The Gold Corps: Gold Justice, Chapter 9 : Legacy
They entered the command room. In front of them, on the large viewscreen that had no doubt served as a navigation screen when the ship was fully functional, was a frozen image…and both Ragnar and Miss Martial caught their breath.
It was an expanded picture of the face of a man, a man with blue skin, just like Ragnar's, but older. His features were Ragnar's almost identically, the only significant difference between the two was the obvious signs of greater age: some small wrinkles around his eyes, and a few streaks of silver in his thick, short-cut black hair. "When we came across this, for some reason, it caught our attention," John Stewart explained to them. "It was underneath some old files, and heavily encrypted; we almost didn't find it, thought it was just some junk. We sent it to Oa, and got this translation back. What you're seeing is the fully restored file we got back from Oa, after the Guardians' computers untangled it. The translation program isn't perfect; some words may not come across. But considering who it obviously is, we thought you should see it. You ready?" He directed his query towards Ragnar.
Ragnar stared, entranced, at the screen. There wasn't much doubt just who this was; the similarities were too close, the features almost his own. Even the expression…this man didn't look as though he smiled a lot. So familiar. Mutely, he nodded, a lump in his throat. John turned to the hacked-together control panel and hit the "resume" key.
The picture came alive, with the lips not moving completely in synch with the sound. Close, but not completely. "My son. If you're viewing this, it'll most likely mean that your mother and I are no long alive. I'm giving the computer the command to hide and encrypt this file, for reasons that should become apparent. You won't have simply stumbled across this file by accident; finding it means you searched for it. And that most likely means we're no longer around. So…
"First off, I want you to know a few things. One, we both love you very much. I would give almost anything I can think of to be there with you now. But if you're viewing this, then that's not reality.
"And two…and this is the hard part…" And here, the picture paused, not as if the file had paused in play, but because the person recording it hesitated, searching for the right words. "It's the delightful job of every parent to tuck their child into bed at night, kiss them on the forehead, and tell them that the monsters under the bed or in the closet aren't really there. I'd give anything I can think of, including what's left of my soul, to be able to do that, now. But if I were there with you now, I couldn't. Because, you see, there are monsters. They're real. I've seen them. And may *{{squark}}* forgive me, forgive us both…I've worked for one. His name was Bertron.
"He came to our world as a benefactor, and rapidly assumed economic control of our whole planet. In many ways, it was almost a dream come true: no more war, no more fighting amongst ourselves over who grew what where, or who's national symbol waved over which mineral resources. His scientific genius—and he was a genius, I'll give him that—saw to it that disease was virtually eliminated from our planet. Everyone had plenty to eat, thanks to advanced hydroponics, and aquaculture, both techniques he taught us. Education was widespread and available to all, as was medical care, and even entertainment of various sorts. The law was enforced, and people no long had to be afraid to venture out into the streets, as lawbreakers were caught and dealt with, swiftly and harshly. We were one people, one world, one language, one currency. After so many, many thousands of blood-soaked years, we were finally one united planet.
"But then…." The speaker paused again. "Then things…started to…happen. Cracks in the wall around paradise. Rumors. We really should have remembered an ancient bit of wisdom, handed down from a time before our people could even write: Nothing comes without a price.
"It began small. Some of our worst criminals, those who had been sentenced to either death or confinement for the remainder of their lives, disappeared. To be honest, no one of any significance worried about it, or them. At first.
"But some people did ask questions. Where did these lawbreakers go? What happened to them? Just out of curiosity, of course.
"It developed that these criminals, these lawbreakers, were being used in genetic experiments. Bertron's experiments. And nobody complained, really. After all, as he reminded us repeatedly, paradise doesn't come without a price. He needed the raw genetic material for his studies, in order to help us, in order to treat new diseases or birth defects properly. That made sense. We could understand that, and we agreed. We even saw to it that he was given the genetic material taken from stillbirths, and the unborn, those whose mothers chose to…terminate them prior to actual birth. He especially prized those, saying they were ideal, as their genetic patterns were not yet set by advancing maturity. Some wondered why he encouraged the practice. But all such inquiries were met with pretty words and airtight logic, and those asking usually fell silent, satisfied that it was all for the greater good.
"If only we'd seen where this was leading…but it might have been too late, even then.
"Overpopulation was beginning to become a problem. We already had star travel, but we ran into an unexpected problem: many worlds that would support life like ours, had things, plants, animals, spores, microorganisms…that we were allergic to. Not always anything life-threatening, more often than not just a decided inconvenience or nuisance. It's difficult to build up a world when you can't stop scratching, or sneezing, or when your eyes water continuously. Our old stories, dating back from our pre-spaceflight era, had never taken that into consideration. And, here again, Bertron's science came to our aid: with the data he'd collected from his experiments, he was able to develop gene therapy, a genetic modification process, actually altering our living DNA to make us more adaptable, better able to, not just live on these worlds, but in fact to thrive upon them.
"To make a long story short, or at least shorter, by the time I came to know him, Bertron was practically worshipped by our people. He'd saved us not only from ourselves, our own aggression, but from the dangers of disease, poverty, and overusage of our natural resources. And, although we didn't see it at the time, the only price we had to pay was…our freedom. Our collective soul.
"I started working for Bertron before I graduated from *{{squark}}*. My admiration for him knew no bounds. It was in his service that I met your mother, and she felt the same way. He was a genius, simply put. He was our planetary savior. There was no denying that.
"But he needed more and more genetic material for his experiments. We obliged him by making our criminal underclass more and more available to him. Soon, we were sending people to prison—that is to say, to his lab—for lesser and lesser crimes.
"It took your mother to first bring it to my attention, locked, as I was, in hero-worship. What exactly was Berton doing? We already had peace, resources, a frontier to explore, enormous strides in the sciences and the arts. Everyone had not only enough, but plenty. No one went hungry, or homeless, and no one went about afraid to look over his shoulder…except for those who broke the law. Bertron's law. What was he doing, she asked me. What new barriers, new threats to our lives was he now trying to overcome? So I did some research of my own.
"Since I don't have any idea as to what you already know, I'll have to be careful to tell you things you may already be aware of. Please be patient. That may be difficult for you; it always was for me.
"The 'criminals' we were sending his way…were being used in ways I found shocking. Apparently, Bertron wasn't satisfied with making our life on *{{static}}* perfect. Instead he sought to create the ultimate lifeform, one that could survive anywhere, overcome any obstacle, regenerate from any defeat, even to return to life after having been killed. He'd been using genetic material culled from us, from our people, to create this lifeform.
"I have to admit, he'd made some amazing discoveries. But his ways…I found I couldn't reconcile them with anything even remotely right. Your mother had done some investigating of her own, and had come to the same conclusion.
"The results of our investigations were predictable. Bertron couldn't afford to have his methods called into question, made public. So your mother and I were sentenced for crimes against the state—that is to say, against Bertron-, and we, too, were to be included in the next batch of 'supplies,' destined for his laboratory on the planet where he conducted his experiments.
"But we had—in a way—anticipated this. We even knew about the result of his work, and that it was, while impressive, also terrifying. There was no defeating the creature he'd created. No matter how many times it was killed, it always came back, stronger than before. The creature was a one-being holocaust, if it ever got loose in the galaxy. There would be no way of stopping it. Whole worlds would die. Because of us.
"We wracked our brains, your mother and I, long into the night, trying to come up with something, anything, that could undo or at least affect what Bertron had done. And….we came up with something. I, I don't know if it will work or not, but it's the only thing we could come up with, especially on such short notice." On the screen, the figure ran his hands through his hair, momentarily looking away from the screen, as though afraid of disturbing someone.
"We managed to insinuate ourselves onto a very certain 'supply' ship, carrying a horde of convicts to Bertron's processing center. While en route, we sabotaged the ship's star drive engine. I'd like to be able to tell you that everyone on board that ship was able to get to safety, but I cannot.
"What was important, more important than our own lives, was that you were saved. For encoded within your genetic structure is the key to defeating this monster.
"We've managed to isolate and distill *{{squarwk}}*, taken, stolen from Bertron's own lab. It's the genetic material taken straight from the creature he's taken to calling 'the Ultimate.' This, that we have, culled from his own experiments, processed down, and altered slightly, is implanted within you, boy. It's the only thing we could come up with, in such a hurry, that has even the slightest chance of working. We've utilized Bertron's own gene therapy technique to implant this into you, into your genetic structure. You will represent the best and the brightest of our entire race. And for all I know, you might be the last of us left in the universe. I hope not, but... I only hope you aren't alone. And that there are others, there, with you, seeing this for the first time or the fortieth, it won't matter.
"What we're doing is a very desperate maneuver. It may not work. And getting you to safety will almost certainly cost us our lives. But you, son, and you alone, hold the key to defeating this creature, this monster that we've allowed, in our ignorance, in our arrogance, in our wish for a paradise made by another's hands, to be manufactured from our own bodies."
Megan glanced over at Ragnar. He stood, as if transfixed, eyes wide, staring at the screen. It was clear he saw nothing else in the room. Just the image on the screen.
The face on the monitor screen softened, gazing out at a future – and a son-he would never see. "I… Well. Perhaps in another life, another universe, far away, we are all together, and there are no monsters to destroy. Perhaps, there, you, your mother and I, are a happy family. Perhaps there we go to parks, and play games. Perhaps there I teach you how to fish, only to have you catch more fish than I do the first time out. I've give…so much just to catch a glimpse of that world. Just to know it's possible. Per...haps..." His voice broke, and he took another breath, and once again, the look of determination came back into his eyes.
"But as things stand, you may well be life's only hope.
"It is my hope that, by now, by the time you're able to decode and decrypt this message, that you've become, or are becoming, the sort of man that's needed to do what must be done. If you're anything at all like your mother, you will be." The blue face smiled, just a little, remembering. "I once saw her stand in front of armed soldiers, with guns leveled at her, daring them to shoot her, in defense of some helpless innocents behind her. But whether or not you do this, is, of course, up to you. And that's the way it should be. There's no pre-programming built into the *{{squarwk}}*-nothing's going to make you *{{squarwk}}* *{{klikiklikit}}* the monster. It will have to be your own decision. I only regret that I won't be there to …that I won't be there." Here, the face on the screen looked off, slightly. Then, "As I'm recording this, you're sleeping in your cradle. Your mother is asleep; she's had a hard day." Once again, a smile touched the face of blue-skinned man on the screen. "Evidently, you've a fondness for getting fed late at night, and it was her turn, but I took it instead. And I'm recording this.
"I know this is a lot to take in, but I cannot stress its importance enough. It may seem like something from some old melodrama, but you may literally be the only hope the universe has against this holocaust creature." The message ran out, the screen displaying only static.
"Right," muttered John Stewart, under his breath. "No pressure."
To be continued…