A booming voice issued from the transmitter, shaking the dark chambers.

“The Avatar has been swayed. The will of the August One has been revealed. I grow to doubt this foreign power.”

There was a long silence, in which the quiet observer ventured a glance at the piercing eyes which stared out at him. “I have become aware of your exchange with First Governor Cryus,” The great voice continued, causing the being to divert her gaze. “The one called the Overseer will arrive shortly.”

The earth-shaking voice had asked no questions, but still it paused momentarily. “Yes, my Lord,” She answered.

“Assure me that you will only fall prey to this machine's lofty speech if it proves to be true.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“For the Empire.”

“For the Empire, my Lord.”





“True” Morseer, Unknown Regions

No one had been permitted to accompany Mologg and Smarts on the journey which took them into the heart of the Drackmarian Empire, a region Mologg had once called the “Inner Sanctum”―though Smarts was fairly sure she hadn't intended to use the term in his presence.

The coordinates of this world and the route leading to it had been delivered to Smarts by First Governor Shakah Cryus personally. Not even Mologg knew where the world was, though she had been to it on several occasions. Such was the way of the Drackmarian Empire.

A trio of Drackmarian destroyers had set up positions around Smarts as soon as he entered the Morseer System, their support craft fanning out to encompass the core ship. They approached the world in unison, keeping Smarts in the center of their spherical formation. It was only upon reaching stable orbit within the world's orbital defense grid that the military escort broke off, pulling back to retake their positions within the planet's extensive defense network.

As the shuttle carrying Beta and Mlogg drew closer to the world below, Smarts turned his attention to the planet's defenses. They seemed . . . more active than those he had previously seen, more comprehensive than even Drackmar's defenses. It was obvious to him that this “True” Morseer was in much more danger than any of the Drackmarian Empire's holdings he had yet seen.

And then the shuttle had touched down and its passengers were debarking. They were met by a single Morseerian on the planet's night side, deep within the cavernous docking bay reserved for such clandestine meetings. “Greetings,” The Morseerian began, gesturing openly with her four hands. “I am Regent Nabra, leader of Morseer. Welcome to the Inner Sanctum.”

She gestured with two hands toward an awaiting groundcar, and the trio set off immediately. “Tell me, what has brought you to First Morseer?”

“I have a promise to keep,” Smarts answered. “First Governor Cryus informed me that Morseerian historical records predating the colonization of Morseer are sealed. I have come here with his consent to request access to those records. I need to know what happened all those years ago.”

Regent Nabra folded her hands. “If there is one thing the Morseerians and Drackmarians have always shared, it is our secrecy. Our historical records have been concealed for a reason.” The Regent paused for a moment, considering the droid. “I find it hard to believe that the First Governor would compromise the location of First Morseer for the sake of your historical curiosity, Overseer.”

“Right now, as we speak, in the deepest depths of your soul, there is a battle raging. You fight to repel the growing despair, to turn it back and cast it away. But the best you can ever hope for is stalemate; to persist in your shame, suffering, and death-in-life.”

“This is the price we must pay for our atrocities,” Regent Nabra responded. “Defiance is not an option.” There was a cold, detached acceptance in her tone, and it chilled Smarts to the core.

“You are free to live in whatever depths of damnation you choose,” Smarts replied bitterly, “but the people of Morseer have chosen a different path, and I have committed myself to blazing that path. Do not stand in the way of those seeking redemption.”

“Are you threatening me, Overseer?”

Smarts twisted Beta's head back and forth. “I'm begging you.”

Smarts had been granted landing clearance on one of First Morseer's government landing pads. He had interfaced directly with the Morseerian database, scanning through thousands of reopened data files. He had been working at full capacity for days, correlating information, running probabilities, and exploring even the most unbelievable paths that presented themselves.

Finally he had it. At least he thought he did.

“You want access to the Eastern continent?” Regent Nabra asked, disbelieving. “It's out of the question.”

“Regent―” Beta's outburst was cut off by Smarts, and his own voice replaced the overly excited droid's.

“I must test a theory.”

“What theory could lead you to desecrate our most sacred site?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” Smarts replied coolly, folding Beta's hands to mirror the regent's stance.

Nabra turned to walk away, and Smarts had become familiar enough with Morseerian physiology to recognize the brimming rage she was trying to conceal. “You're wrong,” He said calmly, eliciting an angry glare from the Morseerian. “I believe there remains a chance to heal your people. You have lived with your sorrows for long enough; I think I know how to free you from them.”

“Tell me,” She demanded, no longer playing at diplomacy or cordiality. Nabra had ruled her people for an age, suffering from the same inherent despair that gripped every member of her race, felt doubly by the fact that she could do nothing to alleviate their despair. She―as so many others―told herself that such was the price that her people had to pay for their past atrocity, but she never believed it. She couldn't believe it. It had been so long ago. Why―how―could the darkness still haunt them so?

“You have long been aware of a collective subconscious shared by the Morseerian people,” Smarts began.

“Of course,” Nabra confirmed. “It's through that subconsciousness that our . . . our curse is passed on. The last survivor of the Eastern Massacre has long been dead, and still the memories haunt us. It is . . . it is . . .”

“Not your fault,” Smarts interjected, drawing a look of confusion from Nabra. “Thousands of years ago, the Morseerian people took up arms against their neighbors to the East and waged a war the likes of which this world had never before seen.”

“They were our brothers!” She exclaimed, the mention drawing up some un-lived memory, some shadow of even darker despair . . . some hopelessness that was not her own.

“A brother species, yes,” Smarts confirmed, not even daring to try to empathize with the leader of such a broken people. “You fed off of your own hatred. Your entire species was brought into a mindless rage. You fought a war to end all wars, a war of extermination.”

Nabra was nodding her head, weeping, having collapsed to the floor where she held herself up with two hands as she covered her face with the others. “We were losing, and then the Drackmarians came.”

“They deceived us,” Mologg snarled, obviously angry at having to recount the historical record. “We came to their aide, and―”

“―we used their weapons to exterminate our brothers,” Nabra finished, breathing heavily as she struggled to her feet, fighting back the terrible half-memory that wasn't her own. “The Eastern Continent was laid to waste, and even before the ash had settled, we knew what we had done.”

“Emperor Drackmar had given his word,” A new voice entered the conversation. “The Morseerian people were subjects of the Empire. There was no turning back. There is no turning back.”

Everyone present had turned to the Avatar, the Drackmarian bearing one prosthetic arm and wrapped in robes that all but concealed its identity.

“And so they became our new brothers,” Nabra continued. “But they could not heal the horrors which haunt us all. Since the dawn of civilization, we had lived in peace. In twelve years we erased our noble, gentle, merciful brothers from existence. The Eastern Continent has not been visited since the dead were returned to their rightful, ancestral home.”

“You killed them all,” Smarts continued, “and it was only then that you realized the atrocity you yourselves had committed?”

“Yes,” Nabra confirmed, breathless.

“No,” Smarts countered. “You're wrong. You've all been wrong, all this time.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I need to go to the Eastern Contintinent. I need to see for myself.”





Two days later

No one was sure why the Avatar had come, and it hadn't made any effort to express the purpose of its visit. Smarts got the impression that he wasn't supposed to ask.

Whatever the case, it had joined Regent Nabra and Mologg in the small meeting Smarts had called. It was time for him to explain himself.

The room's large holoprojector sprang to life, showing two distinct animals. The first was a creature any sentientologist or evolutionary biologist would identify immediately as an evolutionary cousin of the Morseerian species. The second was of a considerably different build, but sharing a number of characteristics which a trained eye would note, suggesting the two had shared a common ancestor at some point in the ageless past.

“Regent, I would assume you only recognize one of these creatures?”

“Yes, but what does this have to do with anything?”

“The first specimen diverged from your evolutionary tree during the last great evolutionary jump of your species. As such, its genetic makeup is remarkably similar to yours, and its physiological layout shares more likenesses than differences.

“Your point, Overseer?”

“I have checked historical records of this species' migration and social development, and found instances which didn't seem to make sense. There was something quite obviously missing from this equation that would explain the planet-wide changes which have occurred to the entirety of this species in recorded time.”

“Are you trying to say they share a collective subconscious similar to ours?”

“Yes, and I'm trying to explain why all of your theories have been wrong.” The first image vanished and the second expanded to fill the entire screen. “This life form resides solely on the Eastern Continent, and though it was undoubtedly brought to near extinction during the war, its population has recovered in the time since. It is an evolutionary cousin of the Easern sapiens, the closest surviving link to the species.”

“What does it matter?” Mologg barked, obviously growing tired of this nonsense.

“I believe these two species are linked,” Smarts explained as the first image reappeared on the holoprojector, “on a subconscious level that cannot be measured directly.”

“What you're suggesting is―”

“The War that saw the annihilation of the Morseerians' brother species could not be stopped, once it had begun. The two sides were linked, unbreakably and imperceptibly, to one another. As your hatred for them grew, it only fueled their hatred for you. You, like your evolutionary cousins, shared in a subconsciousness that transcended species. The two sapient species which once dominated this world were bound to one another by a means I cannot understand, but have succeeded in showing.

“This war was not your fault; this extinction was not your fault.”

“No,” Nabra mumbled, “No, no . . .”

“If the Drackmarian Empire had made contact with them first, I am sure that it would be you who were now extinct.”

“NO!”

“This pathological suffering felt by your people is a byproduct of losing one half of a bond that most species have never held. You need your brothers; you always have and you always will.”

“Nothing can be done,” The Avatar stated firmly, as if to bring an end to the discussion. “We must live with what has happened.”

Smarts shook Beta's head, and a new image appeared on the holoscreen. “I believe we can reconstruct the other Morseerian species' genetic code. We can recreate them, and in so doing reconstruct the shattered psyche of the Morseerian people.”

“That is out of the question,” The Avatar responded. “Drackmarian law forbids the practice of genetic manipulation or the use of cloning facilities. It is our way.”

“I have the means to save these people from themselves!” Smarts shouted, Beta's vocodor screeching oddly as it strained to fully approximate the Drackmarian-toned outburst. “I made a promise to First Governor Cryus and the people of Morseer. I will not rest until I have saved them.”

“This path is shut. If another does not exist, then none shall pass.” With that oddly-worded piece of information, the Avatar of Drackmar turned and left.

Smarts moved Beta immediately toward the regent, setting the droid's hand lightly on her shoulder. “Regent Nabra, I can do this. We can do this. Help me heal your people. Help me save your people.”

“The will of Drackmar has been spoken,” She said softly, frailly. “I am bound by duty to abide by its dictates.”

Beta jerked away from Nabra, running after the Avatar. When he reached the Drackmarian, he grabbed its mechanical arm, tearing it free in one great burst of strength. As unnatural blood spurted from the creature's exposed shoulder, it turned calmly toward the droid. “Why are you still alive?”

“I am the Avatar of Drackmar, First Emperor of the Chosen People.”

“You are an organiform [I[droid[/I],” Smarts spat, casting the mechanical appendage aside. “Your existence was outlawed by Emperor Drackmar in the hours before his death, as was the practice of cloning and gene-augmentation. By what right do you exist?”

“By the same right that has refused me a true arm for over a thousand years,” The Avatar replied blankly. “My creation predates the Emperor's decree. I am the last of my kind; free from the threat of destruction, condemned to live in solitude. The is the Way of Drackmar.”

The machine built of flesh and bone and blood reached down and took hold of its discarded arm. It turned and continued on its way, its unnatural properties already causing its false blood to coagulate.

Smarts watched helplessly as the creature disappeared in the distance. He had solved the problem, he had followed the lines of logic to their natural conclusions; he could not save the Morseerian soul.

“I do not know what to do, Mologg.”

The Drackmarian was sitting in an overly large chair set in the middle of the docking bay, conversing in solitude with Smarts. “The Avatar was the personal assistant of Emperor Drackmar, and is the sole survivor of a long-dead age. Even so, it alone carries the living memories of the Emperor: He who Gave us Unity. The Avatar is a reminder of where we came from, of the path we must never again walk.”

“It has chosen the damnation of its alleged brothers over the violation of a law that has become unjust,” Smarts stated dejectedly.

“The last decrees of Drackmar were issued while the soil of our conquests were still soaked with the blood of innocents, slain by the hands our creations. His declarations stand to ensure that such atrocity will never again be created. We possess the will to restrain ourselves; many of our constructs of war proved to be . . . less centered. We are a people born into war, but if given a choice we would choose another path. The Empire's Inner Sanctum has been expanded, contracted, and outright breached more times than I know; but even then we must not allow ourselves to become those things which we strive so valiantly against.”

“Then you support the Avatar's statement?” Smarts asked, daring to hope for an answer he knew he wouldn't get.

Mologg bowed her head. “I serve the Empire; it is beyond me to voice dissent.”

“Yet you have done so before,” He reminded.

Mologg huffed in annoyance. “The Avatar violated the law in an attempt to enforce something it deemed more important.”

“Which was?”

Mologg paused for a moment; the familiar sign of her deciding precisely what words to use were converting the features of her face yet again. “Isolation.” She apparently had decided on simplicity.

“How can you trust a thing with the law, when it violates that law of its own accord. How can the Avatar know when a law is unjust, if it cannot uphold those which we all recognize as just?”

“It is not my place to question the Avatar,” Mologg said, sounding ashamed.

“But you have done it before!”

Mologg shook her head. “It is not my place to question the Avatar.”

“Then whose is it? Who can? Need I take this matter to the Drackmarian Senate?”

“They abide by the same laws and edicts which the Avatar adheres to.”

“Except for those which you have challenged it by!” Smarts yelled, Beta's vocodor screeching once more. The droid's fists were balled, its postured contracted as if ready to pounce.

“I have given my word,” He said finally, seeming to relax a little. “I have promised to heal Morseer. What am I to do?”

“Choose another path; this one is closed.” Mologg's words seemed lifeless, helpless.

“Their is no other path,” Smarts said, a fact they both knew. “Morseer was founded as an attempt to escape their generational grief. That attempt failed long ago. Millions of Morseerians have set out on quests of solitude in hopes that the vast distances of the galaxy will free them from their mental binds. Those who return do so more desolate than before they had left; those who do not undoubtedly meet a worse fate. There is no escape, and there is no compensation. We must resurrect the other Morseerians. That is the only road that leads me to where I am going.”

Mologg fixed Beta with an icy stare. “Then you must leave, because there is no hope of your success.”





“I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do.”

The image smiled in an effort to offer some assurance. An effort which failed. “I hold the utmost faith in you, my good friend.”

Smarts shook his head in remorse, studying the Morseerian closely. “I fear that I may be unable to save you. I fear that the Empire may not allow me to do what I know is right.”

First Governor Cryus' face grew larger as he leaned closer to the holorecorder, an act which he carried out as if it would somehow make his coming comment more secure. “You have to push the regent. Hard. Don't let up; don't let her believe for a moment that you would give up.”

“I won't give up,” Smarts assured the Morseerian, “but I don't know what else I can do.”

“Push,” Cryus emphasized. “She's waiting for something from you; that much I know. Make her a believer. You've done it before. Trust me: you've done it before.”





“The Avatar has spoken. I consider the matter closed.”

“Get out.” The various Morseerians present cast rather curious glares at the droid. “Get out,” Beta restated, pointing to the door while he looked at the small group of aides. “Now.

“Get out, get out, get out!” He continued, moving toward them and waving them away. “Now!”

They scampered away in an instant after the Regent's begrudging nod of approval. “I don't believe you,” Smarts said flatly, turning his attention back to the Morseerian leader. “You play at acceptance of your despair, but you know how wrong it is. How can you be punished for an event that was out of your hands . . . out of your ancestors' hands? Once this conflict had begun, there was no way any of you could have stopped it.”

“Your points have been heard, Overseer. They have been deemed irrelevant.”

“Why did you allow the First Governor to dispatch me here in the first place? Why would you allow the location of your home to become compromised, unless you hoped for a solution? Do not tell me that protocol demanded you to accept the First Governor's request; do not tell me that it is the 'Drackmarian Way.' You want to see your people strong again, whole again, healed and at peace again. I will not stop until I see those very things accomplished. I beg you: do not stand in my way, Regent Nabra.”

The Morseerian eyed Beta curiously. “Is this a threat, Overseer?”

“If it being so helps me accomplish this task, then yes it is.”

The Regent tugged at her fingers with various hands in a rather odd display. “And if it being a threat does not help you achieve your goals?”

“I believe I have now crossed that line, Regent.”

She sat forward, demanding Smarts' full attention. “You should be aware that any attempt to conduct this . . . reengineering beyond the borders of Drackmarian Space will undoubtedly be considered a crime against the Drackmarian Empire and require a full military response.”

Smarts moved Beta forward a few steps, bending him down slightly to draw him that much closer to the seated Morseerian. “There is no power in the galaxy that can stop me from saving Morseer.”

“One word from me will have your vessel detained in orbit within two minutes. Your communications systems will be jammed, which will be all but pointless since you require Drackmarian relays to contact any Coalition world anyway. I need but to utter the word, and you will never escape this place.”

Smarts paused for a moment, tilting Beta's head oddly sideways. “You are aware that I have completed the reconstruction of the Other Morseerian genetic code?” He asked calmly, as if he hadn't heard the Regen'ts threat.

“Yes,” She said simply, not seeing where he was taking this.

“I encoded it within my last dispatch to First Governor Cryus.”

Nabra's facial expressions changed to reflect something Smarts had not yet observed from a Morseerian, though he most closely associated it with . . . outright frustration. “Why are you doing this, Overseer?”

“Because I have to. Because I have demanded it of myself. Because I have sworn to protect all the peoples of the Cooperative, even against themselves. Because my words carry meaning, and the moment they stop doing so I will become . . .” The silence stretched toward eternity as Smarts compelled himself to finish his statement “. . . lost to my humanity.”

This was the moment Nabra had been waiting for. He had shown himself to her, had proved not only his devotion to her people, but that which compelled it. “You told the First Governor that you are the Cooperative. What did you mean by that?”

The droid let out a mechanical sigh. “I trust we can keep that particular utterance between the three of us?”

“What did you mean by it?” Nabra asked again, forcefully.

“It consumes me, and I preserve it. I am essential to its function, but it serves me no finite purpose. I gain nothing tangible, nothing that can be bought or sold. I am the Cooperative, because I pay with my own soul the sacrifice which it requires to survive, and beyond that: to prosper. What I am has changed to fulfill what it is meant to be. I am the Cooperative, because without me, it would require far more than its people can give.”

“And you are prepared to give that?”

“I already have begun to do so, and will continue until one of us passes away.”

Nabra finally leaned back in her chair, folding her hands and setting them in her lap. “I will tell you something that I should not, Overseer.”

Beta straightened up and took a couple steps backward. “What is that, Regent?”

“I have been ordered to weigh your words and judge their worth.”

“Oh? And what have your scales found?”

Regent Nabra let out a strange, wheezing laugh. “You have tipped undeniably toward justice.”

“So can we revive your brothers now?” Smars asked sarcastically.

Nabra began fiddling with her fingers again. “I think so, yes.”

That―to say the least―was not what the Overseer had expected.





Regent Nabra had dispatched orders to reopen a long-dormant facility on the outskirts of the planet's primary Drackmarian military garrison. It housed over a thousand dormant cloning cylinders, one of the few such facilities left in all of the Empire. She had assembled over two thousand loyal Morseerian troops, and along with Mologg, Beta, and a group of desperately hopeful Morseerian geneticists, they set out for the Drackmarian facility.

They were stopped on the outskirts of the compound by an army of Drackmarian troops, the Avatar at their head. This was the confrontation that Nabra had been fearing, but she had set her course; she would not back down now. “Your arrival here is a breach of Drackmarian law. By order of Drackmar, you all must be arrested and tried for crimes against the Empire.”

Nabra stepped from behind her protective guards, facing the Avatar boldly, an uncharacteristic stiffness to her movements. “There are laws which enslave men, and there are laws which set them free. I stand now to set my people free.”

“You do not see clearly, Regent,” The Avatar responded, folding its arms as it took up a stoic stance. “What if you do succeed? What if you grow your replacement souls, what if they restore your tortured minds, what if serenity returns to your world? How can you ever hope to stop history from repeating itself?”

“We would be there,” Smarts shouted, “as I hope would you,” he added with a hint of condescension. “I would be there, to stop the cycle, to stop the dynamo.”

Nabra lifted her top right hand high into the air, holding up a silver orb from which a monstrous dark form arose. “YOU WILL ONLY FALL PREY TO THIS MACHINE'S LOFTY SPEECH IF IT PROVES TO BE TRUE.”

The dark image vanished and the thundering voice fell silent. Nabra dropped her hand. “This 'machine' stands now with me against you, and he has shown me all of the proof that I require.” She paused, calmly surveying the shocked and disbelieving Drackmarian faces that now stood a little less certainly against her. “As Regent of this Sovereign Protectorate, and in accordance with the Drackmarian Way, I order you to stand aside.”

The Avatar alone seemed unfazed by the display, and it alone challenged her demand. “None defies―”

“I defy you!” Nabra shouted, pointing at the Avatar with her right hands. “In the name of the Empire! In the name of justice! For the peace that shall reign, that hatred may have no home. Stand down! Brothers, all; stand, and behold our redemption.” She raised all four of her arms into the air, and the wall of Drackmarians broke, and the path to redemption opened before them.




The Avatar had vanished back to wherever it came from. The Drackmarian garrison had returned to its standby state. Morseerian technicians and doctors had descended upon the cloning facility. Regent Nabra had happily returned to her office, content to stay well away from armed confrontation for the foreseeable future.

Smarts had been unable to gain any information on the mysterious being whose recording the Regent had played. He would have believed it to be the long-dead Emperor, if not for its apparent reference to Smarts. Whatever the case, the project had begun, and hopefully results would be seen soon.

The Regent had asked an audience of Smarts, and he had been happy to oblige. Stepping into the now-familiar office, he took a seat and marveled at the being before himself. She had just defied the Drackmarian Empire; fortunately, she had been just in doing so.

“I wish to speak with you about this endeavor,” She explained, laying her four hands out on the table between them. “The infants will be raised as Morseerians. We will make no distinction between them and us. Our historical records have been unsealed, and soon the history of our people will be made known publicly. When they are of age, the Other children will learn of our shared past alongside our own kind, and together we will endeavor to make peace where once we could only bring war.

“The Eastern Continent has been reopened for settlement, and soon new cities will rise atop the ruins of the old. We will never be the same again.”

Smarts felt the need to speak up. “Regent, you must understand that this may not work. If I am wrong and―”

“Whatever the outcome,” She interjected, “this is the future of the Morseerian people. We have resurrected our long-fallen brothers, and we will not repeat the mistakes of our past.”

Smarts nodded Beta's head. “Very well, then.”

“Now, there is another item I wish to discuss with you.”

“Oh?”

Nabra nodded. “I need you to extend to me a formal request for First Morseer to join the Cooperative of Systems.”

Beta's head twisted curiously. “I'm sorry: what?”

“We will join our brothers in blood, faith, and hope in the great endeavor that is the Cooperative of Systems. Drackmarian law requires you to extend the request, and I believe I have broken enough Drackmarian laws for for one lifetime.” She smiled with some difficulty, holding the unnatural gesture for only the briefest moment.

“Regent, if this doesn't work―”

“Then we will find the solution together, or live with the consequences of daring to hope . . . together. We have set our course; Morseer will not turn away from you, because you have not turned away from us.”






One month later

Doctor Shiren dropped his datapad, barely catching himself on the table as he began to collapse to the floor. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he finally staggered over to the canister nearby, running his hands over the smooth glass, staring disbelievingly at the tiny form growing within it. He couldn't think, could hardly move, didn't dare to look away.

An alarm had begun sounding in the background, but the harsh bleating receded to a dull drone as the unborn being reached out to him through a bond he hadn't been sure until that moment that they shared. His four hands caressed the glass softly as he regained enough composure to stand steadily on his two feet. He began singing a strange song, one almost alien even to him.

With a fleeting thought he realized that the siren had been sounded by another doctor somewhere else, another who had quite possibly found himself in a situation not unlike Shiren's. But then the thought passed as the doctor continued to stare at the tiny form. He touched his head to the glass, trying to get just a little closer to the creature within, trying to glean some new sensation from the unborn savior.

He rapped gently on the glass with one hand as two others continued to feel its contour, as if that somehow would give him greater understanding of just what was happening. But his eyes: his eyes never wavered from the being behind that glass.

For the first time in his life―for the first time in generations of his people―a Morseerian found himself at peace.