Crècheships weren’t built to withstand the forces at play during a planetary landing. They were solely designed as engines of eternal warfare, meant to slip from system to system, unleashing swarm after swarm of modified men. As perilous as it was to land our ship, the five of us agreed that what came after the landing would be far more dangerous—meeting our hosts face-to-face for the first time, their soft naked skin to our hard metal carapace.
This fear was unfounded.
The crècheship landed in a territory known as Wind River. Twenty-two million acres of land within a sparsely populated subregion of the United States that our new hosts evacuated for us to meet our requirements for a new homeland. One of the most significant promises the U.S. made in its offer was that all the children born there would gain automatic citizenship. The concept itself was somewhat unusual, but upon examination, it was clear that citizenship was preferable to the alternative. The irony that the alternative was classification as “stateless aliens” was not lost on us.
I decided to make the first in-person contact alone, but Xadl’ger, my tasnliib, insisted on joining me. So we descended on a ramp together, walking side by side. Me in my sheer, black Nightskin designed for orbital drops and them in their silver Blastskin designed for ship-to-ship operations.
The Americans broke out in a chorus of cheers when our feet first touched the soil of Earth, ground that none of our clan had come into contact with for nearly ten thousand years. Although my metallic feet lack the sensitivities of a human foot, I still felt something unlike anything I’d felt upon landing on other planets. Like some ancient circuit had come to life, telling me that this was my world and where I belonged.
They greeted us with flowers and treasures, and most importantly, at least to me, they greeted us with their smiles. Our faces were incapable of showing emotion, so I’d never seen a human smile in person. Yet, it touched something profound within me, filling me with a joy that matched the obvious joy of our long-lost kin who had come to welcome us home.
The reception’s leader was one of the American minor hierarchs, a Senator named Marsha Beth Sampson. In our first meeting, she explained how various members of her family had served as Senators from the state of Wyoming for generations and how the people of Wyoming were known as good neighbors. How she looked forward to building stronger ties between her people and ours. In a moment of candor, she revealed to me that she was also a soldier. A reserve colonel in the branch of the military called the Air Force. She had flown multiple combat missions, and that battle experience was something we shared. She assured me, soldier to soldier, that we could trust each other to find common ground between our people.
The Senator also expressed considerable interest in a tour of the ship, especially the crèchepods, where a million little bundles of cells were now in gestation.
“Many in my government think these artificial wombs you’ve spoken of might be the most valuable thing you could offer. Far more valuable in the long run than these fusion reactors we could probably build ourselves in the next decade,” the Senator said.
“Would you mind explaining this sentiment?” I asked. “Our data indicates the planet’s population growth is robust, while the energy crisis and its effect on your environment are extremely acute.”
“Your people have never known freedom, so you’ll just have to trust me that it isn’t that simple. A lot of good people in Wyoming make their living from natural energy. Transitioning to this fusion energy of yours is going to cause a jobs crisis in these parts, not that we aren’t grateful. And you should know that our scientists have been looking into these concerns you have about the environment, and there just isn’t a consensus yet.” The Senator paused to look at me directly in my face plate, searching for something in my mechanical eyes before she continued.
“What we do know is that there is nothing more natural to the environment than change. It’s always been changing and always will. Now, I do agree that Earth’s population is growing plenty fast, probably too fast, but I’m talking about America, you understand. The numbers don’t lie. Our domestic infant supply isn’t keeping up with demand. You would make a lot of friends if you helped good American families, with so much love in their hearts, fill their homes with children.”
“Mmm, fascinating,” I replied, marking the conversation as necessary for review, since her answers only confused me.
The Senator asked us to join her in prayer at the end of that first meeting. The presence of a god or gods in the human belief systems wasn’t knowledge I had sought. Still, fortunately, the act of acquiring the language brought the concept to our attention, or I might have recoiled from the ceremony without any forewarning. For it was eerily similar to the practices the Kaa forced upon my people. Rituals designed to convince us that our servitude to them was both natural and good.
The fact that worship appeared to be something innate to the human condition gave me some comfort. At least enough comfort to bury most of the unease I felt during the ceremony.
• • •
It took us one hundred and thirty days to assemble the city that would become our home. The crècheship’s modular design gave us an early advantage in the process. From the ship, we built five shining towers as the central hub of the city to come. After we erected the towers, the rest of the build was much harder, especially since we couldn’t risk allowing outside help.
Once they were sure the fetuses were developing well, Gaa’ger spared some attention toward modifying our terror-drones, allowing them to function as rudimentary bio-harvesters. We refined the plant matter they gathered and used it to construct several outbuildings designed to replicate the look and feel of nearby regional metropolises. When we opened our city to the world, we hoped these structures would provide the Earthlings that visited with a sense of familiarity to ease their interactions with us. This, of course, was only a facade.
We built the real city underground using ship-to-ship weapons modified by Xadl’ger to carve into the bedrock. WurUirwur’Gir, our high-energy weapons expert and the closest thing we had to an engineer or research scientist, insisted on this precaution.
We had chosen our host country partly because of the generosity of their bid. Few of the other nation-states had the resources to compete with their offer. In the end, however, we are a warrior people, so our choice came down to the American strength of arms. Although primitive by our standards, the thermonuclear bombs in their arsenal and those of their geopolitical rivals could prove just troublesome enough that it took just a few words for WurUirwur’Gir to convince us to bury our city.
Beneath the Earth, we designed majestic halls and extraordinary chambers with myriad inspirations. Some we built to honor the species we’d met in war and whose great works had crumbled before us. Others were in the styles of the Earthlings’ masterworks. A few of them followed their modern designs, but most were based on ancient palaces and grand temples long lost to ruin—the wonders of the human world we had missed during our long sojourn.
Even though our mechanical bodies are immune to fatigue, our minds remain human and can only be pushed so far. Much was left undone in the rush to ensure our children had a suitable home waiting for them. The most tragic casualty of our narrow focus was our study of the people of Earth, our distant kin, and their distinct histories.
After confirming all our defenses were online, we welcomed a delegation from our hosts on the one hundred and thirty-first day. Once again, the leader was the Senator from Wyoming.
• • •
“—so, you can see our system allows us to generate more power with greater efficiency, without the extra step of building massive steam turbines and hydraulic cooling systems. Eventually, we must shift your civilization to the plasma relays we’re using here. Until then, we can produce enough electricity directly to solve the short-term power issues. A complete overhaul of your energy transmission system is a secondary priority.”
“This is all very interesting, I’m sure, my dear. But when are you going to show me your babies?” the Senator asked.
“Fetuses,” I corrected offhand. “They’re only halfway through gestation, I’m afraid. They won’t be babies for quite some time yet. But I’m happy to show you the wombs. They’re all around us.”
I led the Senator into the hall outside the fusion chamber and gave a silent command for the tower’s system to light up a series of displays.
“The Kaa designed our ships to produce an inexhaustible supply of soldiers. Each of our towers contains two hundred thousand crèchepods. Most of the hallways are lined with them just like this.”
“Fabulous, absolutely fabulous.” Senator Sampson began walking down the hallway, her finger trailing along the displays, making cooing sounds before letting out a puzzled hum. “I take it this hall is just girls?”
I paused for a moment. I’d spent some time familiarizing myself with the Earthlings’ concept of gender. The Earth’s military history and current capacity were the central areas of my study. So even before first contact, I’d noted that most of the great military leaders and hierarchs in the planet’s history were recorded as being male and had tailored my approach to that. Now it seemed like the Senator’s sharp eyes made maintaining the subterfuge a precarious risk if we wanted to remain trusted.
“Actually, we are all what you would assign the term ‘female’ to. The Kaa found the Y chromosome inadequate to their needs and discarded it.”
The Senator was silent for a moment before responding.
“Well, they must have seen my husband in the kitchen.” The algorithm Pur’ger had designed to recognize Earthling humor triggered, alerting me to activate the agreeable laugh they’d programmed into my voice synthesizers. I’d spent enough time with the Senator by then to notice the smile she wore while she gave a soft laugh of her own did not extend to her eyes.
“So, you will have one million teenage girls running around here in a little over a decade. You had better build a tall fence.”
“A fence will not be required,” I paused after that, but only briefly. Explaining the extent of our defenses to the Senator would be an unnecessary risk, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t give her any assurances. “After the initial incubation period, we will begin chrono-warping the children and implanting them with mind syncs. It will take only a few months for this first generation to reach full maturity.”
“You really must reconsider giving us access to your chrono-warping technology. Think about what it could do for our food security.”
The science behind chrono-warping was closely related to the branch of physics used to develop the manifold technology for faster-than-light travel. Handing it to humans now would only bring us certain doom and undo the work we’d done to hide the location of Earth from the Kaa. Corrupting the central data core to erase the coordinates for Earth was a critical inflection point in the buildup to the rebellion. Something we certainly wouldn’t be allowed to repeat if the Kaa found us again. And find us they would if anyone in the system opened a manifold corridor.
The first test would send up a flare alerting any significantly advanced civilization, including the Kaa, that a new combatant had joined the galactic fray. We’d explained the risk to the Earthlings, but in this matter, they’d remained stubbornly persistent. Their desire to reach out and touch the stars was far greater than any fear of what would reach back. Like the universe itself owed them the chance to expand into it.
We never did explain how great a sacrifice we’d made to gain our freedom. Perhaps withholding that knowledge had given them the false sense that we had overcome the Kaa on somewhat equal terms and were somehow capable of opposing our former masters. It was a dangerous delusion for them to hold, but safer than allowing them to know what we had done. Letting them know the extent of our crimes posed a far greater and more immediate risk. For all our sakes, better the Earthlings saw us as distant kin who had suffered greatly to return to them. Not as the mass murderers who’d extinguished humanity across countless stars as cover for our escape.
“Oh, you’re going to give me that same runaround again about technology that’s too dangerous for us. We will revisit this in the future, trust me on that. Once you’ve got to know us better, I think you’ll realize there isn’t much Americans can’t handle.”
“In the future, no doubt it will be safer. The timing of our revolution was triggered when the Kaa’s conquest boundary expanded past the point where they could deploy a rapid response. In a few thousand years, once the forces of the Kaa and their eternal war machine are stretched thin enough, we might be able to return to the stars and escape their notice. But, for now, you must believe me that we are all still in very real danger from them. Our act of rebellion would demand the most brutal punishments for untold generations if they found us.”
“Fine, fine, let’s move on from this,” the Senator said with a wave of her hand. “Why don’t you tell me more about these mind syncs? If I understand it right, you transfer memories? It seems ungodly but pretty useful.”
“It is ungodly. It is of the Kaa. But for now, unfortunately, it is also our only option. There are too few of us to raise all the children.”
“Since you’re refusing to share your chrono-warping technology, you should at the very least consider sharing this mind sync thingy you have. It would sure make you a lot of friends in the military. Training a fighter pilot costs us over ten million dollars, as I well know.”
“Unfortunately, a sync can’t simply provide training in one set of skills. The technology doesn’t parse out individual memories to integrate. It’s a matter of implanting an entire lifetime of experiences. The human mind has a great storage capacity, far more than one person could experience even over hundreds of years. Implantation, however, is impossible if the individual has already established a distinct identity. A mind sync can only work on an infant. Anything else leads to unpleasant results––very unpleasant results.”
“And whose memories are you implanting in these babies—your crew’s?”
[She’s probing.] The voice of Pur’ger piped into my head. Analysis of the Senator had suggested that behind her affable demeanor, she was cunning, observant, and highly skilled at digging for information. As a group, we agreed that it was in our best long-term interest to maintain a policy of honesty with the Earthlings, even if there were some things about us and our rebellion that we needed to keep secret.
The way our memories were transmitted intergenerationally wasn’t something we were specifically trying to hide. But it was central to how our rebellion had formed and why it succeeded. I hoped what little I was about to share didn’t lead to any uncomfortable follow-ups.
“The answer to your question is complicated. They won’t have our memories, which unfortunately means they will know nothing of what we learned since our return to Earth. They will get the same mind syncs we were implanted with at birth. All of us are two or three generations removed from the life records of Awe’ger, our shared forebearer. So we will have a significant pool of memories in common with our children.”
“I take it this Awe’ger was someone important?”
“Awe’ger was the greatest human warrior and strategist to ever live, both in our history and yours,” I replied without hesitation. “During their lifetime, they conquered vast swaths of the galaxy, proving their value to the Kaa while simultaneously formulating the rebellion in silence. Knowing the excellence of their service to our former masters would guarantee their memory print would go into common replication. Leaving it to their descendants of the mind to bring the plan to fruition when the time was right.”
“He sounds impressive. Like our George Washington.”
It would have been polite to agree with her, but when we chose the United States as a host country, I’d familiarized myself with the various campaigns Washington led, and something about the comparison grated on me.
“Not exactly, mam, they were more like your Alexander, Han Xin, and Spartacus put together.” So far, my close study of every military record and campaign ever fought on Earth had only caught up to what the Americans called the classical period. I had taken the time to assess the United States military capacity and its most significant leaders when we chose them as our hosts. Still, that information lacked the global context my deeper studies were building of the military history of Earth.
The Senator pursed her lips at my response.
“Well, bless your heart.” Then, without missing a beat, she turned to face me directly. Her voice dropped into the tone I’d come to associate with dangerous questions. “You mentioned your crew. How many of you are there again?”
Naive as I was to the ways of the Earthlings, I’m a warrior of the line of Awe’ger and well acquainted with deceit. Well, enough not to fall for such a transparent ploy for information we were guarding so keenly.
“Our crew complement is what is required to operate the most advanced warship your people have ever seen, madam,” I answered after taking a single beat for consideration. I was satisfied when my enhanced vision noted the tiny hairs on her visible skin rise as she bristled at my response. Her physiological reaction was impossible to hide despite her attempt to cover her discomfort with a laugh.
Working with the Earthlings was a delicate balance. Fear could only protect us so much from them. Our own rebellion against the Kaa and the costs we were willing to pay proved the capacity of the human heart. We knew well enough not to lean too heavily on fear in our interactions with our cousins from Earth. Knowing that, just like us, they could also be pushed too far. Knowing how dangerous that would make them.
“Here, let me show you something,” I said, suddenly inspired by a tactic that might help end the meeting on a sweeter note. “Don’t be alarmed. I’m going to lower the lights so I can open one of the bays without disturbing the fetus.”
With a few mental commands, the lights in the hallway slowly dimmed to acceptable levels before the doors of the incubation chamber in front of us opened. The chamber would adjust over time to fit a full-grown adult, but for now, it only extended a few feet in either direction to contain the embryonic sack.
“Here, let me take your hand.” Then with the greatest care, I took the Senator’s soft human hand in the metallic talons of one of my claws and placed it on the delicate membrane in front of us.
“Is that a heartbeat?” she asked almost breathlessly.
“You have keen senses, Senator. Yes, what you feel is a heartbeat.” I waited longer, patiently keeping the woman’s hand in place until it happened.
“It kicked. I felt it kick.”
“Yes, most of them have been kicking for almost a week. My body gives me many advantages, but the Kaa saw no reason to endow us with the level of tactile acuity you have in your hands. It is good that you are here to feel this heart beating, to sense this tiny kick like only a human in flesh can.” Scans of the Senator confirmed my words had the desired effect.
She turned to me, her eyes glistening,
“My people have a saying: we love because he first loved us. I promise you that we will give your babies the love you can’t.”
Then she turned and took one of my metal claws in both hands.
“Promise that you’ll invite me back for their births.”
“It would be our honor to have you join us.”
“As you should, I reckon I’m the closest thing these girls will have to a godmother. ”
• • •
For the next hundred and fifty days we faced the troublesome realization that we had overlooked some of the critical infrastructure our city would need. The closest thing to plumbing any of our people had used for the last ten thousand years was a highly efficient recycling system installed in our suits. Most of our bodies were discarded when we were placed inside the suits, our limbs, our skin, our torsos, even our skulls all fed to the recycler. At the end of our lives, any final bits of flesh that remained, if we were lucky, would join the same recycled stew that fed the next generation. The Kaa always prized efficiency in their tools.
We discovered quickly that carving a grand city underground was far more satisfying than ripping up floors in every building to account for the sewage needs of a million new inhabitants.
One hundred and fifty days later, the gestation cycle was complete, as were our new modifications, and we welcomed the Senator and her delegation back to celebrate the transition of the fetuses, now babies, into the next phase of their development.
• • •
“You’re about to witness the process of the infant being removed from the placental life support system. Then, a small shock to the diaphragm will initiate the breathing reflex, allowing oxygen intake through their lungs via the superfluid they’re suspended in. The superfluid also enables us to connect to their nervous system to promote the regular activation of all the muscle groups and acts as the interface for their memory syncs.”
“My dear Dim’ger, we just call it the miracle of birth,” the Senator said. The small group of attendants in her delegation joined her in a tittering of laughter.
I purposefully took the Senator to the same hallway where I’d first shown her the fetal support display systems. Then directly to the crèchepod I had opened for her months earlier. Like our cousins from Earth, we appreciate symmetry in our cycles.
Unlike the last time the Senator was here, I did not dim the lights in the hallway before opening the bay doors.
The air of excitement building in the hallway suddenly cooled when the door slid open, and the Senator clutched at her chest.
The primer that Pur’ger had given me on body language explained that this was a sign of physical distress. And scans of her confirmed that her heartbeat had become slightly erratic, although not enough to suggest that she was in immediate danger.
“Do you require assistance?” I asked. “You appear to be experiencing a mild tachycardiac event.”
“That—that baby—she’s Black. Are you—does this mean you’re all … Blacks?”
The question was puzzling. The Nightskin I wore was the color of the purest black; the baby in front of us was anything but. I heard Pur’ger cursing as the system flagged a series of text files with urgency equal to what I would receive in a live combat situation.
[I think we are in trouble.] they said, a few seconds ahead of me in digesting the data screaming for our attention.
I recognized a few of the files had names I’d seen when I’d skimmed over the ever-growing list of matters in my queue. Previously, these files blinked blue for urgent reasons, but now they all blazed in ultraviolet. Pur’ger was doing their best to triage the order of the data for me, and the first file they flagged was about ethnicity. Apparently, the designation of “Black” had nothing to do with actual color. Instead, it was a nebulous construct loosely related to phenotype and perceived geographic affiliations. It took only a moment to scan the first file and answer her.
“According to our research, the Kaa stole us from a region you know as West Africa. So yes, by your definition, we are all Black.” My answers didn’t seem to give her any relief. “Is everything OK?”
“No, of course, it’s OK. You people are just so advanced it came as a surprise,” she said before pausing for a moment. “Sorry, that doesn’t sound right. It’s not what I meant. It’s just … you didn’t think maybe this was something you should’ve told us?”
The next file, Race in America, was far too long for me to read while maintaining a conversation with the Senator. The bullet point beneath the headline stated that the issue of race was a persistent cause of conflict between American sects.
“I’m sorry, we were unfamiliar with the concept of race.”
The Senator pursed her lips and her nose wrinkled.
“This wasn’t the way for us to find this out,” she finally stated coldly. “You can’t really expect us to believe you didn’t know what you were doing. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to miss this—this thing of yours. I have calls I need to make.”
With that, her entire delegation turned to leave. As they walked away, one of the younger men leaned toward another young man, attempting to whisper discreetly. However, there was no sound level he could have spoken at that we wouldn’t have been able to detect with our superior sensors.
“Can you imagine, a million space n—” He stopped short and looked back at me before continuing. “A million space nightskins,” he finished. Somehow the way he said “nightskin” made the word I’d only associated with pride before sound filthy as it came out of his mouth.
• • •