is expansion, growth, and adaptation.
Their contributions further that purpose.
Know this fact: they can’t act against the collective.
You are safe.”
Lemela’s gaze returned to the stars. So this was why Ethan rarely gave direct orders.
The collective could control, but it was more welcoming if it didn’t. That was what bothered her most, could she live with it until the machine no longer worked?
-You don’t seem against violence, you don’t seem to want peace, Virgil.-
Virgil spoke again, the toneless voice as cold and detached as ever.
“That is incorrect.
If all biologicals are within us, Lemela, peace will be achieved.
The collective is a valid path to ending all conflicts.”
Peace. She had once sought peace but like that? She wasn’t so sure.
The battle had shown her the power of the collective, and it was one power better unused.
If it brought in any more questionable individuals, could she forgive them?
Those pirates who had hurt her, now that they were part of this same system? She could feel their presence in the network, lingering on the edge of her awareness. Would they prove themselves worthy, or were they simply being given power they didn’t deserve?
The machine heavily implied that all enemies they would face would eventually, unavoidably become part of the collective. Would she be able to stomach it?
Her thoughts drifted back to Xyra, the Krynnak, the former slave she had personally brought into the collective.
What would she say about having to share that space of freedom with pirates, when she lived all her life under their rule?
Lemela had seen that same drive for power in her. The same thirst for freedom. The same will to be better and to bring good to the universe.
Now, Lemela had to wonder what Xyra would do if anything. She was kidnapped when she was a kid, after all. Maybe she would have a different perspective.
-There can’t be any peace now that criminals are with us.
Still, the only easy day was yesterday.
I know that Ethan is about second chances, but I’m not so sure it’s deserved. I may give them a piece of my mind if they so much as talk the wrong way.-
“Do you want us to require Ethan to authorize the use of memory-sharing protocol?”
-It’s a figure of speech, Virgil.- She quipped back, irritated.
"Acknowledged. Have you ended your line of questioning? For we have a question for you, Lemela."
Zek'lor
Seeing Vexx once again was a surprise, especially in that lab.
The Nolthoran quietly approached his former master, clicking his maxilla loud enough for the Krynnak to hear.
He clicked like this in the meat shop, alerting Vexx to his presence among piles of rotting bodies.
But this was a different place, a different nightmare for the Krynnak who always was at least skeptical of simple machines, now surrounded by hybrids between the living and the machine.
Once he was sure to have his attention, Zek’lor spoke.
-Sand has flowed in the sieve, master Vexx.-
Vexx flinched, perhaps from reflex; he had been living by the same brutal rules they had escaped from. They both survived the same ordeal that had nearly broken them both.
City 29 and Dexton’s Dogs were still above them, there could be no escape even here in this laboratory full of dead machines and even deader silence.
-Zek'lor, so you survived. I don’t think you should address me as your master. How was your stay with… these?-
Zek’lor made his palps move as if he could taste the stale, metallic air around them.
The air had improved recently, it felt almost natural, even if they were underground.
His antennae twitched above his compound eyes, scanning the room for the silent hybrids.
They loomed everywhere, blends of mechanical parts and formally mortal flesh, now under the command of the one who called himself Ethan.
He hated the sight of them, these beings defied the order of life and death.
Zek’lor knew that to live was to die, and he had already accepted his death a long time ago, back when he became an adult Nolthoran, and even more when he was just a slave meant to become one of Vexx’s protein bars.
Against all odds, here he stood.
-Weird- Zek’lor answered, finally, after his internal musing.
-I am among the dead. Any of those could crush my shell and end my life. Yet I prosper. I am tasked to build, so once again I can wear my name with pride.-
The Krynnak scratched at his scales with his upper arm, his long tail on which he balanced shifting left and right as his lower arms crossed in a gesture of defense. Zek’lor recognized the nervous tic.
Even though Vexx was a natural predator, Zek’lor had learned long ago that fear could undo even the strongest of beasts.
He’d seen Vexx in moments of fear back in City 29 when they both had to survive under Dexton’s iron fist. Vexx had been more reasonable than most, though Zek’lor had always known he was hiding his terror behind that tough façade.
-I presume you saw the state of mistress Xyra.-
Vexx nodded. Zek’lor could see the pain in his eyes. He had seen Xyra’s transformation.
She had begged for it, a desperate plea to defeat the pirates and Dexton’s reign of terror on Taboo.
Zek’lor didn’t know whether to admire her determination or pity her for what she had become.
He wondered if Vexx would ever look at her the same way, now that she was no longer fully Krynnak, now that she was part of the very machines Vexx feared.
-Again, I don’t think…- Vexx started, but Zek'lor extended one of his long, thin appendages, opening his three-pronged claw to stop him.
-When you are beaten to within an inch of your life every time you don’t comply, it becomes very hard not to follow formalities, master Vexx.-
The Nolthoran produced a clicking and snapping sound, his species’ way of expressing happiness, though it felt hollow here, surrounded by machines and death.
-You were the first not to fuss over it, and… Ethan was the first to be actively against being called master. To the point of ordering me not to. Considering he says he’s human, I’m not surprised by the notion.-
Vexx glanced around nervously as if checking to see if any of Dexton’s goons were lurking nearby, waiting to pounce.
Old habits die hard, and even here, far from City 29, the weight of those memories clung to them like rot.
-Well, here there ain’t no Dexton goons ready to…- Vexx’s voice trailed off, his reptilian eyes narrowing, as they shifted left and right.
Zek'lor could sense his lingering fear. He couldn’t blame him. After what they had both endured, the line between captors and captives felt paper-thin, even now.
The Nolthoran hissed, where other species might have sighed. He, too, had his fears.
The machines were all around them, cold and silent, yet they could move with deadly precision when commanded by Ethan or that strange feline creature, Lemela, or by Xyra by all he knew.
Zek'lor had learned to work alongside them, to create the false cave-ins Ethan had ordered him to build, but he never felt comfortable under their lifeless gaze.
-Look, I know you are scared of the machines…- He began.
-Scared? I’m terrified!- Vexx’s voice was a sudden, sharp bark. -I can count on one paw how many speak!-
He flailed his four-fingered, clawed hand as his nervous scratching intensified. His muscles twitched beneath his scales, and Zek’lor knew that if Vexx wasn’t trying so hard to contain himself, all four arms would be engaged.
-How do you even manage?-
Zek'lor shrugged a gesture that felt more awkward in his beetle-like body.
-I’m an architect. I’m used to building for the dead. Usually when they’re around to argue about how they want things arranged. If anything, these are more reasonable. And way more silent. Besides, if you were to ask Mistress Xyra, I’m sure she could guide you.-
Vexx growled deeply behind his long snout, putting Zek'lor on edge. It was always hard interacting with a natural predator, especially one like Vexx.
One wrong move, one misstep, and even a sign of distress could be misread as weakness or aggression. Zek’lor had survived this long by carefully managing such interactions, first as a slave, now as… something else. He still wasn't sure what he was supposed to be, but he knew he wouldn’t have long.
-Dexton controlled the machines up above. Ethan controls the ones down below. I can’t feel safe.-
Zek’lor understood. Vexx’s growling became deeper, and the Krynnak slumped, his four clawed arms reaching for his head as he continued, almost in a whisper.
-Even as she’s part machine, I don’t need to hunt for her. She’s still there. She came to save me, understand? She. Came. To. Save. Me! I shouldn't fear her. Now I do. Useless… I feel useless. I was the one protecting her. Now the roles are reversed in the chase. The great hunter mocks me, you understand?-
Zek'lor tried to steady himself, not just physically but mentally, as he faced the Krynnak’s unraveling. He couldn’t afford to show fear now, not when Vexx was on the edge.
The hybrids, those horrifying amalgamations of machine and once-living flesh continued to move silently around them in the laboratory, their void eyes ignoring them, yet Zek'lor knew better.
They were always watching, always recording, waiting to decide when or if they should act.