POST
The circular metallic material that walled the interior of the lift sent him a twisted image of himself, the details of his purpleish jumpsuit melted with his white-colored façade. It was a strange metaphore to qualify as well the twisted self he had discovered, well-burried within his mind, this twisted version of himself he had discovered through his actions as an atavus. To discovered himself as such, as he had since his arrival on Earth, and before, pleased himself and the others by presenting himself as peaceful, calm and fragile, as he had eventually learned to believe in the truthfulness of this image of American Companion, or at least in the truthfulness of the ideals he had, for long, only pretended to defend - these ideals that were nothing but words when he had landed on Earth along with the few tens of other Taelons, when the Synod had presented its initial plan of what they named, in a way that, as he now could perceive, was incredibly cynical, their plan of what they named a slow conquest, these ideals that were part of a plan had slowly evolved, becoming dear to his heart, the words becoming truer and truer to his ears each time he spoke them - to find out in this way, that inside the peaceful being he was the embodiement of was trapped this monster of violence and of hunger, was vaguely obscene and deeply shocking. Because this discovery was not intimate and solitary, it was the admition to himself of the existence of this darker side. It was, on the contrary, a most public revelation, through which this darker side had been thrown to the people of Earth's wonderings. Humans and Taelons for whom he felt great respect had seen this beast inside of him, barely hidden, hovering beneath the surface, within for the opening, this beast that was trapped in each single Taelon and could escape at any moment. Also, it was not only what affected him, his image, that was troubling, it was how his. transformation had affected the public opinion, what would the Humans see in them after they had seen him revert in this and kill, murder, slaughter members of their kind. This fragility of the taelons psyche had been dangerously exposed. This was why he felt himself already touched by the whole commonality's reproaches, and expected no less of the Synod. Especially, no comfort, no care. At all. In fact, he would have to - and this he knew because he had been a member of the Synod during a time that was long enough to perceive their intentions correctly - to deny this very need for comfort. He had not to need comfort, at all.
This need for comfort that the Taelons were taught very young to bury within themselves - basic self-discipline, rely on what you must, accept no comfort and deny need. They had replaced it by the comfort, by the constant presence of the commonality, the comfort that it implied for them, to know that their thoughts were never solely theirs and never totally common either. They all could be rewarded for what was done. As no individual could be uniquely thanked for his actions. The theory of the individual did not exist amongst Taelons, there was only the commonality. It was forbidden to them to be themselves, to expect something as an individual being. As the commonality and its well-being had to be prior to everything else (and for the obvious good balance needed by the establishment of this thought- system, the commonality was never strong enough). They were nothing but cells, parts, separates parts that on their own could accomplish little but that joined with the whole could accomplish what was thought impossible. All of them were essential to the growth of this giant living being. The relation every of its members had with the commonality was a symbiosis : the members of the commonality would be unable to survive as Taelons without the constant support of this commonality, as the commonality itself as an ensemble could not exist, or would exist in a different way, if there were no living beings who lived by it. The Synod's say was that the loss of a few living beings could be compensated, but the loss of the support given by the commonality, the mental and emotional support that had allowed the taelon race to progress, the loss of this tuterage that linked all their minds, being the barrier between them and insanity, stopping them from becoming. what had Da'an been, this loss was unthinkable. Only to speak of this potential dissolution of the commonality was a crime that was highly punished.
For many Taelons, the sole notion, idea of individuality was ancient, irrelevant, atavistic in itself.
He felt alone, isolated, lonely, for he had just realized that there were some things, some questions that the commonality could not bring an answer to, or at least, not a valuable answer. The Taelons refused since so long, since so many generations, to believe that an individual being could accomplish things, by itself, wihtout the support of the commonality, that now, for Da'an to discover that it was not true. That some questions could not be answered by the mass. That one had to find thier own answer, without basing themselves on anyone else, or anything else than their own judgement. Their own individual judgement and morality. For a living being that had grown surrounded and tutored tightly by members of a commonality, to realize that the individual being had still some answers, its own answers, to find. it was a feeling of immense deception for Da'an who had always believed in the species he was part of, a feeling of solitude as well coming from the newly acquired fact that whether or not one was part of a commonality of minds, there were some answers that one had to answer for themselves. To discover both the real potential and the true nature of individuality. brought to him, and would have borught to any Taelon, a great fear. The fear to be wrong, to have been wrong, to have believe wrong for his whole life, the fear to be rejected, not to be accepted anymore. The fear to become marginal, or the most fearful of all things. the fear to know that he had been the only person to understand something that he realized was crucial. Something that Da'an would defend, that he had to defend, that he had to stand for before the Synod, this notion of individuality that would never be acknowledged by them. The fear of an unavoidable adversity for someone who had always sought acceptation was a nightmare.
His mind in fact was already starting to reason in an individualistic way. He was now opposing himself, an unique and individual being, to the whole commonality, basing himself on the theory, the certitude, that he, the individual, was right and that the commonality, the mass, was wrong. A Taelon would not have thought this way, the reasonning of a Taelon was to bend himself to whatever the commonality deemed right. One person could not be right when, facing a commonality composed of billions of beings, all the others said this one person was wrong. The Taelons sought acceptation before all. The ideas through the commonality spread slowly, carefully, as an unique being could never pretend to propose something that was completely new, that was entirely new, that had not been suggested by the commonality before him, then this idea's owner was not one being, but the whole ensemble of being. An individual could, merely, emit a slightly different point of view or approach of an idea that already did exist. The Taelon had never seen the need for more freedom of thought.
Da'an felt the lift touch the bottom of its controlled fall and saw the metallic doors open. He ignored where he was, this young man, the Major Liam Kincaid had brought him here, he had not opposed any resistance. His new, and second protector, had hid himself behind the supreme necessity to show him something which nature he had not been willing to reveal. Liam had justified this secrecy behind the fact that, apparently, Da'an could now understand this better, now that he had known what was waiting for the Taelons outside of the commonality - innuending both the positive freedom and the. regression. This young Kimera, a child, his age not going farther than a few days old, had a childish, naive and innocent trust in peace, in the possibility of peace, in good. It was nearly agreable to see, to witness that some still believe in this. But it was also sad to see with which wisdom and purity children were born, such wisdom that they would learn, with years passing, to lose. This young and naive mind, from a people of peaceful historians, would find himself involved in the worst of conflict. And this innocence would disappear quickly.
This innocence that was the opposite of what he had found within the beliefs of the Humans who were at his employment now. He had found in them a dark maturity, a maturity that many Taelons never gained, that Da'an - if he had not discovered and witnessed it - would have thought was impossible to gain within less than a century, the time of a human life. A moral and spiritual maturity that was dangerously close to the one of a Taelon. Their war, the last of Humanity's war, their third world war, had changed many minds. The one of his implant, William Boone, who had once confessed to him that the battlefields were, litterally, blood baths. The one of his implant who now had chosen to serve Zo'or, Agent Sandoval, who had fought in this war also, not by his presence in the battlefields, but in another way. Worse perhaps. In so that his shoulders borne the weight of thousands of death.
The metal doors ended their side-sliding with a greeching sound. Liam invited him to proceed foward, down a long corridor. At the end of this corridor, on the left, there was an opening practiced in the rock itself, walled with glass-made doors, which were now open. Liam stepped in front of him, gently, protectively blocking his way. Da'an began to understand as he heard the clicking sounds of the automatic weapons being readied and the dry orders whispered hurriedly, followed by a heavy silence that spoke of immobility inside.
The Companion was freed from Liam's wall of flesh and allowed to catch a full glimpse of the knowledge the young man had offered him. As his newly acquired protector stepped away, he revealed the presence of a man Da'an knew, or had known.
Jonathan Doors. The thoughts that had not been linked to each other yet united and revealed to Da'an the simple and clear truth. The Resistance movement. The face of Jonathan Doors. This man, the Taelons' enemy, at less than three feet from him. Behind this man, a crowd, some sitting before computer screens, some bent over plans and charts, some who emerged of corridors like the one he had himself been through. All of those now laid on him eyes in which the expression changed little from person to person. All of their expressions were located in the little range left between horror and despair, on some faces he even registered an unbelievable shock.
Da'an was quick to sight a familiar face and on this face a different look than on the others'. A look shared between apprehension, fear and deception. The face of Wiliam Boone. His implant. His implant. Standing amongst all those people related to Resistance.
Inside, somewhere, in a place well burried within Da'an, was a city of crystal. Already massacred by the monster that had gone through its finest arabesques, the towers, archs and bridge as delicate as ice-made were again destroyed. It hurt, somewhere inside. It was not a defined harm, or precise, or justified. It was just harm. The feeling at its purest. This silent scream. It bore no words to describe what was only a grat pain, the bitter triumph of betrayal over trust. Betrayal. This word eachoed in his ears. This word that went deep, profoundly, settling itself inside of him. Boone had been much more to him than an implant, far much more than a mere, though very effective, employee. He was a friend, had been, he was someone to whom Da'an could speak, honnestly, genuinely of his feelings, of his ideas. He was someone with whom Da'an had until now firmly believed he had established a relationship of mutual understanding with. Boone was someone to whom he had sometimes confessed. Someone that had doubtlessly repeated every words to the Resistance.
This desire, this eagerness to learn the Taelons' language was certainly not a matter of understanding, rather being a matter of espionnage. Zo'or's suspiscions were confirmed. How now could he see in this man's gestures something else than disdain and treachery ? This had been why Boone had been a so willing student : to acquire, not only knowledge, but his trust. Da'an's trust. For the idea of betrayal would never come to his mind. It had. indeed functionned perfectly.
The Captain Marquette was there as well. But Da'an had doubted that she was sympathic to the Resistance's cause - he only had not known. just what were the extend of this agreement with their cause. He had seen in this woman, after he had searched to understand and explore her motivations, he had seen in her a strange soldier. Very determinated. But gifted, or not, with an uniquely-centered judgement, as were soldiers. Though, perhaps she had gained in understanding. But now, he found himself, extremely disbelieveing of this.
Now that he had witnessed this, the doubt was carved in him, this doubt, this suspiscion, that betrayal leaves after its passage, like a virus to spread and to extend throughout one's mind. To not ever trust again. And to doubt of previous honesty. Had Lili Marquette been disgusted by the brief sharing they had exchanged ? Did William Boone despise in silence every one of his words of consideration and trust while he thought hos to use them best against the Companions ?
Had they saved him from his atavistic sate out of fear ? Fear that Zo'or would finally take whole contorl of the Synod ? Fear for their own lives ? Fear for their movement, because his naivety would not help them to preserve themselves anymore ?
In every gestures, every words, every actions now, he could not see anything else than the motion of a terribly manipulative machine. He could not stop himself from believing that the next words he would speak would be used against him, or perhaps would they be used to destroy his kind ? It was not in itself the action of discovering the betrayal that hurt most, but the re-consideration of all past actions that came with it. The chocolate-colored eyes of William Boone were seeking to find his. Da'an chose to ignore them, not subtmitting himself to this anymore, not allowing himself to fall in the trap of trust. Instead, he chose to focus on the grey silouhette of Jonathan Doors, greyer than ever in a grey suit, whose grey eyes under grey eyebrows were fixing him with irony and despise. Then, realizing that the silence meant that something was expected from him, he turned back to Liam. "Why did you show this to me Liam ?" was his questioon, his voice small, the voice where could be heard the weight of the discovery he had so recently made. A voice that sounded with the lack of understanding. He had just spent days and nights participating in a hunt of himself, to find what he had lost, what had been torn away from him - most probably, what had been done by these people - and Liam now asked of him the making of a crucial decision. He wished he did not have to choose, not involving himself, not now, not giving his trust. Not now. Not now, as he knew far too little.
Da'an would recall later that he had talked more, that he had heard the words association, alliance and mutually beneficial arrangment. Words that had exited his own lips. Words that Humans commonly used, treating with banks and economic circonstances when here, the thing at question, was survival and life. He recalled a hand touching his. As he craved for the contact of a Taelon mind. The contact, the brushing of Doors' hand against his had been. most displeasant, to say the least. Da'an had then felt considerably empty inside. Destroyed - both by the inward discovery of this inner, darker Da'an who had hunted down and murdered out of hunger for life energy - and by this startling, shocking revelation of William Boone's real motivations.
To not present himself as he was, to hide his true feelings, to hide his true sould : this was the art of diplomacy that he had learned. He had been pleased by this game at first, he had sought to hide himself behind the most subtle mask possible, he had appreciated this game and devoted himself to it and to his caste, a planet had came to be reduced to ashes before his eyes - and he had once considered this the greatest of victory. He was now recalling on these well-burried, but as well-learned reflexes, so that he might hide, the truth of what he was feeling.
The pale blue eyes changed, before the uncaring eyes of a few watchers, to indigo blue. Dark colored eyes, that were perfectly mirroring dark and sordid emotions, which themselves were loyal reproduction of the darkest period of his life.
The city of crystal inside was ruined. A battlefield that went until beyond sight, of ruins, smoke and ice. The corridor ran under his feet once more, his mind was empty, cold, calculating. He felt curiously bitter, and detahced, facing the fact that he had just formed an unofficial alliance with the movement of Resistance, which was named by some as a terrorist organization. And that, if the Synod came to learn of this, he would be punished of death, without judgement, trial or hesitations, especially not from his former. infant who would prefer to get rid of a rival than to be loyal to the one who had given him life.
It was not either the first time that he risked much more than what was wise to risk, risking a price that he would be, anyhow, unable to pay in the end.
He felt lonely. The support of both Lili Marquette and William Boone gone ; the announcment, nothing much more than half a revelation, that Liam, a hybrid, fully conscious of his own actions and, at least through his heritage, fully aware of the consequences of such actions, a kimera hybrid was amongst them. Da'an felt partner of a lost cause. This hybrid, the one who wore the borrowed name of Liam Kincaid, knew that - and Da'an had seen this clearly - the Taelons needed Humanity, that Humanity would soon need the Taelons and that the Jaridians would be soon more than a simple threat to deal with. Possessing all this knowledge, this young man had chosen to believe in mankind, he had chosen to defend it, chosen to make friends amongst its members, chosen to build his family amongst them. He had chosen like all others, to leave Da'an alone, to consider him a Taelon, to prefer Humanity.
It was not something that could be reproached to a Human, to leave him alone. He was an alien to them, truthfully. Yet, the voices of the commonality remained silent to his calls, isolating him into silence. They were still frightened of the animalistic scream they had earlier perceived from him, even as he was disconnected from the commonality. Now that these screams had left their place to the soft and painful cries that he sent out to them, they were still frightening, he could sense their dread. Their fear of him. Their fear of him and also of themselves. Because through his transformation, they had seen what they were most scared of. And so they ignored his pleas for help - even though he had returned to his truest nature. But was it ? Truest nature ? When both ends were so radically different - when the two extremities were such opposites : the atavistic beast and the calm and silent Taelon.
The hand of the so-called Major Kincaid was resting on his forearm. The physical contact was warmer, more pleasant than the one involving Jonathan Doors had been. Da'an's eyes opened on reality, focused on the outside of his body, instead of struggling to analyze what was inside. The touch of his protector was also a contact with the abrupt and concrete world that was around him. In the eyes of this young man, Da'an saw many trust this day. He would later realize how enormous had to be the amount of trust that this so recently-born child had placed in him to risk through this revelation of the Resistance to Da'an the destruction of what many human soldiers called the last chances of Humanity. He sensed that this trust was misplaced. He knew himself well enough to say with certainty that he would do everything that was in his power to honor this trust. But also knew his own kind well enough to tell that one day, eventually, this trust would have to be broken. Liam's words, his voice, perceived through a haze, through a thick layer of disturbing fog. "We've got to go back to the mothership. Zo'or'll want to be briefed about you pretty soon. I'll prep the shuttle okay ? I'll come back for you when it'll be readied, so you won't have to make it outside." Da'an nodded his agreement. His new protector brushed his hand concerningly against his own, the Companion waved the extra-care off, though he did crave for the comfort.
A voice. Another's voice. Deeper, it sounded older. More familiar also. A voice that unleashed in him a anger that he had very rarely felt before. Some things did not need to be said, some points did not need to be talked of and some questions were never to be answered. Humans had yet to understand this. The present things he had seen within what had to be the Head Quarters of the Resistance movement were sufficient by themselves. The voice of Commander Boone echoed yet another time in the large crypt of the anciently-built church. "Da'an." A call. The human mal was merely requesting of him not to turn and leave, not to leave now at least, before he would have time to explain.
The Taelon did not turn around. Out of pride, out of anger. Whatever was this feeling that was tying his sentiments tightly, restraining them. These feelings of anger, of deception, of anxiety, of doubt. New feelings, that never before he had felt toward Boone. Never he had felt this toward this man that he had believed was sincere, honest since the very beginning and whom had just turned out to be the most immense of deception.
Da'an stopped the slow walk that would have brought him to progress toward the entrance of the church. His whole body was an open wound, somehow. Each ones of the energy patterns that composed him were vibrating softly bearing sequencies that was never the one it belonged to nor the good one. The energetic harmony of his body was unbalanced, the nearly musical equilibrium was streaked with false notes. All of his physical self ached in a pain that Humans could not understand. A kind of pain that had to be to them less than a feeling of ill-at-easeness, that for a Taelon was pure torture, the torture of the terrible lack of authenticity, the pain of doubt. And a few Humans liked to alienize the Taelon further by pretending they felt no, or less, emotions than they themselves did. When they perceived emotions that merely were different, not perceivable, not readable on mechanical devices, not appering on the outside of their features, not manipulating their lives, but still emotions that were. Different emotions, for a different body, for a differently based form of life, emotions that they felt for different reasons. For reasons that many Humans had been unable to understand. It was a characteristic that was often seen amongst the members of their species. They would attempt to categorize something as inferior when they could not understand it. As if they feared to find something that was both different and that could seem to many of them better, in some ways. They had categorized them in the immense groups of the strangers, the aliens. It was alien, then definitely different, then, to preserve inward unity, it was not good, not superior, not acceptable.
The sole Human being from whom Da'an had been spared this. less than honorful treatment was named William Boone. "Da'an." Another call, or perhaps the mere assurance that the Taelon would not walk away as he would catch up to him and then escape his questionning grasp. "Da'an, listen to me."
Cold. It was the only word, the conly concept, a concept that was ironically human in fact, that came to his mind as to qualify what was the interior jungle of emotions that he was currently living through. A frozen jungle of melted, relationless objects. Cold and desolation. He made his voice the direct translation of this interior as it was cold, detached, strictly professional. "The facts talk by themselves Commander Boone. I do not believe I have requested, nor want to here an explanation for what I have seen. Standing by this, you do not have any reasons to demand of me any listening abilities."
"Da'an, please !" The sound of the man's voice was shocking. It shocked Da'an. But then, Boone was perhaps well used to appear sincere. As much sincere as he had convinced the Taelon he had been since one whole year of service and growing closeness. Fixing his pupils, the Taelon found there no trace of dilatation, of the biological betrayal of a lie, until now. The ex- police chief's face was expressing a fragile despair and a worry that seemed honest enough. Da'an felt his barriers ofanger being shaken by this only glimpse of William Boone. "Just let me explain."
Boone felt that his words were not heard beyond the wall of an already- taken decision, the wall of this decision that Da'an had taken at the very moment when he had run his eyes over the people in the Resistance Head Quarters. Boone had seen the feelings flowing inside his mind through the pale blue eyes. Deception, sadness. And anger, a small mountain of anger that had climaxed than had left nothing but a great empty space when it had collapsed. Boone had never thought that Da'an would see him as. as what he really was. To him, his fight with the Resistance and a relation which basics were barely established with his alien superior were two thigns that he had since ever strugged to pair up together. He had finally given up and parted his life in two, vaguely afraid that each side would become aware of its opponent's existence. The perception, the full realization that Da'an had just discovered which side was he truthfully fighting for, the fall from grace, this bitterness, this shock of after the betrayals that he had seen in the Taelons's eyes.
He had of course always and fully known that it could and would certainly not last, that one day or the other one side would have to take advantage of the other. And he knew which side was this going to be. He knew that he would have to deceive. It was just a question of time. It probably would have hurt more if his relationship with Da'an had grown farther, if it had actually became something strong. At some point of a relationship perhaps he would have had to tell Da'an about his ties to the Resistance movement, but yet. it hurt.
A few words were sufficient to break all that had ever been between them, linking them tightly to each other. A few words that Da'an pronounced, his voice broken, sounding white and neutral. Boone would have prefered everything, every kind of terrible wrath, a spike of blind rage, anything, but this calm, honest, sincere-looking and bittersweet admittion. The look in Da'an's eyes made him want to turn his own eyes away in nothing else than shame that he was feeling, something that implied that Da'an was maybe more important to him that he had ever admitted to himself. Da'an's voice, soft, melodious and small sounding. The wise Companion sounded like a child. A child deceived by the truth that had been far much more horrible than what he had been led into believing. "I trusted you Boone." Deceived by the lies, by an enormous lie in which he had believe for many months, a lie which existence Da'an had not ever suspected.
Sincere and honest. The opening that Da'an displayed in this remark, these few words that Boone felt dangerously close to be the final words of a relative trust between them.
The Companion tiled his head, then looked aside, from the corners of his eyes, then his head followed the move. He was staring at a wooden chair, the row of wooden chair that this church used as benches. He was done. It felt this way. Da'an had spoken, he would not speak, nor listen anymore. The Taelon walked over, not even glancing at him once though he passed close to him and sat down on one of these chairs, stayed unmoving, perfectly still, his eyes closed. Boone finally followed his former boss and sat down at his side, though he was wise to leave Da'an some space, not pressuring the already shaken Taelon by imposing the physical proximity. He heard his own voice more than he felt himself speak, he knew that Doors was probably listening to them through the multiples cameras and microphones that this place was filled with. It mattered little. Sideways, his eyes sought for Da'an's still features. His head now slightly bent aside, his eyes closed, his hands rarely still on his tighs, unbreathing : Da'an looked more vulnerable than Boone had ever seen him be before. He told him, not really caring if the Taelon listened or not. It was a story that he felt had to be told, to the Companion, or to the Resistance movement, or to whomever - to himself, as he probably was the one who needed the most to hear it, even if told through his own voice. He explained how and especially, he explained why. "When you offered me the job, to work for you, organize your security and everything, I first said no. Because of my wife. Because we wanted. we had planned to found a family as soon as I'd have a stable job, which was the case at the time-." The features of Da'an became, as Boone inwardly called, half-blue : his human façade fading off, gifting the human sight with the true form of a Taelon, what they were underneath the white skin. Da'an had always skillfully skirted around the subject of Boone's employment, at its beginning, why he had asked for HIM, and about his wife. "When Kate died. you asked me, indirectly, to reconsider your offer, as, logically, I'd no reasons to refuse anymore."
That was one thing Boone had never quite caught. Why had the Taelons or Sandoval think this way : that by eliminating his wife, just taking her off the equation, that he would say yes because the reason he had said no because of was dead. Maybe did the Taelons think that it was just simple ? That Humans did not quite have feelings for their spouses ? That if Kate Boone was an obstacle, that if the fact, the logical, mere and mathematical fact that the couple planned to soon form a family and have children. then the obstacle had to be eliminated. Boone had never really figured out if Taelons, if Da'an - or Sandoval - had thought this way. If they really considered Humans to be. emotionless creatures.
"Then, Doors came to see me. He told me the Companions - you, specifically - had had my wife killed, to push me to accept your offer. So they've made an offer to me as well. The kind of offer that you can't really refuse." He paused, he recalled the scene perfectly, in this isolated section of the Flat Planet Café. Da'an was now fixing the floor, but his eyes now open and bluer than blue spoke for him that he was not missing a single word. "I'd always doubted your real motives, since your people had come to Earth. They knew that and they just used it. They told me that I had to accept your offer. That they'd try to turn off the Motivational Imperative and that I would become their plant in your services. That I could discover truth my own way." Boone paused again. A sinister smile made its way up to his lips. "I don't think anyway that Jonathan'd have taken no for an answer. Not at this point
"I was implanted less than one week after that and I entered at your service as a spy. I had to bring them back as much information as I could about your projects concerning us in the future, your experimentations on people. And find out eventually what did you really want with Humanity." Boone paused again as he saw that Da'an's eyes were now fixed on him, half- curious, half-sad. "With time, I learned to know you Da'an. To know your people as well. To know that as much as Humans are, the Taelons don't all think the same way. That some of them at least think in a different way, a way that made me hope for a better future Da'an." He let the words trail off into silence. Then he raised suddenly and stepped forward the Companion. The eyes of the alien followed his elevation to a vertical position. Boone bent his head down and looked Da'an in the eye as he said : "I began to get closer to you. If I wanted it or not in the first place doesn't really matter, it was my job, and I had to at least keep it up so you wouldn't doubt my loyalties. Then I learned the language you speak. I tried to get to understand you. Not the Taelons. but just you Da'an. Because I got to know how different you were, and I wanted to understand how much you were different, if you could maybe help us someday, at least to defend ourselves." Boone had voluntarily put emphasis on the last sentence. Da'an's human façade slipped off and the Companion did not try to put it back in place. His features became like these of a ghost, when you can almost see through the white sheet. "I learned to trust you Da'an, to trust that you wouldn't let go of humanity. I still trust you," he whispered, his voice unconscisouly both soft and serious. "I still think you're capable of saving Humanity's future by opposing the Synod." The same, bitter smile slid on his lips once more. He threw a sideways glance at the camera's glassed eye that was fixed on them. "Doors. always thought that I was wrong to trust you. That it wasn't worth it. That you'd just deceive me. He's always disaproved the fact that I got closer and closer to you everyday. He and others also. used to tell me that my 'relationship' with you weakened my will of fighting in the Resistance."
Da'an lowered his eyes, his voice lowered as well when he spoke. "I trust the Motivational Imperative of your implant is not properly functionnal ?"
"It's just been excluded of the CVI's program. It's completely out of the way. I've never been under its influence Da'an." As Da'an's eyes emanated a soft blueish glow, Boone understood that the Taelon had caught the implied meaning of this : that all he had done for Da'an, in the Taelons' service had never been compelled by any sort of Imperative.
"And if you had come to be. discovered ?"
"An impressive number of people infiltrated your services around the world only to make sure that I wouldn't fall in your hands alive, or that I wouldn't say alive long enough to go through any kind of interrogation anyways." Da'an felt the whole realization dawn on him, that the Resistance was far more than a terrorist organization, that it was a structured organism that his people would have to take measures at if the situation one day came to explode.
The Taelon stared at the floor once more. His eyelids slid down to mask the illuminating orbs. Outside, the day was beginning, it was nearing four hours in the morning. The sky was glowing with this orange toned light that is prior to sunny days.
Da'an felt once more bathed in the bittersweet feeling of betrayal. Could he permit himself to trust this man ? No. Of course not. "You mentionned often the fact that you had attempted to understand me. I request that you try to modificate your vision and that you understand me now William Boone : what I have seen today, here, tends to make me believe that all the apparently sincere words and moments that we shared were lies. Why should I believe these words ? I have recently learned that you were the liar, that you had lied to me on many topics. Now, you come to me and present me another version of the facts, pretending this is the truer version. Do not ask me to trust you. You are asking too much of me. I will not commit the same mistake twice nor will my trust be again abused by people of your kind."
Closing his eyes, recuperating, focusing himself onto absorbing from the ambient air a supplementary quantity of energy that he hoped would circulate and extend within his body, allowing him to recover from the long words he had let fall as rain on his implant's back. "Isn't there a way to prove my sincerity ?"
The alien hesitated, his eyes flashing open, staring into the ones of the man who looked down at him. It was to expose himself, to open willingly to any attack that might be perpetred in the mental space of a Taelon that was so fragile and that it took so little to break. A rush of trust that he said he had denied to himself made him brush his fingertips against this man's hands. "There is." Da'an saw a glimpse, a sparkle of comprehension wave itself into the brown, un-Taelonlike eyes, such human eyes. "Your hands."
Boone lifted them from his side. Da'an felt an increadible fatigue collapse on his back, the brief, but all too long, moment he had experienced as an outsider to the commonality had already tired him. A lot. This last, necessary task - and yet it was not the same feeling of necessity, not the feeling that it was necessary to his kind, to the survival of his species, to the satisfaction of the Synod, but necessary to him and to the continuation of the thin link he had established with this human man.
Fortunately, there was no need to dive profoundly into his human implant's psyche to perceive what was surfaceing. Constantly on his mind. The doubt and the unknown were there, stretching, under the skin, like a constant preoccupation. For it was now the center of William Boone's life. Da'an felt it. Unprepared for the truth, prepared for anger, prepared for a farther deception, prepared for everything else. Da'an felt this desire of understanding. Felt the fact that Boone simply tried to live his life, to understand what was around him, while sharing himself and the rare time-off he had between his services for the Companions and his mission as a. spy for the Resistance movement. Da'an saw - sensed, as if it were his own - this doubt, these mixed feelings. These true feelings when Boone knew that he should not be feeling those, that he should not attach to Da'an.
William Boone had seen many cadavers already, he had already seen many useless, meaningless deaths, he had seen and known a war and had had many trouble sleeping at night without hearing the screams of horror and pleas for pity. All that he wished was to see no other conflict of this kind. He considered that he had seen enough of one war.
Da'an was highgly unprepared for the leashing of emotions that flowed toward him. So familiar, only stronger. Yet so alien.
Slipping his hands out of Boone's delicate grip, Da'an raised his eyes. The same feeling, again, of familiarity, of proximity. of trust. As he needed it so much.
Behind them, Liam cleared his throat. "Da'an. Zo'or's waiting for you on the mothership. Let us say he did insist for you to come as soon as possible."
"Very well Major Kincaid," was the mechanical answer.
The crystal palace was reborn in the depth of Da'an, as the Taelon eyed his human implant, and exchanged with him this piece of acception, of comprehsnsion, something that was almost intimate. Nearly. and truly intimate. A look that was heavy with trust. The Companion responded with a sole tilt of his head, sideways, and with this fine, almost shy-looking smile that Boone had learned to recognize as the only true, sincere, non- diplomatic smile. As Da'an's careful and slow steps reached the edge of the crypt, the alien caught a glimpse of the early-awakened city and collapsed in tiredness. Liam slipped both arms around him to stop him from hitting the stone-made stairs and carried the unconscious Taelon to the shuttle waiting for them, under the silently watching eyes of Boone.
¤
The circular metallic material that walled the interior of the lift sent him a twisted image of himself, the details of his purpleish jumpsuit melted with his white-colored façade. It was a strange metaphore to qualify as well the twisted self he had discovered, well-burried within his mind, this twisted version of himself he had discovered through his actions as an atavus. To discovered himself as such, as he had since his arrival on Earth, and before, pleased himself and the others by presenting himself as peaceful, calm and fragile, as he had eventually learned to believe in the truthfulness of this image of American Companion, or at least in the truthfulness of the ideals he had, for long, only pretended to defend - these ideals that were nothing but words when he had landed on Earth along with the few tens of other Taelons, when the Synod had presented its initial plan of what they named, in a way that, as he now could perceive, was incredibly cynical, their plan of what they named a slow conquest, these ideals that were part of a plan had slowly evolved, becoming dear to his heart, the words becoming truer and truer to his ears each time he spoke them - to find out in this way, that inside the peaceful being he was the embodiement of was trapped this monster of violence and of hunger, was vaguely obscene and deeply shocking. Because this discovery was not intimate and solitary, it was the admition to himself of the existence of this darker side. It was, on the contrary, a most public revelation, through which this darker side had been thrown to the people of Earth's wonderings. Humans and Taelons for whom he felt great respect had seen this beast inside of him, barely hidden, hovering beneath the surface, within for the opening, this beast that was trapped in each single Taelon and could escape at any moment. Also, it was not only what affected him, his image, that was troubling, it was how his. transformation had affected the public opinion, what would the Humans see in them after they had seen him revert in this and kill, murder, slaughter members of their kind. This fragility of the taelons psyche had been dangerously exposed. This was why he felt himself already touched by the whole commonality's reproaches, and expected no less of the Synod. Especially, no comfort, no care. At all. In fact, he would have to - and this he knew because he had been a member of the Synod during a time that was long enough to perceive their intentions correctly - to deny this very need for comfort. He had not to need comfort, at all.
This need for comfort that the Taelons were taught very young to bury within themselves - basic self-discipline, rely on what you must, accept no comfort and deny need. They had replaced it by the comfort, by the constant presence of the commonality, the comfort that it implied for them, to know that their thoughts were never solely theirs and never totally common either. They all could be rewarded for what was done. As no individual could be uniquely thanked for his actions. The theory of the individual did not exist amongst Taelons, there was only the commonality. It was forbidden to them to be themselves, to expect something as an individual being. As the commonality and its well-being had to be prior to everything else (and for the obvious good balance needed by the establishment of this thought- system, the commonality was never strong enough). They were nothing but cells, parts, separates parts that on their own could accomplish little but that joined with the whole could accomplish what was thought impossible. All of them were essential to the growth of this giant living being. The relation every of its members had with the commonality was a symbiosis : the members of the commonality would be unable to survive as Taelons without the constant support of this commonality, as the commonality itself as an ensemble could not exist, or would exist in a different way, if there were no living beings who lived by it. The Synod's say was that the loss of a few living beings could be compensated, but the loss of the support given by the commonality, the mental and emotional support that had allowed the taelon race to progress, the loss of this tuterage that linked all their minds, being the barrier between them and insanity, stopping them from becoming. what had Da'an been, this loss was unthinkable. Only to speak of this potential dissolution of the commonality was a crime that was highly punished.
For many Taelons, the sole notion, idea of individuality was ancient, irrelevant, atavistic in itself.
He felt alone, isolated, lonely, for he had just realized that there were some things, some questions that the commonality could not bring an answer to, or at least, not a valuable answer. The Taelons refused since so long, since so many generations, to believe that an individual being could accomplish things, by itself, wihtout the support of the commonality, that now, for Da'an to discover that it was not true. That some questions could not be answered by the mass. That one had to find thier own answer, without basing themselves on anyone else, or anything else than their own judgement. Their own individual judgement and morality. For a living being that had grown surrounded and tutored tightly by members of a commonality, to realize that the individual being had still some answers, its own answers, to find. it was a feeling of immense deception for Da'an who had always believed in the species he was part of, a feeling of solitude as well coming from the newly acquired fact that whether or not one was part of a commonality of minds, there were some answers that one had to answer for themselves. To discover both the real potential and the true nature of individuality. brought to him, and would have borught to any Taelon, a great fear. The fear to be wrong, to have been wrong, to have believe wrong for his whole life, the fear to be rejected, not to be accepted anymore. The fear to become marginal, or the most fearful of all things. the fear to know that he had been the only person to understand something that he realized was crucial. Something that Da'an would defend, that he had to defend, that he had to stand for before the Synod, this notion of individuality that would never be acknowledged by them. The fear of an unavoidable adversity for someone who had always sought acceptation was a nightmare.
His mind in fact was already starting to reason in an individualistic way. He was now opposing himself, an unique and individual being, to the whole commonality, basing himself on the theory, the certitude, that he, the individual, was right and that the commonality, the mass, was wrong. A Taelon would not have thought this way, the reasonning of a Taelon was to bend himself to whatever the commonality deemed right. One person could not be right when, facing a commonality composed of billions of beings, all the others said this one person was wrong. The Taelons sought acceptation before all. The ideas through the commonality spread slowly, carefully, as an unique being could never pretend to propose something that was completely new, that was entirely new, that had not been suggested by the commonality before him, then this idea's owner was not one being, but the whole ensemble of being. An individual could, merely, emit a slightly different point of view or approach of an idea that already did exist. The Taelon had never seen the need for more freedom of thought.
Da'an felt the lift touch the bottom of its controlled fall and saw the metallic doors open. He ignored where he was, this young man, the Major Liam Kincaid had brought him here, he had not opposed any resistance. His new, and second protector, had hid himself behind the supreme necessity to show him something which nature he had not been willing to reveal. Liam had justified this secrecy behind the fact that, apparently, Da'an could now understand this better, now that he had known what was waiting for the Taelons outside of the commonality - innuending both the positive freedom and the. regression. This young Kimera, a child, his age not going farther than a few days old, had a childish, naive and innocent trust in peace, in the possibility of peace, in good. It was nearly agreable to see, to witness that some still believe in this. But it was also sad to see with which wisdom and purity children were born, such wisdom that they would learn, with years passing, to lose. This young and naive mind, from a people of peaceful historians, would find himself involved in the worst of conflict. And this innocence would disappear quickly.
This innocence that was the opposite of what he had found within the beliefs of the Humans who were at his employment now. He had found in them a dark maturity, a maturity that many Taelons never gained, that Da'an - if he had not discovered and witnessed it - would have thought was impossible to gain within less than a century, the time of a human life. A moral and spiritual maturity that was dangerously close to the one of a Taelon. Their war, the last of Humanity's war, their third world war, had changed many minds. The one of his implant, William Boone, who had once confessed to him that the battlefields were, litterally, blood baths. The one of his implant who now had chosen to serve Zo'or, Agent Sandoval, who had fought in this war also, not by his presence in the battlefields, but in another way. Worse perhaps. In so that his shoulders borne the weight of thousands of death.
The metal doors ended their side-sliding with a greeching sound. Liam invited him to proceed foward, down a long corridor. At the end of this corridor, on the left, there was an opening practiced in the rock itself, walled with glass-made doors, which were now open. Liam stepped in front of him, gently, protectively blocking his way. Da'an began to understand as he heard the clicking sounds of the automatic weapons being readied and the dry orders whispered hurriedly, followed by a heavy silence that spoke of immobility inside.
The Companion was freed from Liam's wall of flesh and allowed to catch a full glimpse of the knowledge the young man had offered him. As his newly acquired protector stepped away, he revealed the presence of a man Da'an knew, or had known.
Jonathan Doors. The thoughts that had not been linked to each other yet united and revealed to Da'an the simple and clear truth. The Resistance movement. The face of Jonathan Doors. This man, the Taelons' enemy, at less than three feet from him. Behind this man, a crowd, some sitting before computer screens, some bent over plans and charts, some who emerged of corridors like the one he had himself been through. All of those now laid on him eyes in which the expression changed little from person to person. All of their expressions were located in the little range left between horror and despair, on some faces he even registered an unbelievable shock.
Da'an was quick to sight a familiar face and on this face a different look than on the others'. A look shared between apprehension, fear and deception. The face of Wiliam Boone. His implant. His implant. Standing amongst all those people related to Resistance.
Inside, somewhere, in a place well burried within Da'an, was a city of crystal. Already massacred by the monster that had gone through its finest arabesques, the towers, archs and bridge as delicate as ice-made were again destroyed. It hurt, somewhere inside. It was not a defined harm, or precise, or justified. It was just harm. The feeling at its purest. This silent scream. It bore no words to describe what was only a grat pain, the bitter triumph of betrayal over trust. Betrayal. This word eachoed in his ears. This word that went deep, profoundly, settling itself inside of him. Boone had been much more to him than an implant, far much more than a mere, though very effective, employee. He was a friend, had been, he was someone to whom Da'an could speak, honnestly, genuinely of his feelings, of his ideas. He was someone with whom Da'an had until now firmly believed he had established a relationship of mutual understanding with. Boone was someone to whom he had sometimes confessed. Someone that had doubtlessly repeated every words to the Resistance.
This desire, this eagerness to learn the Taelons' language was certainly not a matter of understanding, rather being a matter of espionnage. Zo'or's suspiscions were confirmed. How now could he see in this man's gestures something else than disdain and treachery ? This had been why Boone had been a so willing student : to acquire, not only knowledge, but his trust. Da'an's trust. For the idea of betrayal would never come to his mind. It had. indeed functionned perfectly.
The Captain Marquette was there as well. But Da'an had doubted that she was sympathic to the Resistance's cause - he only had not known. just what were the extend of this agreement with their cause. He had seen in this woman, after he had searched to understand and explore her motivations, he had seen in her a strange soldier. Very determinated. But gifted, or not, with an uniquely-centered judgement, as were soldiers. Though, perhaps she had gained in understanding. But now, he found himself, extremely disbelieveing of this.
Now that he had witnessed this, the doubt was carved in him, this doubt, this suspiscion, that betrayal leaves after its passage, like a virus to spread and to extend throughout one's mind. To not ever trust again. And to doubt of previous honesty. Had Lili Marquette been disgusted by the brief sharing they had exchanged ? Did William Boone despise in silence every one of his words of consideration and trust while he thought hos to use them best against the Companions ?
Had they saved him from his atavistic sate out of fear ? Fear that Zo'or would finally take whole contorl of the Synod ? Fear for their own lives ? Fear for their movement, because his naivety would not help them to preserve themselves anymore ?
In every gestures, every words, every actions now, he could not see anything else than the motion of a terribly manipulative machine. He could not stop himself from believing that the next words he would speak would be used against him, or perhaps would they be used to destroy his kind ? It was not in itself the action of discovering the betrayal that hurt most, but the re-consideration of all past actions that came with it. The chocolate-colored eyes of William Boone were seeking to find his. Da'an chose to ignore them, not subtmitting himself to this anymore, not allowing himself to fall in the trap of trust. Instead, he chose to focus on the grey silouhette of Jonathan Doors, greyer than ever in a grey suit, whose grey eyes under grey eyebrows were fixing him with irony and despise. Then, realizing that the silence meant that something was expected from him, he turned back to Liam. "Why did you show this to me Liam ?" was his questioon, his voice small, the voice where could be heard the weight of the discovery he had so recently made. A voice that sounded with the lack of understanding. He had just spent days and nights participating in a hunt of himself, to find what he had lost, what had been torn away from him - most probably, what had been done by these people - and Liam now asked of him the making of a crucial decision. He wished he did not have to choose, not involving himself, not now, not giving his trust. Not now. Not now, as he knew far too little.
Da'an would recall later that he had talked more, that he had heard the words association, alliance and mutually beneficial arrangment. Words that had exited his own lips. Words that Humans commonly used, treating with banks and economic circonstances when here, the thing at question, was survival and life. He recalled a hand touching his. As he craved for the contact of a Taelon mind. The contact, the brushing of Doors' hand against his had been. most displeasant, to say the least. Da'an had then felt considerably empty inside. Destroyed - both by the inward discovery of this inner, darker Da'an who had hunted down and murdered out of hunger for life energy - and by this startling, shocking revelation of William Boone's real motivations.
To not present himself as he was, to hide his true feelings, to hide his true sould : this was the art of diplomacy that he had learned. He had been pleased by this game at first, he had sought to hide himself behind the most subtle mask possible, he had appreciated this game and devoted himself to it and to his caste, a planet had came to be reduced to ashes before his eyes - and he had once considered this the greatest of victory. He was now recalling on these well-burried, but as well-learned reflexes, so that he might hide, the truth of what he was feeling.
The pale blue eyes changed, before the uncaring eyes of a few watchers, to indigo blue. Dark colored eyes, that were perfectly mirroring dark and sordid emotions, which themselves were loyal reproduction of the darkest period of his life.
The city of crystal inside was ruined. A battlefield that went until beyond sight, of ruins, smoke and ice. The corridor ran under his feet once more, his mind was empty, cold, calculating. He felt curiously bitter, and detahced, facing the fact that he had just formed an unofficial alliance with the movement of Resistance, which was named by some as a terrorist organization. And that, if the Synod came to learn of this, he would be punished of death, without judgement, trial or hesitations, especially not from his former. infant who would prefer to get rid of a rival than to be loyal to the one who had given him life.
It was not either the first time that he risked much more than what was wise to risk, risking a price that he would be, anyhow, unable to pay in the end.
He felt lonely. The support of both Lili Marquette and William Boone gone ; the announcment, nothing much more than half a revelation, that Liam, a hybrid, fully conscious of his own actions and, at least through his heritage, fully aware of the consequences of such actions, a kimera hybrid was amongst them. Da'an felt partner of a lost cause. This hybrid, the one who wore the borrowed name of Liam Kincaid, knew that - and Da'an had seen this clearly - the Taelons needed Humanity, that Humanity would soon need the Taelons and that the Jaridians would be soon more than a simple threat to deal with. Possessing all this knowledge, this young man had chosen to believe in mankind, he had chosen to defend it, chosen to make friends amongst its members, chosen to build his family amongst them. He had chosen like all others, to leave Da'an alone, to consider him a Taelon, to prefer Humanity.
It was not something that could be reproached to a Human, to leave him alone. He was an alien to them, truthfully. Yet, the voices of the commonality remained silent to his calls, isolating him into silence. They were still frightened of the animalistic scream they had earlier perceived from him, even as he was disconnected from the commonality. Now that these screams had left their place to the soft and painful cries that he sent out to them, they were still frightening, he could sense their dread. Their fear of him. Their fear of him and also of themselves. Because through his transformation, they had seen what they were most scared of. And so they ignored his pleas for help - even though he had returned to his truest nature. But was it ? Truest nature ? When both ends were so radically different - when the two extremities were such opposites : the atavistic beast and the calm and silent Taelon.
The hand of the so-called Major Kincaid was resting on his forearm. The physical contact was warmer, more pleasant than the one involving Jonathan Doors had been. Da'an's eyes opened on reality, focused on the outside of his body, instead of struggling to analyze what was inside. The touch of his protector was also a contact with the abrupt and concrete world that was around him. In the eyes of this young man, Da'an saw many trust this day. He would later realize how enormous had to be the amount of trust that this so recently-born child had placed in him to risk through this revelation of the Resistance to Da'an the destruction of what many human soldiers called the last chances of Humanity. He sensed that this trust was misplaced. He knew himself well enough to say with certainty that he would do everything that was in his power to honor this trust. But also knew his own kind well enough to tell that one day, eventually, this trust would have to be broken. Liam's words, his voice, perceived through a haze, through a thick layer of disturbing fog. "We've got to go back to the mothership. Zo'or'll want to be briefed about you pretty soon. I'll prep the shuttle okay ? I'll come back for you when it'll be readied, so you won't have to make it outside." Da'an nodded his agreement. His new protector brushed his hand concerningly against his own, the Companion waved the extra-care off, though he did crave for the comfort.
A voice. Another's voice. Deeper, it sounded older. More familiar also. A voice that unleashed in him a anger that he had very rarely felt before. Some things did not need to be said, some points did not need to be talked of and some questions were never to be answered. Humans had yet to understand this. The present things he had seen within what had to be the Head Quarters of the Resistance movement were sufficient by themselves. The voice of Commander Boone echoed yet another time in the large crypt of the anciently-built church. "Da'an." A call. The human mal was merely requesting of him not to turn and leave, not to leave now at least, before he would have time to explain.
The Taelon did not turn around. Out of pride, out of anger. Whatever was this feeling that was tying his sentiments tightly, restraining them. These feelings of anger, of deception, of anxiety, of doubt. New feelings, that never before he had felt toward Boone. Never he had felt this toward this man that he had believed was sincere, honest since the very beginning and whom had just turned out to be the most immense of deception.
Da'an stopped the slow walk that would have brought him to progress toward the entrance of the church. His whole body was an open wound, somehow. Each ones of the energy patterns that composed him were vibrating softly bearing sequencies that was never the one it belonged to nor the good one. The energetic harmony of his body was unbalanced, the nearly musical equilibrium was streaked with false notes. All of his physical self ached in a pain that Humans could not understand. A kind of pain that had to be to them less than a feeling of ill-at-easeness, that for a Taelon was pure torture, the torture of the terrible lack of authenticity, the pain of doubt. And a few Humans liked to alienize the Taelon further by pretending they felt no, or less, emotions than they themselves did. When they perceived emotions that merely were different, not perceivable, not readable on mechanical devices, not appering on the outside of their features, not manipulating their lives, but still emotions that were. Different emotions, for a different body, for a differently based form of life, emotions that they felt for different reasons. For reasons that many Humans had been unable to understand. It was a characteristic that was often seen amongst the members of their species. They would attempt to categorize something as inferior when they could not understand it. As if they feared to find something that was both different and that could seem to many of them better, in some ways. They had categorized them in the immense groups of the strangers, the aliens. It was alien, then definitely different, then, to preserve inward unity, it was not good, not superior, not acceptable.
The sole Human being from whom Da'an had been spared this. less than honorful treatment was named William Boone. "Da'an." Another call, or perhaps the mere assurance that the Taelon would not walk away as he would catch up to him and then escape his questionning grasp. "Da'an, listen to me."
Cold. It was the only word, the conly concept, a concept that was ironically human in fact, that came to his mind as to qualify what was the interior jungle of emotions that he was currently living through. A frozen jungle of melted, relationless objects. Cold and desolation. He made his voice the direct translation of this interior as it was cold, detached, strictly professional. "The facts talk by themselves Commander Boone. I do not believe I have requested, nor want to here an explanation for what I have seen. Standing by this, you do not have any reasons to demand of me any listening abilities."
"Da'an, please !" The sound of the man's voice was shocking. It shocked Da'an. But then, Boone was perhaps well used to appear sincere. As much sincere as he had convinced the Taelon he had been since one whole year of service and growing closeness. Fixing his pupils, the Taelon found there no trace of dilatation, of the biological betrayal of a lie, until now. The ex- police chief's face was expressing a fragile despair and a worry that seemed honest enough. Da'an felt his barriers ofanger being shaken by this only glimpse of William Boone. "Just let me explain."
Boone felt that his words were not heard beyond the wall of an already- taken decision, the wall of this decision that Da'an had taken at the very moment when he had run his eyes over the people in the Resistance Head Quarters. Boone had seen the feelings flowing inside his mind through the pale blue eyes. Deception, sadness. And anger, a small mountain of anger that had climaxed than had left nothing but a great empty space when it had collapsed. Boone had never thought that Da'an would see him as. as what he really was. To him, his fight with the Resistance and a relation which basics were barely established with his alien superior were two thigns that he had since ever strugged to pair up together. He had finally given up and parted his life in two, vaguely afraid that each side would become aware of its opponent's existence. The perception, the full realization that Da'an had just discovered which side was he truthfully fighting for, the fall from grace, this bitterness, this shock of after the betrayals that he had seen in the Taelons's eyes.
He had of course always and fully known that it could and would certainly not last, that one day or the other one side would have to take advantage of the other. And he knew which side was this going to be. He knew that he would have to deceive. It was just a question of time. It probably would have hurt more if his relationship with Da'an had grown farther, if it had actually became something strong. At some point of a relationship perhaps he would have had to tell Da'an about his ties to the Resistance movement, but yet. it hurt.
A few words were sufficient to break all that had ever been between them, linking them tightly to each other. A few words that Da'an pronounced, his voice broken, sounding white and neutral. Boone would have prefered everything, every kind of terrible wrath, a spike of blind rage, anything, but this calm, honest, sincere-looking and bittersweet admittion. The look in Da'an's eyes made him want to turn his own eyes away in nothing else than shame that he was feeling, something that implied that Da'an was maybe more important to him that he had ever admitted to himself. Da'an's voice, soft, melodious and small sounding. The wise Companion sounded like a child. A child deceived by the truth that had been far much more horrible than what he had been led into believing. "I trusted you Boone." Deceived by the lies, by an enormous lie in which he had believe for many months, a lie which existence Da'an had not ever suspected.
Sincere and honest. The opening that Da'an displayed in this remark, these few words that Boone felt dangerously close to be the final words of a relative trust between them.
The Companion tiled his head, then looked aside, from the corners of his eyes, then his head followed the move. He was staring at a wooden chair, the row of wooden chair that this church used as benches. He was done. It felt this way. Da'an had spoken, he would not speak, nor listen anymore. The Taelon walked over, not even glancing at him once though he passed close to him and sat down on one of these chairs, stayed unmoving, perfectly still, his eyes closed. Boone finally followed his former boss and sat down at his side, though he was wise to leave Da'an some space, not pressuring the already shaken Taelon by imposing the physical proximity. He heard his own voice more than he felt himself speak, he knew that Doors was probably listening to them through the multiples cameras and microphones that this place was filled with. It mattered little. Sideways, his eyes sought for Da'an's still features. His head now slightly bent aside, his eyes closed, his hands rarely still on his tighs, unbreathing : Da'an looked more vulnerable than Boone had ever seen him be before. He told him, not really caring if the Taelon listened or not. It was a story that he felt had to be told, to the Companion, or to the Resistance movement, or to whomever - to himself, as he probably was the one who needed the most to hear it, even if told through his own voice. He explained how and especially, he explained why. "When you offered me the job, to work for you, organize your security and everything, I first said no. Because of my wife. Because we wanted. we had planned to found a family as soon as I'd have a stable job, which was the case at the time-." The features of Da'an became, as Boone inwardly called, half-blue : his human façade fading off, gifting the human sight with the true form of a Taelon, what they were underneath the white skin. Da'an had always skillfully skirted around the subject of Boone's employment, at its beginning, why he had asked for HIM, and about his wife. "When Kate died. you asked me, indirectly, to reconsider your offer, as, logically, I'd no reasons to refuse anymore."
That was one thing Boone had never quite caught. Why had the Taelons or Sandoval think this way : that by eliminating his wife, just taking her off the equation, that he would say yes because the reason he had said no because of was dead. Maybe did the Taelons think that it was just simple ? That Humans did not quite have feelings for their spouses ? That if Kate Boone was an obstacle, that if the fact, the logical, mere and mathematical fact that the couple planned to soon form a family and have children. then the obstacle had to be eliminated. Boone had never really figured out if Taelons, if Da'an - or Sandoval - had thought this way. If they really considered Humans to be. emotionless creatures.
"Then, Doors came to see me. He told me the Companions - you, specifically - had had my wife killed, to push me to accept your offer. So they've made an offer to me as well. The kind of offer that you can't really refuse." He paused, he recalled the scene perfectly, in this isolated section of the Flat Planet Café. Da'an was now fixing the floor, but his eyes now open and bluer than blue spoke for him that he was not missing a single word. "I'd always doubted your real motives, since your people had come to Earth. They knew that and they just used it. They told me that I had to accept your offer. That they'd try to turn off the Motivational Imperative and that I would become their plant in your services. That I could discover truth my own way." Boone paused again. A sinister smile made its way up to his lips. "I don't think anyway that Jonathan'd have taken no for an answer. Not at this point
"I was implanted less than one week after that and I entered at your service as a spy. I had to bring them back as much information as I could about your projects concerning us in the future, your experimentations on people. And find out eventually what did you really want with Humanity." Boone paused again as he saw that Da'an's eyes were now fixed on him, half- curious, half-sad. "With time, I learned to know you Da'an. To know your people as well. To know that as much as Humans are, the Taelons don't all think the same way. That some of them at least think in a different way, a way that made me hope for a better future Da'an." He let the words trail off into silence. Then he raised suddenly and stepped forward the Companion. The eyes of the alien followed his elevation to a vertical position. Boone bent his head down and looked Da'an in the eye as he said : "I began to get closer to you. If I wanted it or not in the first place doesn't really matter, it was my job, and I had to at least keep it up so you wouldn't doubt my loyalties. Then I learned the language you speak. I tried to get to understand you. Not the Taelons. but just you Da'an. Because I got to know how different you were, and I wanted to understand how much you were different, if you could maybe help us someday, at least to defend ourselves." Boone had voluntarily put emphasis on the last sentence. Da'an's human façade slipped off and the Companion did not try to put it back in place. His features became like these of a ghost, when you can almost see through the white sheet. "I learned to trust you Da'an, to trust that you wouldn't let go of humanity. I still trust you," he whispered, his voice unconscisouly both soft and serious. "I still think you're capable of saving Humanity's future by opposing the Synod." The same, bitter smile slid on his lips once more. He threw a sideways glance at the camera's glassed eye that was fixed on them. "Doors. always thought that I was wrong to trust you. That it wasn't worth it. That you'd just deceive me. He's always disaproved the fact that I got closer and closer to you everyday. He and others also. used to tell me that my 'relationship' with you weakened my will of fighting in the Resistance."
Da'an lowered his eyes, his voice lowered as well when he spoke. "I trust the Motivational Imperative of your implant is not properly functionnal ?"
"It's just been excluded of the CVI's program. It's completely out of the way. I've never been under its influence Da'an." As Da'an's eyes emanated a soft blueish glow, Boone understood that the Taelon had caught the implied meaning of this : that all he had done for Da'an, in the Taelons' service had never been compelled by any sort of Imperative.
"And if you had come to be. discovered ?"
"An impressive number of people infiltrated your services around the world only to make sure that I wouldn't fall in your hands alive, or that I wouldn't say alive long enough to go through any kind of interrogation anyways." Da'an felt the whole realization dawn on him, that the Resistance was far more than a terrorist organization, that it was a structured organism that his people would have to take measures at if the situation one day came to explode.
The Taelon stared at the floor once more. His eyelids slid down to mask the illuminating orbs. Outside, the day was beginning, it was nearing four hours in the morning. The sky was glowing with this orange toned light that is prior to sunny days.
Da'an felt once more bathed in the bittersweet feeling of betrayal. Could he permit himself to trust this man ? No. Of course not. "You mentionned often the fact that you had attempted to understand me. I request that you try to modificate your vision and that you understand me now William Boone : what I have seen today, here, tends to make me believe that all the apparently sincere words and moments that we shared were lies. Why should I believe these words ? I have recently learned that you were the liar, that you had lied to me on many topics. Now, you come to me and present me another version of the facts, pretending this is the truer version. Do not ask me to trust you. You are asking too much of me. I will not commit the same mistake twice nor will my trust be again abused by people of your kind."
Closing his eyes, recuperating, focusing himself onto absorbing from the ambient air a supplementary quantity of energy that he hoped would circulate and extend within his body, allowing him to recover from the long words he had let fall as rain on his implant's back. "Isn't there a way to prove my sincerity ?"
The alien hesitated, his eyes flashing open, staring into the ones of the man who looked down at him. It was to expose himself, to open willingly to any attack that might be perpetred in the mental space of a Taelon that was so fragile and that it took so little to break. A rush of trust that he said he had denied to himself made him brush his fingertips against this man's hands. "There is." Da'an saw a glimpse, a sparkle of comprehension wave itself into the brown, un-Taelonlike eyes, such human eyes. "Your hands."
Boone lifted them from his side. Da'an felt an increadible fatigue collapse on his back, the brief, but all too long, moment he had experienced as an outsider to the commonality had already tired him. A lot. This last, necessary task - and yet it was not the same feeling of necessity, not the feeling that it was necessary to his kind, to the survival of his species, to the satisfaction of the Synod, but necessary to him and to the continuation of the thin link he had established with this human man.
Fortunately, there was no need to dive profoundly into his human implant's psyche to perceive what was surfaceing. Constantly on his mind. The doubt and the unknown were there, stretching, under the skin, like a constant preoccupation. For it was now the center of William Boone's life. Da'an felt it. Unprepared for the truth, prepared for anger, prepared for a farther deception, prepared for everything else. Da'an felt this desire of understanding. Felt the fact that Boone simply tried to live his life, to understand what was around him, while sharing himself and the rare time-off he had between his services for the Companions and his mission as a. spy for the Resistance movement. Da'an saw - sensed, as if it were his own - this doubt, these mixed feelings. These true feelings when Boone knew that he should not be feeling those, that he should not attach to Da'an.
William Boone had seen many cadavers already, he had already seen many useless, meaningless deaths, he had seen and known a war and had had many trouble sleeping at night without hearing the screams of horror and pleas for pity. All that he wished was to see no other conflict of this kind. He considered that he had seen enough of one war.
Da'an was highgly unprepared for the leashing of emotions that flowed toward him. So familiar, only stronger. Yet so alien.
Slipping his hands out of Boone's delicate grip, Da'an raised his eyes. The same feeling, again, of familiarity, of proximity. of trust. As he needed it so much.
Behind them, Liam cleared his throat. "Da'an. Zo'or's waiting for you on the mothership. Let us say he did insist for you to come as soon as possible."
"Very well Major Kincaid," was the mechanical answer.
The crystal palace was reborn in the depth of Da'an, as the Taelon eyed his human implant, and exchanged with him this piece of acception, of comprehsnsion, something that was almost intimate. Nearly. and truly intimate. A look that was heavy with trust. The Companion responded with a sole tilt of his head, sideways, and with this fine, almost shy-looking smile that Boone had learned to recognize as the only true, sincere, non- diplomatic smile. As Da'an's careful and slow steps reached the edge of the crypt, the alien caught a glimpse of the early-awakened city and collapsed in tiredness. Liam slipped both arms around him to stop him from hitting the stone-made stairs and carried the unconscious Taelon to the shuttle waiting for them, under the silently watching eyes of Boone.
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