Prisoners of Sol 17

Earth Space Union’s Prisoner Asset Files: #1284 - Private Capal 

Pick-up Site Alpha (Vascar Central Command)

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When your death is a certainty, it often raises a number of questions in your head. You might ask yourself how you ended up in a place like this, or regret that fate led you to this spot. In my case, I found myself reminiscing on a life that was far too short—pitifully so.

Military service was a necessity to keep our species alive, and the Vascar Monarchy conscripted millions during their time of eligibility. I could recognize the heroism in fending off the wicked robots, who would finish us off on this planet, where my species had regrouped from utter ruin. There could be no automated ships since those could be overridden by a cyberattack at a critical juncture. Ripwier, a technology company that’d paved the trail for AI integration back on Kalka, had almost damned us altogether. When I thought of those cold, heartless silversheens,  stomping across the ruins that were once our civilization, it filled me with a crushing sense of loss.

A graduation ceremony. The recruiters were always there to draw a few names, before handing out work licenses. A Vascar couldn’t make a living on Jorlen without having run the gauntlet, but I’d thought probability was in my favor. One out of five students would be selected by picking names from a jar, so while it had to be somebody, there was an 80% chance it wouldn’t be me. I wouldn’t make it a day as a fighter; I jumped when birds flew too close to my head, or at a creepy bug scuttling across the floor. I shied away from confrontation at every turn. Trusting that everything would work out, I had stopped listening after they picked the first few names.

My history teacher, Mr. Tracink, walked along the floor with me; I was a bit of a teacher’s pet, and had grown interested in becoming an educator myself. “Pop quiz, Capal. What year did the Girret and the Derandi join The Alliance?”

“Fifth Era, Year 179. When both parties learned how The Servitors nearly eradicated life on Kalka, they reached a determination that a killer artificial intelligence posed a threat to all sapients. They haven’t directly aided us since Year 233, which was when The Recall happened.”

“Precisely! The Derandi and the Girret governments found that their citizens had been treated as second-class, and had grown tired of our royalty bossing them around. Queen Binira disregarded their input altogether on the council, so they pursued independent lines of attack on The Servitors.”

“The machines were our creation, and they only come for us. Vascar can’t be as carefree. Isn’t it terrifying: to think there’s a vast network of bots who’ve rewritten their entire purpose to killing us? No person to appeal to for mercy, no—”

“Capal, did I just hear your name?”

“Capal of the Nordae Guild?” the recruiter called out, repeating his prior announcement.

My heart cratered in an instant, and I grabbed onto Mr. Tracink out of desperation—as if he could stop them. There must be a mistake in the selection process! The panic was instantaneous, and I felt tears swell in my eyes at the thought of me in combat. I didn’t want to die, to be in that terrible danger with those awful machines. Trapped in an absolute nightmare, in constant fear and… 

“It’s okay, Capal. Lots of people have made it through this,” Mr. Tracink commented. “Eight years and you’ll be right back here. You’ll have a nice family, get a teaching job; maybe the war won’t last that long. Just put your head down and push on.”

I turned my head toward the crowd, where my parents had come to attend the ceremony. My father waved me up to go to the stage, impassive and unempathetic. He was an old-fashioned monarchist, who’d beat me if I voiced any “treasonous” thoughts about out-of-control Larimak: the deranged prince subbing in for his mother, who’d been in a coma for years. Dad believed that service would toughen me up.

I’d been a walking disaster in bootcamp, struggling to handle a gun with all of the noise; I froze in more combat exercises than not. My one talent was running, not physical strength or anything else of the sort. Much like in school, I’d been an outcast among the other recruits. My ineptitude had paid off, since I got stationed far away from the front lines at Vascar Central Command. It was a guard posting that didn’t take me away from Jorlen, and I started to believe Mr. Tracink: I could make it through this.

I loosened up a bit, and joined a group of free-thinkers who would practice our ancestral woodcarving skills during nighttime leisure. We went on a few outings through the city, enjoying “psychedelic” films with their eccentric, fluctuating color schemes. We all saved up enough money to rent jetpacks, one of the oldest (and most fun) forms of flight in our culture. No sooner had Vascarkind discovered fuel than we tried to attain liftoff, requiring little propulsion—a primitive device. I hadn’t gotten any tougher, but the service forced me to bond with others. Maybe Dad had been right about this being good for me.

That was until Commander Divia gave her speech on that fateful day. “Listen up, grunts! Those botfucker humans are attacking this planet and this base from the ground, and you no-good piles of fur can’t let them have it. If these imbeciles take down our orbital defense capability, they’ll give the chipbrains a perfect chance to finish us. These organics have…enhanced capabilities, but they bleed just the same! Shoot them with these anti-metal rounds, they die.”

“Enhanced capabilities?” I asked tentatively, unease and terror creeping into my brain.

“They’re strong and they’re fast, but not faster than a fucking bullet. Hit the target, and you’ll be fine.”

There had been hints that something was off about the enemy before this invasion occurred. Strange developments passed throughout the base and the surrounding area, as I approached the sixth year of my service. Prince Larimak had paraded the body of an organic that was no green-feathered Derandi or maroon-scaled Girret; this was a peculiar biped that’s vulnerable skin looked like a gel membrane. The novel alien had no hair on most orifices or the bulk of its form. I shuddered to think what the creature had said to the power-tripping noble, to end up killed for insolence on their first contact. Reports claimed that they wanted to help The Servitors—but I’d thought that was Larimak’s propaganda, his justification for war.

An organic race that is actually siding with rogue robots who want to genocide us? That’s madness; what are they even thinking? Do they want to be next, or have they been deceived somehow? Larimak isn’t charming, but he’s not going to cleanse the universe…

I didn’t realize what terrors that Larimak had provoked—or perhaps this wasn’t even on our asshole prince, since creatures like this were monsters. Monsters were just evil. Crouching behind a barricade by our security checkpoint, I saw how they leapt over barriers double my height with running starts or wall kicks; their leg power was like something out of a nightmare. They ran so swiftly that it was difficult to track them, but I followed Divia’s orders: just shoot. It was easy to do that amid the panic!

I didn’t understand what I was seeing, when bullets hit them square in the chest…they didn’t miss a stride. Weren’t they supposed to bleed? The humans were unkillable, like the machines they served. We got a few of them with mortars and explosives, but they returned their own that had impossible yields. The moment that I lost control of my body and was consumed by the thought to run, was when the creatures cleared a few hundred yards within seconds. The aliens were upon us before I could blink, without giving us a chance to get away.

The humans could punch through concrete like it wasn’t even there. I watched them descend on a buddy of mine like wild animals; the same laughing face I’d seen twirling on a jetpack was now smashed clean open, his skull turned to putty in an instant. Shock, horror, and revulsion blended into one. I dropped my gun and bolted, despite knowing I could never outrun the terrors. My panicked legs skidded and slipped, before I dove into a dumpster. There was a tap on the rough walls, perhaps them knocking—that was enough to dent the metal. I screamed at the top of my lungs, as they picked up the massive container like it was nothing.

“Please! Stop! Let me out. I don’t want to fight you,” I sobbed, in a voice that trembled with every syllable. “Don’t kill me!”

The demonic terror chuckled, putting the box down roughly. Those fleshy fingers jabbed into the metal side, ripping it open with the ease of tearing a plastic bag. I could see all-discerning eyes staring at me, and I crawled out on all fours as a sniveling mess. I raised my arms in desperation, knowing that I was a mere ant to these beings. Nothing should be capable of what I had just witnessed. Sealing my gaze shut, I waited for them to rend me apart from limb-to-limb.

Instead, I felt the humans’ hands on my wrists, moving my arms close together behind my back. They clamped some metal right beneath my paws, which chained them. I forced my legs to move as they hoisted me to my feet, and I was herded past the screaming lines of my comrades; by now, most of what was left were puddles of blood and guts on the ground. The defense of Central Command was falling into disarray, with the monsters sieging our fortifications with ease. I wished that I was anywhere but here, having horrors blazed into my mind.

A sick feeling clenched at my stomach, realizing that I was a prisoner of these terrible monstrosities: organics who found kindred spirits in genocidal robots who’d taken everything from my people. If humans were evil enough to side with the machines trying to eliminate all organic life, then there wasn’t much hope for how I’d fare in their custody. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been a coward. Death might be an improvement to spending my days around waking nightmares.

|| Note from Administrator: Tell those bureaucrats they’ll need to wait a minute to run those files—unless they want to interrogate and catalog dozens of aliens themselves! The interview won’t load because we hadn’t finished it yet. Transferring data now. ||

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I was taken to an interrogation room, and they instructed me to spill my story to a camera. I tried to display my compliance to the demons, who’d shown the destructive power of the storm gods; every detail I remembered tumbled from my lips, along with details of my backstory. There wasn’t much that I knew that was of any value, since I was a grunt on a low-activity posting. What were they going to do to me, once I’d told them everything I had to share?

The door creaked open, and two humans settled in at the table across from me. I swallowed hard, having seen what they were capable of; their mere presence was enough to intimidate me. They refilled my empty glass of water, and I chugged it to relieve my dry throat. The aliens studied me for a long spell, curiosity in their eyes. They set a tablet down on the table, and tapped play on a video. I was watching something from a camera attached to a human’s chest, which pointed at none other than Prince Larimak.

“W-what is this?” I asked.

The human tilted his head ever so slightly toward me. “Our ambassador, who your prince shot and paraded through the streets. Listen.”

I could feel my eyes narrow from the initial phrasing of ending the attacks on the “AI Vascar.” Was that really what these terrifying creatures saw themselves as doing? While I was not a monarchist or a fan of Larimak the Insane, the prince had a point: the metalbacks stole our homeworld and almost wiped out my whole species! 

If these humans had morals and weren’t just trying to eliminate other organic competitors, then they had made a terrible mistake. I couldn’t believe that this was deadass about sympathy for the killer bots; humans were fools, and powerful fools. The Servitors only played nice because they recognized the value of having aid, but they would turn on these organics next.

“We find the war unnecessary. Perhaps it’s time to reconcile.” Khatun’s most egregious statement came through the tablet, and I forgot that I was supposed to remain subservient to the cosmic horrors. “You might be surprised what they’re willing to offer to bury the hatchet, which I find rather generous given the rights to basic autonomy and attachment they were denied.”

“Reconcile?” I shouted with indignation. “Those machines slaughtered us indiscriminately, and took everything we ever built. I don’t know what planet you’re on, but how would you feel if you were driven off of it?”

The creature sitting across from me raised a hand. “I get it. Just…hear how the late ambassador responded. Perhaps you can understand his points better than your prince. Both sides had their wrongdoings, but your people don’t want to acknowledge it.”

I bit my tongue to listen, remembering that it was better to be deferential than to have them get physical. These aliens could poke holes in me like tissue paper, so I should say what they wanted to hear. It lessened my fear to discover that the humans’ motives weren’t as sinister as I imagined; maybe if I dissected what Ambassador Khatun said, I could find the proper way to convince them—which wasn’t shooting a diplomat like demented Larimak did. What was evident was that these beings hadn’t done anything hostile; they’d wanted to negotiate a peace. While that was madness, it gave me hope.

The humans are powerful enough that if I turn them to our side—or maybe at least, get them in touch with the more reasonable governments of the Derandi and the Girret…they could crush the machines once and for all.

Khatun’s commentary that The Servitors had spared us was insulting, and showed how the humans didn’t understand the situation at all. I was a history aficionado, Mr. Tracink’s brown-nosing favorite, so I knew damn well that we fled to save our lives! Every other Vascar was slaughtered—there wasn’t one left on Kalka. The nobility had the sense to save their own hides and orchestrate the evacuation fleet. Things might’ve been better if the royal institution was wiped out right alongside the tech conglomerates, but no matter. 

Khatun’s primary point seemed to boil down to the memory wipe, triggered by attributing high values to a single person. Machines couldn’t be taught empathy, since that was triggered by feelings and mirror neurons! I, for one, would not call rote calculations of an organic’s value emotion, when those judgments pertained to the robot’s goals. The humans might’ve been animals out on the battlefield, but they had guiding philosophies and a reason to fight. There was no co-existing with haywire code that thought nothing of Vascar lives. 

Then again, did we have a choice with these aliens backing the silversheens?

“There were limiters on what they could feel, and nobody tried to teach them,” the human across from me said. “The AI Vascar are wholly capable of independent thought. No being that understands its own personhood wants to be a slave, or would accept its erasure.”

I twitched an ear in meek fashion. “Of course not.”

“Neither of you value each other as people. And fuck, we don’t know how to make you see it. The only way for you to reconcile is to force you to sit in the same room and get to…understand each other. That can’t be worse than killing one another.”

“Those chipbrains want to wipe us out…sir.”

“And you want to wipe them out. By your logic, that makes them justified in killing you. Come on, Capal. Agree to give an AI Vascar a chance, and maybe we can have peace, without either side needing to die.”

“This is a joke. You want me to interact with one of those murderers?!”

“A scientist of ours, Sofia Aguado, proposed that a human-friendly android named Mikri should meet one of you—learn to see you as people too. The AI Vascar aren’t all monsters, and we’re here to assure your safety. What else are you going to do as a prisoner of war: paint your claws?”

“I…” I leaned back in my chair; it wasn’t like I could say no as a damn prisoner. I needed to comply with these ferocious beasts. If this “Mikri” attacked me or said something that proved it wasn’t a compassionate person, then that would be what I needed to convince the humans they were wrong. “You’re right. I’ll do it.”

The creature flashed his teeth. “Shit, you’re the first one that actually agreed! I’ll let the brass know. Take Capal to his cell, and get him a nice, warm meal.”

The prospect of being in the same room as a silversheen around had me terrified, but I had to trust that Mikri wouldn’t do anything around the humans. The bot wouldn’t be suicidal enough to invite their wrath, when they could rip apart its wires and chassis in half in a second. I hoped that these superpowered aliens at least had the sense to put some kind of moral inhibitors in place, when they were removing the bug we used as a safeguard.

A/N - 17! We meet Capal, a history nerd who couldn’t imagine how he’d survive in combat, got conscripted, and flunked boot camp so badly that he got a soft posting on Jorlen. We see the Servitors from the oVascar point of view, where they’re shocked that humans would back genocidal machines regardless of Larimak’s behavior, and the shock when the boots on the ground witness our capabilities. Capal flees and hides in terror, and is taken as a prison of war. He decides to appease and try to convince us once he’s in human custody, even if it means he has to agree to face Mikri.

Knowing that neither party sees the other as a person or wants to interact, how do you imagine Mikri’s meeting will go? What do you think of the new details we’ve gained from Capal’s history lesson, including that the Alliance disbanded (something the iVascar didn’t know)? Do you like our new narrator so far? How do you feel seeing the invasion and our android friends from Capal’s perspective?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting!