Memory Transcription Subject: Quana, Jaslip Soldier
Date [standardized human time]: December 10, 2160
After months of planning with the Jaslip Independence Brigade, Cherise and I had worked up the nerve to try to sneak an explosive device into Delegates Tower. The important bit was sneaking it into its intended spot weeks in advance, somewhere that it wouldn’t be moved, discovered, or tampered with. We didn’t want them to be able to trace the bombings back to my human friend, and there was no doubt that they’d round up everyone who’d visited in the past few days for memory scans. The mind-reading security checkpoint at the entrance to the leadership’s meeting place presented another challenge. If she walked through that obstacle, the plan would be revealed before it’s gotten off the ground.
That was where social engineering, and the Krev guards thinking humans were cute, had come into play. Cherise claimed she’d been “humiliated” wearing a Santa outfit, complete with a goofy-looking hat with a white puffball at the end and a fake beard, but she had to sell the human tradition to anyone who researched their customs. I’d made sacrifices too, letting her dress me as a “reindeer,” with a red bulb on my nose and antlers. The degrading costumes had made it convincing, and so we could stand on the street outside—hiding in plain sight. There was a lot of attention attracted by a talking primate in a silky red outfit, handing out gifts to children. That would’ve been a way for explosives to wind up in random places, but Cherise and I both didn’t want to target innocents, especially kids.
The package that actually held the bomb was clearly marked to us, with an orange ribbon the color of fire. We’d known the commotion outside Delegates Tower would attract someone close to the Krev’s leadership circle, especially as word made the rounds on social media. When Delegate Riccin approached us to ask what the festivities were about, I knew we’d caught the big fish. Aulan and his team had planned for everything. Cherise had launched into a rousing explanation about Christmas, and rehearsed lines insisting that the gifts couldn’t be opened until December 25, a human calendar date. She then encouraged him to “stick it under a desk, or something,” never directly mentioning Delegates Tower.
“I’d love to raise awareness for this human holiday, and collect some gifts for the children of Tellus,” Riccin had said, all but purring as Cherise passed him the orange-ribboned gift. “It means a lot that you brought us into your traditions.”
It was the perfect push to make him bring it to his office, and open it on Christmas Day for a PR push. Riccin wouldn’t be stupid enough not to run a package through, at least, a cursory security scan, even if he had a primate blind spot. That was why the bomb had been stuck inside a fake robot toy, which had the right metal to obscure the explosives inside from scanners. We had trackers and cameras hidden within, so we could see if it was taken elsewhere in Tonvos—or if someone discovered it. Hiding it for weeks would allow Aulan to spy on Riccin: easy espionage. The last aspect was not allowing the Krev to identify that it had come from the human gift.
That was why the box had been given a false bottom, that would only open and close at the Jaslips’ command. The toy was a shell for a bomb-carrying drone—a nesting doll, as Cherise called it. Once left unattended, its exterior could pop open to allow us to pilot it out the false bottom, to a different room altogether. Conveniently, it would also leave the robot intact in its gift box, with none the wiser to the fact that it was behind the bombing. We might be successful in getting those delegate bastards, and then…they’d want us gone. There was no choice; the Jaslips and the humans had to escape before the Federation cleaned up all angles of our drone offensive, and came for us again. Nishtal’s strike force had fallen as well, according to Frenelda, with a crushing defeat.
Failing a second attack made it clear that Talsk’s defeat wasn’t a fluke; our odds had gotten worse in the second engagement. Jaslip Delegate Frenelda had ensured that she had a pressing matter to deal with on Avor’s enclave, despite knowing that’d make her suspicious later on. This was the day we’d strike, and trying to act normal on the Tellus military base was eating us up. We couldn’t be in direct contact with Aulan, so we’d only discover what happened when word of our success—or failure—reached the news. I wondered if the weight of what she’d done, and what would happen if our plot was ever discovered, had set in to Cherise. The Independence Brigade was only targeting the delegates, but we were still…killing people.
“My family would be so disappointed in me. I used to frown on those Jaslips, taking the delegates hostage with their children in tow. I was better than them,” I murmured, as the television screen remained muted until we saw the news alert.
Cherise laid back on the bed, throwing a ball up and down in the air. “This is for those kits. A reckoning. There’s no taking it back.”
“Would you…take it back, if you could? The consequences of what we’re doing are irrevocable. You can’t bring anyone back to life. It’s final, the end. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be a cold-blooded killer. I can’t stop thinking about how it could all go wrong.”
The human sighed, a deep tiredness on her face. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I gave Riccin the box. Shit, I haven’t really slept well since finding out that we’d lost the war; I’m terrified, Quana. I remember what it’s like to look out the window of a spaceship as you leave your planet behind, and know it’s the last you’ll see of it. The Consortium hasn’t given us the fact to decide if we should do that again. It’s an awful fucking choice, but it’s one that should be given to us.”
“I mean, I agree whole-heartedly. General Radai proved my point about him being like all the rest, by not revealing the damning truth to the public. Because of that, and the growl-inducing admission from that sociopath Mafani, we made a different awful choice. The Krev are rotten and discard lives at will.”
“And now, so do we. I rationalize it to myself—tell myself soldiers make sacrifices, and I’m just fighting for and protecting my home. The truth is, these are the desperate acts of caged, cornered animals. That’s all we are, when it boils down to it. To think we wanted the Krev to let us stay on Tellus, and now we’re blowing up their government so they let us leave.”
I whimpered in commiseration. “I feel like an animal. I came here hoping to help humans survive, and now, we’re lucky if either of us do.”
“There’s still time to run. The artificially-born babies are almost here,” Cherise said, almost as if to reassure herself. “We make sure our families and the people we care about are ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”
“How much do we tell Taylor and Gress? I’m not sure either would be willing to leave the other…”
“And Trench is lacking in discretion, so there’s no keeping the Krev in the dark.”
I laughed bitterly. “Then we can’t tell them a hint of what we did today. That Krev wouldn’t understand. When Gress looked at the enclave symbol on my chest, he saw a terrorist. Maybe he wasn’t wrong.”
“I think Gress might get what we’ve done more than you think. He lost it when he heard what Mafani did, and was about to put a bullet in Radai’s skull. He went further than you, the Jaslip.”
“Gress had a nervous breakdown, because they personally fucked him over. I…we are fully cognizant of what we’re doing.”
“Yes, and we know it’s what has to be done. Right or wrong, humanity won’t die off quietly. When Tellus gets wind of what they’re doing, and stops believing Hathaway’s goddamn denials of our ‘baseless rumors,’ there’s going to be an uproar.”
My ears straightened, and my tail fronds twitched restlessly. “We’re counting on it. There’s already revolt brewing among the Jaslips. When they come for us because of this…they’ll blame us. It’s the first shots of a war for our freedom, and that’s how we have to look at it.”
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Cherise unmuted the television, a troubled look on her face as footage of an explosion in Tonvos Tower appeared. “Yeah. The smoke, the fire. I can’t believe…gosh, we did that.”
Both of our binocular eyes were on the scene playing out before us. Security personnel and EMTs rushed in with alarmed faces, as fire suppression systems deployed from within the megastructure. Smoke billowed within the tower into the massive glass pyramid, as coughing diplomats hurried out; a few had sustained injuries, though they looked like staffers. Most likely, survivors were the ones aside from the actual delegates, which meant…we’d just assassinated the Consortium’s species leaders in one fell swoop. The paranoid bastards had extensive continuity of government and line of succession plans, so it wasn’t like we’d killed the system itself by taking out a few figureheads. This was, however, a public embarrassment and a grave wound to its leadership.
Aulan said Cherise and I didn’t have to go for the big guns immediately, but there was no time to work ourselves up to this. Hitting the delegates makes a clear statement; let us go, or we’ll attack you at the heart without any reservation. It’s a rallying cry for the Jaslips.
A Krev reporter raced up to the scene, speaking to a camera drone. “As you can see, some kind of explosive device has been triggered within the Delegates Tower, somehow having gotten past the tight security measures: evading detection and memory scanners. Details are scarce, but early reports suggest it was set off in the area that the delegates were meeting. We’ve also heard from security chatter that there are casualties, which could spell a catastrophic event for Consortium leadership.”
“You know, if there was ever a fire in the caverns, that fell on security. Minimal training and basic equipment in the control room,” Cherise spoke rotely, with brown eyes dazed and distant. “God forbid we couldn’t stop it. The heat is so incredibly powerful, that I had the dark thought of what it’d be like if we got trapped underground. Only that elevator that fits a few people at once…I guess you pack the rest on a train to the mines, and pray it doesn’t spread that far.”
“Notably, Jaslip representative Frenelda was absent, leaving her species as an obvious suspect—and not precluding her own personal involvement. She has long since claimed executive privilege, dodging scans in the name of state secrets, but that may not be permitted in light of her fortuitous absence today.” The Krev reporter posted herself in front of the smoking building, and tapped a hand to her ear, hearing some information. “Okay, this just in: the Jaslip Independence Brigade has posted a message claiming responsibility for the attack, and promising that ‘more tyrants’ blood will spill.’ The swiftness of a prerecorded statement being delivered to the press leaves little doubt of their claim.”
Tears welled in Cherise’s eyes. “I wouldn’t know how snow works, Quana, but you’re probably not at the same risk of wildfires breaking out, or a spark falling from one of your creations, lighting up the ground. We thought about how so much could go wrong. We knew all it would take was one accident to damn our whole colony. I’ve never seen a real, uncontained fire. It happens so quickly.”
“Stop talking,” I whispered, laying a tail on her wrist. “You’re just saying words to calm yourself, but that isn’t going to help. Take a deep breath. It’s the same corrupt, heartless bastards who worked your people half to death, who oppress and secretly murder Jaslips, and gave the orders not to share the news about the fleet failing. They brought this on themselves, okay?”
“I’m not torn up over them. They got their just desserts. No, I’m sad for us, and how we’ve become the same as them. This wasn’t where I saw myself, when I wanted to safeguard humanity’s future. The level-headed, voice of reason died today. You’re right, Quana; Taylor and Gress can never know we did this awful thing. None of the people I know can ever find out.”
“I won’t tell a soul.”
“What if they can just…see that I’m different? What if they figure it out? Gress was a damn policeman.”
“There’s been no mention of humans, so there’s no reason they should suspect anything. I’m cleared by association. I never left your side on Avor. I feel dirty too, like my fur is crawling, but it’ll be fine. That’s just our conscience getting out of line.”
My holopad buzzed, and I checked it with a bit of reluctance; I felt sick to my stomach, not in the mood for conversation. Despite my reassurance to Cherise, I was terrified of getting caught too. All it would take was a single piece of evidence that implicated us, and we’d be hauled off to a black site: discovered. The surveillance apparatus needed a mere hint that we were behind this, which was why our holopad was on a private network, away from prying ears. I forced myself to look at the caller, and my hackle fur flattened as I saw it wasn’t an unknown number. With the risk of exposing the operation no longer a concern, Aulan had paid us a call to congratulate us on our efforts.
If anyone can restore our convictions and soothe the unease, it’s Aulan. The way he speaks, you can’t help but believe he wants what’s best, and that what’s being done is necessary.
“Quana and Cherise, I’d like to thank you for pulling off what was no doubt a difficult operation to go through with. There is a cause here greater than ourselves, and the delegates were an obstacle—make no mistake,” Aulan said, and I was glad I’d placed him on speaker. “But they were still people and lives. We’re all here for you if you need to talk about this, and I expect you to spend time processing the magnitude of this before we even think of giving you similar missions. We care for you, like we do all of our own.”
Cherise cleared her throat, trying to sound steely. “Thank you, Aulan. Seeing the damage makes it hit home, and then it’s real. Handing the package off was easy, but having time to think about it…”
“I understand. We didn’t want you to be caught or implicated, but it must’ve felt like an eternity. There’s a dissonance between seeing something so small, and imagining it can pack so much force. I could tell you that it’s easier just to do it, and not to think of the consequences, but that would be silencing the best part of yourself. It’d make you like them.”
“Honestly, I don’t see how we’re different from them. We have a better cause but, what we actually do; I can’t say I like who I am. It’s something I have to live with now.”
“They do not need a reason other than self-gain; you know the difference. Enduring this terrible feeling means that you still want what’s right, and take no joy in deaths—even of reprehensible enemies. Experience will teach you how to cope with this doubt and uncertainty. Our survival calls for many drastic measures. We may wish it was not needed, but hold onto the fact that because of your resolve, we’re one day closer to freedom from death row. This is the grim reality, sister.”
“I wish I could channel half of your belief,” I murmured. “We are different from them. We didn’t start this; this started when they bombed our planet. Survival is our cause.”
“That’s exactly right, Quana. As long as we’re here, they’d have no hesitation to destroy our enclaves for the greater good. We have so much to fight for, and the pain of losing what little we have left; I cannot bear to lose my people. Remember Earth and Esquo. That’s why we press on, and why I know those who’ve fallen to monsters in our pasts would smile on the hard decisions you made.”
Cherise nodded, gaze flitting away into the land of memories. “They’d want us to save humanity. That’s why the ark ships were sent…to see that we carry on.”
“Your loyalty to your species’ welfare is not something I see often. You are strong, human, and you have shown more reason and kindness than any alien I’ve met. I’m honored to call you a friend, to myself and all Jaslips. You have my word that we won’t forget any of this, and we’ll ensure that your mission—carrying on your species—succeeds. We’ll both rise to our former glory, wherever and whenever that may be.”
“That’s all I want. I wish we could live our lives in peace, Aulan, with any bloodshed or alien madness. I just want to exist.”
“That is as simple a wish as can be had. Having that certainty denied to you is a tragedy. You can’t deny that the right to exist is a sensible thing to pursue by any means necessary. My heart goes out to you for having to do so. One day, you will not be forced to fight for table scraps.”
“And we won’t either!” I declared, feeling a fierceness return to my chest.
“That is exactly right! We will hide from no one—bow to no one! We’ll find our comforts in the knowledge that nothing could break us. I know it’s soon to ask of you both, but there is one more step. Convince the residents of Tellus that the war is lost, and the Consortium isn’t sharing the truth. I’m forwarding the footage as evidence to be leaked, despite the risk to our source. There’s much more at risk than any one of us, including Frenelda.”
Frenelda is fucked anyway, because of the bombing; they’ll know that, at a minimum, she had a very helpful “tip.” I’m not sure how much she’s aware of, but the fact that she’s feeding information the extremists means they’ll find her guilty.
Cherise’s features hardened, since this was the task she bore the most certainty in. “I’ll be more than happy to spread the word, everywhere that I can. I want Tellus to know the truth, and put Hathaway in the hot seat. The mayor is barely human, if he’d hide something like that after all we’ve suffered.”
“You deserve the truth; the dignity of knowing what’s coming. Because of you, everyone shall have that soon. I thank you again, Cherise Benson and Quana. Good luck to you both.”
Aulan disconnected from the call, having shored up the cracks in our frazzled faith. We’d shaken the Consortium to its core, and we knew the reason why we’d done it was critical. This wasn’t a time to get lost in doubts, or fall into shock over killing a few of our oppressors. A wicked snarl crossed my face as I locked eyes with the human, before we leapt from our moping states. The two of us had a job to do: warn Tellus of the threat looming over us in light of the drone strike’s failure. The time to make preparations for a new ark was now, not when it was too late to escape without a trace.