177. A’Dar
177
A’Dar
A ’Dar
“Captain A’Dar Xe’llar, your pod has been activated. Begin moving your extremities. Captain A’Dar Xe’llar, your pod has been activated. Begin moving your extremities.”
How long has the pod been repeating that instruction? It seems like it’s been a while.
“Yes,” I croak through parched lips as I flex my hands and feet. It’s standard procedure when waking from stasis. Except nothing is as it should be. I can barely move and I’m dehydrated.
“Water.”
A flexible straw extends from the side of the pod and touches my lips. The simple act of turning my head and opening my mouth requires colossal effort.
The water is so brackish, I’m tempted to spit it out, but my thirst wins the battle.
After gulping water until my stomach feels bloated, I ask, “How long have I been in stasis?”
“1,873 standard years.”
“Recalculate,” I say, then take another sip. The computer is obviously broken. It called me captain. I’m first mate.
I’m surprised it took me this long to recall why I’m in stasis. As it comes rushing back, I try to leave my cryo pod, but I’m too weak to fight the machine. The clear hood is still locked to the pod’s base, waiting for my vitals to be strong enough to leave.
Planet V-238. The inhabitants call it Earth. Our intel said thousands of primitive females were roaming the plains. We came to collect them. We thought we could offer them an easier way of life, free from want or worry, on Xenon. Without bringing compatible females to our homeworld, my species will die out in a generation.
I wanted this assignment more than anything in my life. With a two-week return trip, I’d assumed many of the females would find an acceptable mate and possibly be bred before we returned to Xenon. How else would a lowborn like me have a chance to find a mate?
The virus that killed most of our females left the rest with a modified genetic code that made them unable to bear female children. No females have been born for forty years. Our situation is dire. We invited females of many other species onto our planet, but few took our offer.
Our King sent out ten ships, called arcs, just like this one to primitive planets. We were in search of females capable of interbreeding.
We circled the planet, gathering intel, and picking the best places to choose our females. Earth is shockingly primitive. Barely out of the hunter-gatherer phase. Although there are towns and a few cities, most of the planet’s inhabitants still roam remote areas where the people use spears and arrows.
After our scientists confirm we’re compatible to breed, we plan to beam down, explain their choices, and help them assimilate if they choose to join us. If they elect to accompany us, they will enjoy all the comforts Xenon society can offer.
Because females are such a rare and important commodity, their mates will cherish them. Instead of mating the brutal males down below, they will have mates who, because of machta , will never cheat and never leave them.
We were a few days away from getting uploads of their languages into our subdural translators. That and ensuring our species were compatible to breed, would ready us to go down to the planet.
We were excited about the challenge of convincing these Earth females to join us when we encountered a pirate ship just outside Earth’s atmosphere. They were in the process of stealing human females. Just simply locking onto them as if they were livestock and planning to beam them up without consent.
That’s not only against Federation protocol, it’s reprehensible. That’s when we attacked the pirates and put the survivors into cryo pods in our brig. It’s standard operating procedure to keep enemies not only locked up, but in stasis until we can return them to the Feds for processing.
We were blindsided when they released a deadly gas inside their ship in our landing bay. Sabotage. When we realized they’d released a poisonous substance, our captain ordered everyone into our cryo pods until the environmental systems cleared the air. It shouldn’t have taken more than a few standard hours.
“Captain A’Dar Xe’llar, you and everyone on board the ship have been in cryogenic stasis for 1,873 standard years,” the computer repeats.
My mouth turns dry as a desert and my stomach cramps when the truth of this statement hits me. Brackish water, inability to move my limbs, dust that has sifted onto the clear top of my pod. I’ve been in cryo for almost two thousand years. My family and friends, everyone I’ve ever known outside of those on this ship, are dead.