Why does this one remind me of the current troubles in
the middle-east?
For the Future
by
E.K. Rivera
13:00
In
three hours, John Connor would be dead and the thought excited him.
“Raise
your arms, please.”
Connor
held his arms out at his sides, forming a perfect cross with his body as the
Outer Guard carefully passed the sensor over him. Before Connor, the Citadel of
Justice rose, gleaming white, into the grey Fourth Month sky. Inside, there
would be more security checks, more tests, before he was allowed into the Peace
Pavillion for the unveiling.
“Look this way,
sir. Don’t blink.”
A
red beam flashed across his eyes and for a moment, fear gripped Connor. What if
he was detected? He would be dead before he took a step. The mission would
fail.
“All
clear, sir. Please proceed to the next checkpoint.”
Connor
smiled calmly and nodded, but inside he felt a great rush of relief. He began
to ascend the marble staircase as the next person stepped towards the security
check.
Over four
thousand people were expected, with millions more watching as Chairman Goodall
unveiled the new Ganymede Revolution Memorial. Not only would it be the first
time that an Okatu was memorialized, but it also marked the first time in fifty
cycles that the Pavillion would be open to the public.
Even more
historic was the fact that a Chairman would be there in person. Not even the
oldest Terran would remember the last time that a Chairman had appeared live
before a public assembly, but Connor knew. The story had been passed down among
his people through the ages. Like all Okatu, Connor had first heard the tale as
a youngling.
“The Terrans
had sent their leader,” his sire had told him, “the one they called Chairman
Morgan. This was at the end of the Second Galactic War, close to two hundred
cycles ago, when there was greater suffering among us.
“Morgan’s
soldiers brought the True People, the Okatu, into the Shrine of Jinja. He stood
behind the altar to speak. It was a sacrilege to have anyone but the Elder
speak from behind the altar, but the Terran did not care.
“He divided the
people into two groups, females and younglings, and elder males. The elder
males were sent outside while Morgan spoke to the rest. He said that because of
the great mercy of his people, our entire race would not be destroyed. We would
be allowed to live, to carry on our traditions. We would be removed from our
home grounds and relocated to the Outer Worlds.
“While he was
speaking, a great cry rose from outside, then the sound of shooting. The
soldiers were killing the elder males. That was the Terrans’ ‘great mercy’.”
*****
14:30
“State your
name and age.”
“John Connor,
age thirty-three.”
“Parents’
names?”
“Mary and Joe
Connor.”
“Personal ID
number?”
“0404001984.”
Once more fear
gripped Connor’s heart. The Inner Gaurd, his eyes shielded behind a black
visor, monitored his voice pattern and heart rate. This was the final
checkpoint before entering the Peace Pavillion.
Connor
maintained his heartrate at the Terran level as best he could, trying to reign
in his emotions. The body before the Inner Guard was just a shell, a necessary
trapping for Connor to gain access to the Pavillion. The real John Connor had
been dead for three days, and in a sense, the Okatu who inhabited his body was
dead, too.
_ I am a ghost in a ghost’s body, _ the
new Connor had thought when he melded his essence with the dead Terran’s. He
was a walking wraith, a dead man looking for a grave and what better grave than
the Peace Pavillion on Terra.
His orders were
simple. Infiltrate the unveiling of the Ganymede Memorial. Kill as many Terrans
as possible before self-destructing. Show the galaxy that Okatu were willing to
die for their freedom. That he was willing to die for his sires. For Kyra.
“All clear, sir.”
The Inner Guard disengaged Connor from the monitor system. “Your heartrate’s a
little high. You might want to see a doctor about that.”
Connor gave the
guard his practiced smile.
“I’m just
excited,” Connor said. “Excited to see the Chairman.”
“Well, enjoy
yourself.” The guard grinned at Connor and waved him on. Connor’s smile faded
as he turned, trying to push away the unexpected warmth he felt at the guard’s
friendliness.
Connor had been
warned about this, about the empathy he would experience.
“You will feel
for them,” he had been told. “Because your heart is so full of love, you will
want to see them as people and not enemies. You will want to understand them.”
And Connor did
want to understand. Did that guard have a mate? Younglings?
On his home
satellite of Callisto, Connor had met Terrans who had hated him, who openly
cursed him and spat at his face. Those who had sympathized with the Okatu had
treated Connor like an idealized pet, a savage beast that was unexpectedly
noble. In all his life, Connor had never been treated as an equal by a Terran,
nor did he ever expect to be. He wanted to be hated and reviled because that
meant the Terrans feared him. That meant he could hurt them.
But in the
three days that he had worn the dead Terran’s body, he had been smiled at by
Terrans. He had been spoken to kindly and treated with respect. Connor had
tried to convince himself that the Terrans were only responding to his
disguise, but perhaps there was some good in them. Perhaps they were worthy of
life. But if that was true, how could such good beings have made his people
suffer?
Kyra’s face
came to Connor’s thoughts, his beautiful mate swelling with their first
youngling. She was so perfect, in body and spirit. It was she who first said to
him, “We must put aside the hate. We cannot change the past, but we can protect
the future.” But she had been wrong, so tragically wrong. No Terran could be
trusted, not after what they had done. Connor clenched his hands into
fists, disgusted with himself. How could
he even think that any Terran was good?
“Mister?” A
hand tugged at his pants leg. A youngling, a Terran girl, stared up at him, her
brown lips slightly down-turned. A red balloon with Chairman Goodall’s face on
it was held firmly in her other hand.
“Mister, why
you crying?”
Connor touched
his cheek. It was wet with tears.
“Don’t cry,
mister.” The girl smiled and held the balloon up to him. “Here. You have this.”
Connor stared at the girl, not knowing what to do.
“Take it,” she insisted.
“Don’t cry.” Before Connor could protest, she pressed her hand into his and let
go of the string. Instinctively, Connor grabbed for the string, but he was too
slow. The balloon slipped from both of their hands and floated towards the
white, domed ceiling. It brushed the laser net at twenty feet and popped with a
loud bang. Both Connor and the girl jumped.
“I’m sorry,”
said Connor. The girl just laughed.
“Shoshanna!” An
elder female appeared behind the child and pulled the girl quickly into her arms.
“How many times have I told you not to run off?” The mother glared at Connor
before hurrying away with her child. As they disappeared into the crowd, the
girl waved “good-bye” to Connor.
“You will want
to love them,” he had been told, “because your heart is full of love. That is
why we chose you for this mission. Your love is such that you would give your
life for others. You will want to understand them, but remember: have they ever
understood us? Have they shown us anything other than hate? You must never
forget your love: your love for the True People. For your family unit. You must
never forget.” No, he would never forget. No one would ever forget, not even
the innocent.
“I’m sorry,”
Connor repeated, but the girl was gone. No one was listening.
*****
15:30
“And
without further ado, I present Chairman Goodall!”
The
applause was deafening as the old man appeared, circled by guards but without
his personal shield. He was the Chairman of the People, he had told the press,
why should he hide from them? Government should not be about fear, he had also
said, nor should it be about protecting only the majority’s interests. All
peoples, Terran and Okatu, should be heard.
In
some ways, Chairman Goodall was the Terrans’ greatest leader. He was a visionary,
a humanitarian, and a war hero. But Connor knew him by only one name, a name
which roused fear and anger in all Okatu: the Butcher of Iranon.
When
he was only eighteen cycles, Goodall had fought in the Fourth Galactic War, but
it was during the Ganymede Revolution that he earned his infamy. After five
years of fighting, Commander of Operations Goodall ended the revolution with
the push of a single button.
No
living thing remained on Iranon after the explosion. Even fifty cycles later,
the radiation was such that no creature dared venture onto the charred land.
The action was deemed “necessary” and “justified”, the only way to get “those
damned Okatu” to admit defeat.
In the face of
such madness, the Okatu surrendered.
“My fellow Terrans,” said the Chairman,
“I bid you welcome on this most historic of days!”
Again the crowd
roared. Connor remained silent, his eyes never leaving the Chairman’s face.
“Today, we
commemorate those who died fifty years ago. Today, we honor their sacrifice as
we turn towards the future!”
And what was
that future? Okatu and Terran living together, side by side, as if history
meant nothing?
Connor could
see Kyra’s face, full of hope and promise.
“Why shouldn’t
they live among us?” she had said. “Why shouldn’t we live among them?” And why
not? Callisto, the frigid satellite the Okatu had been forced to live on,
turned out to be rich in ores that the Terrans’ desired. Of course Terrans
would want to live there, even with Okatu there as well.
Okatu were
invited to return to Terra as well, but who could afford to make the journey?
And did it matter that out of every hundred Okatu who applied for a transit
visa, only five would receive them? Of course not. This was progress. This was
reconciliation.
“What is
history, my friends?” the Chairman continued. “Is it a list of tragedies and
grievances? Is it an excuse for war and bloodshed? I would like to say, ‘No’,
but what has our history with the Okatu brought us? Only pain. Only sorrow.”
An unexpected
spike of hate pierced Connor’s heart. Kill. He wanted to kill all of them right
now. The guard, the child and her mother, that damned Butcher of Iranon: all
Terrans deserved to die. How dare that killer, of all people, speak of pain and
sorrow? How dare that murderer be alive when Kyra, his beloved Kyra . . .
No. Connor had
to hold his anger in check. Wait for the unveiling.
“When we first
encountered the Okatu, we welcomed them to our world with open arms. And they
returned our hospitality with war. They beat us down. Subjugated us. They took
control of our planet and tried to break our spirit. But they couldn’t. They
could kill us, but they could never break us.”
A feeble cheer
rose which quickly silenced itself. Even Connor could tell that the Chairman
was not speaking with pride.
“With this same
spirit, we fought back. We reclaimed our planet, even forced the Okatu to the
far corners of our galaxy. With this great spirit, we crushed their culture and
decimated their people. In the end, we won. We killed more of them than they
killed of us.”
This time there
were no cheers, just a somber silence.
“That is our
shared history, but it does not have to be our shared future. Even now, despite
the over two hundred years of hate and violence, there is still hope.”
Behind the
Chairman, a vid-screen flashed to life and Connor gasped with the crowd. It was
a live stream from Callisto. Standing side by side were the Terran Liason to
Callisto, and the Okatu Elder, Heiwa. Applause filled the Peace Pavillion and
Connor found that he was clapping, too. Ashamed, he forced his hands apart and
held them at his sides.
“This is the
vision of the future!” the Chairman cried above the applause.
“This is our vision
of peace!”
And it was all
a lie. There would be no true peace, not with the Terran raids on Okatu lands.
Not with the bombs and the fighting in the already ruined streets. Not when
Terran supremacists were calling for the extermination of all Okatu. Not when
they had killed his Kyra.
She had been
marching with the other females, both Okatu and Terran, rallying for female
rights. Rallying for peace. Connor had watched from the side, pride growing in
him as Kyra passed. Their eyes met and they shared a smile. He saw Kyra touch
her pregnant swelling and then the world exploded.
There were
screams and heat and “Death to all Okatu” and Connor could feel blood dripping
down his face, but his only thoughts were for Kyra as he slipped into darkness.
When he awoke
in the hospital, he learned that Terran supremacists had attacked the rally. He
learned that Kyra was dead.
Across Callisto
vid-screens, the Butcher of Iranon promised that the perpetrators would be
caught and dealt with severely. But months passed, and nothing happened. There
was no justice. There was no punishment. The Terrans had forgotten. But not
Connor.
“We cannot
return life to those who have passed,” the Chairman said to the crowd, “but we
can ensure that they are never forgotten. We can ensure that no more will die
in vain.”
That was why
Connor was at the Peace Pavillion. To sacrifice himself for the sake of his
people, to show that they would not suffer in silence. He would die so no more
would die in vain.
After leaving
the hospital, after burying Kyra, Connor had sought the company of likeminded
Okatu, males who would not back down from the Terrans, who would not accept
their meaningless treaties. They would forge a better future for all Okatu by
freeing them from Terran rule. If that meant some of the group would die, so be
it: better death than a life of subjugation. Better to be blind than to see the
shining lie of a shared future.
Behind the
Chairman, a red, shrouded form rose from the marble white floor. It was time
for the unveiling of the memorial statue. It was time for Connor to fulfill his
duty.
16:00
“And now, my
fellow Terrans, my good Okatu, we honor our fallen fathers. We honor our future
together!”
A box with a single
button on it was presented to the Chairman. Connor’s breath caught in his
throat. After a second’s hesitation, the Chairman pushed the button.
The red shroud
burst in a bloom of sparks. The crowd gasped in wonder, then abruptly grew
silent as the statue was revealed. Emotion raced through Connor, but he
couldn’t tell if it was anger or wonder.
A Terran and an
Okatu stood side by side, each reaching towards the sky, the Terran raising his
hand, the Okatu raising a tentacle. The hand and tentacle held aloft, together,
a laurel of peace. Each was stepping forward, as if setting off together on an
unknown path.
For a long
time, not a sound greeted the bronze pair. Then a single, young laugh broke the
silence, followed by the sound of small hands clapping. Connor turned towards
the sounds.
It was the
girl, perched on her mother’s shoulders, clapping and laughing. The same hands
that had tried to cheer Connor applauded the statue. The same face that had
smiled at him smiled at the vision of peace.
Connor brought
his hands up. He brought them together. He clapped. Together, Connor and the
girl clapped and then the rest of the crowd joined them. From the vid-screen,
cheering burst forth from Callisto. Even the Butcher of Iranon was smiling.
It was time.
Tears streamed
down Connor’s face, and he knew that if the girl were near him, if she had
another balloon, she would offer it to him. She would try to ease his pain just
as Kyra would have, too. Could the past be forgiven by a single token of
kindness?
Conner closed
his eyes. He could still stop. He could abort the mission and return in shame
and the girl and her mother and the smiling guard would all live. The Terran
supremacists wouldn’t stop their bombings and his people would still be living
in squalor, pushed off the land that was once theirs, pushed off by Terran
industrialists. None of the Okatu’s pain would end, but at least one girl would
live. At least she would have a future even if his own youngling never had a
chance. Wasn’t that enough?
No.
No future could
be bright when the present was intolerable: not for Okatu. Not for Terrans.
History could not be erased by a child’s smile.
Connor exhaled.
His true form ripped through the Terran husk as he reached his fore-tentacles
towards the Chairman, his aft-tentacles wrapping around the people standing
behind him.
Cheering turned
to screams. Chairman Goodall’s face became a mask of terror and confusion and
Connor kept his eyes locked on the old man’s, not wanting to see the fear in
the girl’s eyes, not wanting to see her die.
The Inner Guard
who had smiled at Connor was shooting, all the guards were shooting, but it was
too late. It was too late for all of them.
“For all
Okatu!” Connor cried. “For the future!”