Cal had spent two days looking for ways to communicate with the human. In every season of the show, the creators had been able to talk and translate with the host species, so he knew communication was possible.
Luckily for Cal, the Initiates—super fans of the series—had spent an enormous amount of time meticulously cataloging every single detail, interaction, trivia fact, and business decision in excruciating detail. Their dedication was a treasure trove of information. Cal logged into the catalog. The screen's glow cast eerie shadows on his weary face. Each click through the vast database was a desperate hope for a clue about the Empire's communication methods.
The interface was cluttered but functional, a testament to the sheer volume of information the Initiates had gathered. As he scrolled through entries, he could almost hear the excited chatter of the fans, each one eager to contribute their piece of the puzzle. The catalog was a labyrinth of knowledge, with pathways leading to obscure and forgotten facts.
Cal pulled up an article from Season Eleven of The Initiation. Although it had nothing to do with his current situation, the title, “An Uprising,” caught his attention. Season Eleven had hosted the Thalaxians, an amphibious species that tragically succumbed early in the third stage of the contest. The challenge had placed them in a desert, far from their natural environment, leading to their premature downfall.
Early in the competition, some workers at Fusion Enterprises, the company responsible for that season's competition and provider of over forty percent of the galaxy's transportation needs, staged a significant uprising. These employees took issue with the gross species rights violation, arguing that subjecting the Thalaxians to a desert environment was inherently unfair and cruel.
The uprising had been intense. The workers protested and even set fire to one of the company’s buildings. Fusion Enterprises, quick to quash the rebellion, accused the protesters of endangering employees' lives. Despite the clear ethical concerns raised by the workers, the company’s lawyers fabricated charges, painting the protesters as reckless and dangerous. Consequently, the four instigators were sentenced to life imprisonment in the notorious Cryolab Prison system.
Reading this, Cal felt a chill run down his spine. He realized he needed to be extremely cautious with his actions. The consequences of dissent were severe, as evidenced by the harsh punishment meted out to the workers. Steeling himself, he made a note to tread carefully and continued his search.
Finally, he stumbled on an article that might be the answer to his dilemma. An article showcasing how the hosts used a process of bytes, small pieces of data, the most fundamental form of digital communication, using only two states: on and off. These two states represented complex information when combined into sequences, just as alphabets form words. Perhaps he could use this to build a quick data translation framework for the two of them.
“What are you still doing here, Cal?” The familiar voice, tinged with worry, broke his concentration.
Cal turned, already knowing it was Zynara.
“Nothing,” Cal snapped, his defensiveness betraying his unease.
“What was that, Cal? Why are you still here?” Zynara's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I said it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” he repeated, his tone now unnaturally sharp.
Zynara approached, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I was just picking up my bag. Cal, I’ve been watching you for a while. You talk out loud when you think. You’re not seriously considering communicating with that resource, are you? That’s a clear violation of protocols.”
“First off, they are humans, not resources,” Cal said, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Fine, why do you want to talk to humans, Cal? They don’t even speak our language, and they aren’t safe to be around. Not until they get cleansed, that is,” she scoffed.
Cal took a deep breath, knowing this was his moment to convince her. “You didn’t see what I saw when we had that encounter. That human, she...” he paused, trying to find the right words to describe his encounter.
“She what, Cal?” Zynara yelled, her composure weakening.
“She’s not what they say she is. She had this little fuzzy creature with her, and she was protecting it, protecting it from me. What in the clips Stellar Dynamics has shown of this species showed them to be protective of others? She was willing to give her life for that small being. What I saw there and what I saw in the clips, they just don’t match. If there is even a possibility that Stellar Dynamics is lying to us, like the previous ones did my species…”
“Is that what this is all about?” Zynara interrupted. “This is about you wanting answers for your own species?”
Cal looked down, a wave of embarrassment washing over him. “You don’t know what it’s like, Zynara. Your species has been here since the start. I see the way people look at me. I’ve heard the stories of what my ancestors had to go through when they first joined this group. Your kind has never faced that sort of prejudice. Sometimes I feel like maybe we would have been better off left alone.”
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Zynara’s eyes grew sad. “Cal, you saw the backstory. You all were underpopulated with no food to speak of. Your ancestors were eating their young to survive. Everything’s been better for you since you got with us. Yeah, there is some prejudice, but everyone feels that way.”
Cal had seen the backstories; they certainly were not a kind picture painted of his species' past, but how much of it was really true? With each passing day, his doubts grew.
“Listen, Zynara, you can believe me or not, but I’m telling you, that human in that room. She’s not a barbarian and yes, part of me wants to confirm this so that some doubt can be placed on the backstory given about my kind, but at the end of the day, I need the answers because when I’m old and dying, I want to be on my pyre knowing that everything I did was to make this galaxy a better place. If I’m somehow even remotely responsible for the death of an entire civilization because I just sat back and let it happen, my chance at an afterlife would be forever out of reach.” Cal found small tears dripping down his nose.
Zynara’s skin glowed a deep blue tint, reflecting the empathy she felt for her friend. She looked over at Cal, noting the determination in his eyes and his genuine desire to expose the lies. Her gaze softened slightly, and she sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing a bit. “Listen, I trust you more than anyone else in this company. But we could go to prison for this, Cal. Messing with company property is a stage one offense.”
Cal turned his back to Zynara, trying to hide the tears that were starting to roll down his face. He understood the potential ramifications of his actions. With no family left to miss him, he had made peace with his choice. He couldn't drag her into this; she had too much to lose. “I’m not asking for your help. I know the risk I’m taking. You have a loving family that would miss you if you were gone. All I’m asking is for you to turn around now and walk away. This is something I need to do, not just for the humans, but for me too.”
Zynara stood there, debating her next move carefully. The risk was high, especially for a Luminari. Her species was known for their strict adherence to rules and their trustworthiness, which made them excellent employees. Yet, as she stood there, she felt herself wanting more than anything to put that trust into something or someone she truly cared about, “I’ll help you, Cal. If you truly believe this is wrong, then I can’t sit by while you do this alone.”
Cal nodded, feeling a surge of relief. He could see the tension and worry in Zynara's body language. She was still on the fence, but at least he had her support for now. He turned the monitor back on, showing what he was looking for. He showed her the database he was exploring.
“It’s a cool idea, but that seems like a ton of work to build out. It’s a shame you couldn’t just use that AI they recently announced. It’s supposed to have real-time translation in it,” Zynara said.
Cal’s eyes lit up. “Zynara, I could kiss you! In a purely friendly coworker way, of course.” Both Zynara and Cal blushed.
“What are you suggesting, Cal?” Zynara asked.
“I have good news and bad news. The good news is I figured out how we can communicate with her. The bad news is we have to put her in the sandbox.”
“Oh, Cal, we can’t just throw her in there,” Zynara said.
“Listen, it’s the only way. They recently updated the sandbox to include the AI. We can put her in there, keep her off to the side, and mark the tickets as finished. After all, Zorax did say to cut corners.”
Zynara frowned but nodded slowly. “You may be right, but it’s too dangerous.”
“It’s more dangerous for us not to try this. We only have two weeks before we need to dispose of the resources. We don’t have much time and you’re right, I can’t possibly build something fast enough to get the answers I need,” he argued, his voice low and urgent.
“You might be right. We need to do it as safely as possible,” she said, the gravity of their situation sinking in. “We need to form a plan,” she said, her voice steely with resolve.
“Don’t worry, I’m already four steps ahead,” Cal replied, his mind already racing with questions he planned to ask the human.
----------------------------------------
Rupert had been roaming the building for days, his tiny body worn down from dehydration and exhaustion. This corner, he decided, was a good place to die. The room was cool, the chill soothing his aching joints. He lay down, closing his eyes and reflecting on his life.
Suddenly, a mechanical voice echoed through the room, breaking the silence. “*Squirrel (Sciurus spp.):* A small, agile mammal from the family Sciuridae, characterized by its bushy tail and arboreal lifestyle. Squirrels are adept climbers with sharp claws and elongated hind limbs, primarily feeding on nuts, seeds, and fruits. They exhibit advanced food caching behaviors and communicate through vocalizations and tail movements. These creatures play a vital role in forest ecosystems by aiding in seed dispersion. This one appears to be thirsty. Hello, little squirrel.”
Rupert looked up, his vision blurring. What was this thing? In front of him stood a robotic cylinder with long, metal arms. One of the arms produced a bowl filled with liquid, which it placed down in front of the squirrel.
“It is not water, but it will do. Drink,” the robot commanded, its voice devoid of emotion.
Desperation drove Rupert to reach out and lap up the liquid. He felt life slowly returning to his body, the warmth spreading through his limbs and reviving his spirit.
“You simple Earth-based creatures sure are something. Unable to survive without something as basic as water. Do you know the chance of your planet being both able to support your life and actually producing it?” The robot's grip tightened around Rupert, lifting him into the air, its mechanical hand cradling him like a fragile doll.
“.1%,” it proclaimed, a note of disdain in its synthetic voice.
The grip tightened, and Rupert felt a sharp pain as air became harder to grasp. He wriggled, tiny paws flailing, but the robot's hold was unyielding.
“You, like many other creatures on this planet, scurry around like vermin. You bring nothing to the table, you see. Me? I serve a purpose. I was created for one simple task: weed out the weak and raise up the strong. Are you strong, Mr. Squirrel?”
The robot squeezed harder. Bones snapped with a sickening crunch, and Rupert's struggles ceased. His lifeless body fell to the ground with a thud.
“It appears not,” the robot said, turning away without a hint of remorse. It walked back to a room full of identical models, each one a cold, efficient harbinger of judgment.