Link below to the french version

I

Genesis

The echoes of the war had been resounding for many eclipses. The din of metal creatures animated to the glory of their masters could be heard throughout Serion. But this time, the roars of chaos were not the result of conquering desires but of the survival instinct of peoples on the verge of eradication.

The usual pools of oil on the battlefields took on a reddish color with an otherwise pungent taste: blood. The wrecks of the fallen Robots still smoked when the crippled bodies of their Strategists returned to feed the soil—the soil of their native land.

Anarchy reigned on a planet where bitter struggles were commonplace. The wealth of this world had diverted its inhabitants from space exploration, and this lack of curiosity led to their loss.

They considered each other to be bitter enemies, brave warriors full of honor and respect for unspoken rules. But their existence was not consumed by the fruits of their common history. They were a race from elsewhere, from the confines of an uncompromising space.

The Serians learned the hard way that, despite being vast and empty, the universe was murderous.

***

 23rd eclipse of the 5th twin, 18,455th Hearing

Rocky Mountain Secret Room

Assembly of Ultimate Hope

The imposing room, which had been excavated in haste, seemed small once the delegations of the peoples had gathered in its midst. The stony, ochre ceiling in the colors of the Rocky Mountains was barely visible, but the dizzying height of the room made no one look up at it. The spectacle of the shadows gushing down on the steep walls could have been appreciated if a tense atmosphere had not been there to remind us at every moment of the critical nature of the situation.

No one noticed the incredible scene. The Seriens were mixed, without distinction of any kind. The Lyssians, Nyoz, Sahox, and Fergants mixed their warmth as a comfort; they could finally join together and serve common goals.

There was a time not so long ago when the organization of such a meeting would have required a considerable amount of time in diplomacy. But time, this resource, which is as unmanageable as it is inexhaustible, seemed, paradoxically, to be becoming scarce, to the point of being saved wisely.

There was no platform where the plebiscite leaders, spokespersons of their fellow men, were perched. The rallying speeches had been silenced. All that remained was a question thrown in the air by a Fergant, and his voice went numb:

 “Is this really the end?”

His long white hair, typical of his fellow-creatures from the frozen equator, shifted with the breaths of the Hearing. The few remaining murmurs dissipated, cut off by an obvious answer.

“I think it’s too late to change the outcome of this invasion…” finally replied a Lyssian, whose most human features of the four races were drooping with fatigue.

“The Nyoz will fight to the end!’ one of them shouted with a deep breath from his mighty chest.

 His intervention would have made his former enemies tremble in normal circumstances and galvanized his own people: the Nyoz, built like rocks, imposing and warlike with all their soul. But there was no echo. His square jaw slowly closed. He swallowed discreetly. A rare thought entered his mind; the fury of victory was leaving them, him.

“The bond weakens,” said a Sahox, a tall purplish being with a physique perfectly sculpted. “Each passing dial weakens us. We are not the only ones to suffer. Serion is tortured by these invaders.”

Her crimson eyes filled with tears that a movement of her head made spill to the ground. She could not endure so much pain. Her people's slaughter was blurring the ‘bond’ between them, and this old strength was becoming an unbearable burden.

There was a silence. If they were going to die, why go to so much trouble? The strongholds were falling one after the other. The total destruction would come soon.

Bruised by the absurdity of a fatal fate, the Master Architect Fergant in the name of Halmir spoke up:

“My friends, I cannot bring myself to die like this. We must do everything to survive. Otherwise, our existence will have been a complete charade if it ever had any meaning…”

Fergant’s pale complexion became pigmented with barely contained anger. The plan he had in mind might be a solution. But it still needed the approval of the different ethnic groups.

“Does our life even have meaning worth fighting for? If it has no value other than to exist, we have existed, we have been part of a page of history, and now it is turning. Why stop it? This people from beyond the world will write others, maybe it doesn’t concern us anymore…”

The intelligence of the Lyssians had always been used to good effect. They made up for their physical weakness with a strong intellect, the key to a technological and spiritual advance.

The search for an answer plunged Architect Fergant into a reflection marked on his face. His clear blue eyes wandered for a moment as if seeking inspiration elsewhere.

“No,” he said calmly, “we have to exist while we can. Let’s write this history. We can not be its silent victims.”

“We will miss the taste of war!” exclaimed a Nyoz, angrily stretching out his drawn arms.

“We’ll miss the moments of peace with nature,” a Sahox declared on behalf of her people.

“I will miss the icy storms that almost make me shiver!” added a Fergant whose physical sensations had been erased by the cold.

“I’ll miss everything,” the Lyssian officer concluded.

They remembered that beyond a total defeat, the important thing was to continue the masquerade. For these things, these feelings, these endless reasons.

“How could we, Halmir?” asked a Nyoz whose hope seemed to be revived, “how could we survive them?”

“They hunt us down wherever we are!” recalled a Lyssian Strategist who had just escaped death.

“Their power is unbeatable by our means… Victory is impossible,” despaired the Fergant neighbor of the Architect, “we don’t stand a chance.”

Halmir gave himself time to find the words.

“My strategy is madness,’ he said, ‘but is there still room for reason? It is no longer a question of winning this war but of avoiding extinction.” The Hearing fell silent to better hear what the Fergant had to say. “If we are powerless, then let us hide and come back when they are gone. I made plans for underground buildings that I called "The Backup Rooms." In them lies our salvation."  

“But Halmir,” interrupted a Lyssian counterpart, “the people cannot hide indefinitely in the rooms while waiting…” He dropped off the rest of his sentence. Waiting for what, anyway?

“No one will have to endure such an interminable wait,” Halmir said. “Those who volunteer to be part of the backup rooms will be put in hibernation.”

“Until when?” pressed the Lyssian Architect.

With a wave of his hand, the Fergant asked for time to explain.

“Until the sensors we’ll spread around the planet indicate that our enemies have gone.”

The Architect of the Cold Lands had just uncovered the main flaw in his plan; to succeed, their executioners had to leave.

“Why wouldn’t they just colonize our planet?” asked a Sahox.

Halmir merely pursed his lips and shrugged his broad shoulders. There was no reason to believe that this alien civilization would leave once Serion was conquered.

“If their goal was to settle, they would have made slaves,” the Architect replied laconically. “They would not have destroyed the land in their path.” He paused. “Perhaps they would even have come in peace… My plan is but one idea among others. If any here have a better one, let them speak.”

No other Serian had come up with a bold rescue plan. So Halmir took center stage, ready to discuss the implementation of the ‘rescue.’

The meeting moved quickly. The participants were now sure to die, but the thought no longer frightened them. They were comforted by the solution of the Mad Architect; extinction had to be avoided.

***

The assembly of the last hope had just ended. The delegations were gathering around the airlines, ready to return to the remains of their country. The plan of the ‘safeguard’ had been refined to the possible extent. It had been reworked to maximize its chances of success. This extraordinary joint effort finally calmed the animosities between the peoples.

Master Architect Halmir watched the aircraft take off. Agile, they made their way between the brown peaks of the Rockies and drew turquoise curves in their wake. The Fergant was proud. Of himself, but also of having seen these beings of different origins think together.

“Why does the Creator have to call us all back to him for the war to finally end?”

The Lyssian officer, the one who had started the discussion with Halmir during the assembly, had just made his way to him. He was one head shorter than the Fergant and not even close in width. An ochre fog was formed by his steps; the old leather straps around his feet were colored a faded orange. The soldier came to stand beside his interlocutor, humbly.

“It is so, my new anonymous friend,” answered the white colossus, “What created the intelligence is not necessarily beautiful…”

The Lyssian let out a long sigh. He had acquired a light cough from the stirrings of the dust.

“My name is Sax, and I thank you for what you have done. I have great hope that in this plan lies our salvation.”

“It is an honor, Sax. You will thank me when the backup has worked.” The Architect chuckled. “Even if we won’t be around to find out.”

The frequency of the takeoffs increased, and the discussion became awkward. The two Serians simply admired the spectacle with a particular benevolence, an unusual feeling: these people were their last, new family.

“One day,” Sax answered optimistically, “one day these descendants will understand their true origins. Even if it is wiser to keep them from the truth at the beginning of this new dawn, living beings have such a strong instinct that the most elaborate deception cannot hide from them indefinitely where they came from.”

Halmir nodded. The assembly had decided, as a great symbol, to rebuild the world in its entirety. The reconfigured memories would forget a disastrous past, enjoy a stable environment, project themselves into a glorious future. But above all, to start again on a new basis meant to remove the hazards.

“I hope so, my friend,” agreed the Architect, “because it is in this new version of history that we will be reborn.”

***

The end.

The Lyssian General Strategist felt it, dreaded it. His one eye, still valiant, stared at the screens in the control room, mirrors of the literal melting of the allied troops. The other scarred one, whose vision had been blurred by a war wound, could see the soldiers with their nerves on edge. They were struggling, but the veteran knew the struggle was futile. Only his people and the Nyoz were still resisting the invaders from Serion. They were only delaying the end, and the last bulwark would fall.

Powerless, the last surviving high-ranking officer gave random orders. Far from going mad, he simply wanted to gain time and postpone this extermination as long as possible. His exhausted face remained impassive, but deep inside him, the fear of dying was creeping in, and this fear was gradually changing. It was getting worse and worse, inspiring a deep pain: knowing that his whole species was going to die out. Regrets filled his hardened heart. He did not know how to save his fellow creatures, had not found the necessary strength to counter his adversaries, failed, and the others had not done better. He rewrote this war over and over in his mind, but each time his pen came to the foot of the page, the fateful conclusion never changed.

A Lieutenant Strategist approached at a run and drew his superior out of his thoughts.

“General.” He lowered his head gravely. “The Nyoz… They sent us a transmission before they fell.”

"Project it."

A video of his Nyoz counterparts appeared. The large, defeated flesh golem had exchanged the tenacity of his gaze for a façade of resignation. Despite their conflicting pasts, it was hard for the Lyssians to see a Nyoz in this state. The indomitable had just given up.

“My Lyssian friends, despite our best efforts, the enemy is about to penetrate our final base and destroy us,” he announced calmly before exhaling a long, deep sigh. “Their strength is incredible. Even our best Robots could not damage them, our covering Artilleries have been hit, our Warriors are being slaughtered, the only one still standing is the Defender. I think this time, really, it’s the end. As planned, we have started the backup plan in full confidentiality. According to our information, the system should work flawlessly."

An explosion shattered the windows of the room where General Nyoz was sitting. Shards of glass were thrown out with a fireball and embedded in his skin. Blood poured from his wounds, but he expressed no pain; the blast did not even move him one iota.

“The Defender will fall,” he said, lowering his eyes. “It’s unthinkable. Even he, our greatest bulwark ever built, could not withstand their firepower…” He crushed his fist to his heart and stared at the target. “It probably won’t matter, but I wish you luck. See you with the Creator, brothers. End of transmission.” 

The Lyssian General Strategist maintained a blank stare. ‘Brothers,’ those two words echoed in his mind. It had come to this. The man who had been his sworn enemy the day before now addressed him in those terms.

They were alone now, still so little time.

That the Nyoz had time to set in motion, their common survival strategy was, after all, welcome news in this desperate situation. The Lieutenant Strategist returned with a voice full of sobs.

“General. Our Robots are defeated. Only the Defender is left to us.” He swallowed his tears and rubbed his forehead insistently to hide his soaked eyes. “What are your orders?”

“Well, it’s time to start the backup plan, activate it, make sure it’s working, and report back to me. Keep me informed of the Defender’s vitality. Once it’s destroyed, it’s all over,” he finally murmured with a lump in his throat.

The Strategist nodded and left to carry out the instructions. The General was left alone, his hands folded behind his back. He looked out the windows at the colossal dome of the Defender, protruding from the walls of crystallized steel. Detonations began to be heard, but the huge Robot did not move, even though many metal pieces were torn violently from its armor.

“Eighty-three percent vitality,” informed the Lieutenant. “The backup plan has been launched. The protocol has been validated, and the rooms are operational.”

“Excellent, are the conditions of the revival updated?”

“Yes, General, the sensors are up and running. Our descendants are assured.” His wet eyes focused on the screen where he was tapping. The countdown to their brutal execution had just collapsed. “Forty-seven percent vitality.”

“Great,” said the General Strategist, ‘let’s hope that these scum don’t choose to take up residence on our planet.”

Slowly, the Strategists whose Robots had fallen in battle arrived, silent, forming a column where boldness and courage had given way to immeasurable sadness. They had no more cards to play. The game was lost.

“Fifteen percent General,” warned the Strategist, whose hands began to shake irrepressibly, “the Robot is going to fall!”

“Then it’s time to delete everything!” he ordered with an icy shiver. “Delete all our files immediately. Leave no trace!”

In the distance, after a powerful blast, the Defender’s mass finally began to move. It sank limply and hit the ground with a thud. The ground vibrated, its waves spreading to the soles of everyone’s feet like a gong announcing defeat. Then there was a brief calm, a truce, an absence of sound so rare in these troubled times that the remaining Lyssians thought they were already in the other world.

The General spoke one last time. He addressed his base with a voice full of resentment impossible to evacuate.

“My dear friends, it is time. Time to face not death, but a simple step in our destiny. It is not oblivion that awaits us behind this door. It is glory! The honor of having fought to the end, to our last ounce of strength with our heads held high! I am proud to have shaken hands with a Nyoz, to have approached the Sahox and their mystery, to have fought alongside the Fergants! I have seen a great family created, and I hope with all my heart that one day, again, this unification will be reborn! Savor this last nute that you have left, don’t waste it on them hating them! History will continue. The future will avenge us!”

He removed the communicator from his ear with a frail hand and let it fall to the ground, gently opening his fingers. His pulse, which had been racing due to the intervention, slowly returned to normal, and the strong pulsations on his temples calmed down. He listened to the silence, cut off from time to time by a low crash on the massive doors of the entrance. Stoic, the General looked at the weakened passageway as it cracked. He waited patiently. His last wish was to see the people responsible for the annihilation of his world in front of him. That would be the signal, the self-destruction of the base in an explosion so intense that no particle of the surroundings would avoid the disintegration.

Carried away by a wave of insurmountable despair, the veteran lost his restraint. Out of his mind, he began to scream with frightening rage as he smashed his fist into the first surface in range.

“Come! Come and get it over with! You will see when our descendants come to crush you! We will be avenged!”

The heavy doors collapsed in pieces.

The senior officer held his breath in anger and saw, emerging from the smoke, those Robots so dark, resistant, and powerful. He caught the gaze of one in the distance.

“A little late for the farewell party!”

Then sadness and bitterness swept over him as his attention turned to that button. For the first time in his life, the veteran felt a tear on his cheek as he moved his hand closer.

“A nice final bouquet.” He triggered the ignition.

A bluish spray developed, sweeping away the Robots, Serians, and constructs in a series of global flashes of light. When the devastating blast fell, it left behind a world ruined by destruction, a world where war had nearly extinguished precious life.

But not discounting the ingenuity of the Serians.

***

19th Eclipse of the 5th Twin, 18 582nd Hearing

Somewhere on Serion

Once again, the orgast came to pass its snout on this strange flower to sniff its perfumes. But like every time, no scent reached his nostrils. It was almost a ritual since the noise had stopped a good ten Hearings ago. If he had been more evolved, without those damned hooves, he would have torn off this strangeness that never grows or fades. He would have looked at it from every angle and would have understood what it was all about. But it was only a simple orgast, an animal without much capacity for reflection, that an earthling would have described as a boar in armor. Underneath this chivalrous aspect, he was a peaceful herbivore.

As soon as he moved away in search of some greenery in the nearby pastures, the peaceful vegetarian perceived a dry and loud sound emanating from the floral curiosity. The interjection was repeated at regular intervals. Suddenly, a gleam appeared in the creature’s dark eyes, a definite irritation at being taunted by this oddity. And this time, she was way out of line. The ‘tic’ of too much finished to seal the destiny of the mysterious totem. It was knocked down by a frank blow of snout. The orgast remained planted in front of the curved flower, whose solid base still prevented it from touching the ground, in a final gesture. The clacking of the air intensified, the herbivore answered with a loud growl.

A perfect duel where each wanted to impress the other.

When the escalation of the roar was about to turn ridiculous, a new element came into the show. The ground began to shake, cracked not far from the stage, and an imposing mass emerged from the ground in a din of seized metal and electronic noise. The just revived Robot took stock of its circuits and observed the beast disoriented by an outrageously unbalanced balance of power.

The orgast fled without asking for help. He wasn’t intelligent, but it didn’t take much to realize that his little rattling opponent was no flower.

***

It had been ten Hearings since Serion had been abandoned by its invaders. The thinking races had disappeared, nature had reclaimed its rights; the course of time was now free of any scientific measure. The landscapes of the planet had been scarred by the intensive exploitation of its resources. Only the rich veins of ore were roughly emptied. The others represented only an unprofitable source. The depletion of the deposits was as rapid as the previous war. Serion was simply a stopover for a dying civilization in search of riches.

Once the lull in the war was over, the backup rooms came out of their torpor, ready to resume their existence.

Multiple bunches of high-speed drones were flung into the sky with one mission: to check the globe for threats. They meticulously analyzed the invaders' remnants, the bases, the mines, the plains, and every mountain. The Renaissance had a free hand.

The artificial intelligence of the backup had to adapt the plans of their creators to the new morphology of Serion, where the cracks prevented reconstruction. They had designed the buildings, the streets, and the cities of this world, which they had created from scratch, as a home for their descendants. But they had to shape them according to the reality, the one that the Farngs, Verbas, Khrals, and Wyrns would share from now on.

Four new peoples, each the heir of an ancient one.

***

1st Eclipse of the 1st Twin, 15 583rd Hearing

Kissirien Hemisphere

Anha, capital of the Wyrn continent

The new Hearing had begun. The bright yellow circle of Talus showed itself on the horizon. He was approaching his purple alter ego, Kissir, to court him as the legend described.

In the almost deserted streets of Anha, a humanoid Robot moved peacefully. Cautious, it avoided the bodies already lying on the ground waiting to wake up. Its grayish colors had been erased by the Hearings spent waiting and by the hard work of the Renaissance reconstructions. One would have thought his eyes were admiring the work he had been involved in, but that was a human feeling he had not been taught; the metal being was merely checking the buildings' finish.

In his hands rested a sleeping Sahox in a cryogenic tank cover as protection against the cold of their steel. The purplish glow of her skin was gradually regaining its splendor under the beneficial rays of Kissir, the sun that had seen her born, and, soon, reborn Wyrn.

Under his feet, the shadows of the voluptuous Wyrn’s architecture inherited from the Sahox culture began to split. The radiance of the Talus sun was invading the skies to add to that of its purple counterpart.

The Robot stopped walking. This position in the middle of a street seemed random, yet it had been decided long ago. He scanned the future Wyrn: she was fine, the reanimation process indicated by the chip in her brain was beginning.

She would remember nothing. Her previous life had been erased like a stroke of an eraser on a sketch, the almost blank sheet then offered to the pencil of the Architects of Safeguard.

With a calculated movement, the naked body was gently deposited on the ground, in total contrast with the rigidity of its protector. Small articulated arms worked around it to dress it, then finally abandoned it.

The Robot left. His last task was waiting for him.

Behind him, behind closed eyelids caught in nascent spasms, a thought was looped, waiting to be received: ‘A violent earthquake dropped me to the ground.’

***

On a vast plain on the Wyrn continent, a Robot was hurrying to his appointment after dropping off an important package. The hearing was over, and only Kissir was shining in the firmament. The black spot on his belt indicated the arrival of Ismir, his moon. The eclipse was about to begin and plunge the Kissiran hemisphere into darkness.

The straggler slalomed between several of his fellow creatures and finally anchored his feet in the ground. He grabbed a heavy machine gun hooked to his waist before putting his index finger on the trigger. In turn, he stood by until the signal; his precious work was done.

He was in for a rude awakening; the Robot in front of him had him in his sights. He had supported him throughout the Renaissance, but in the new world, they were adversaries. One of them would surely perish from the other’s fire soon after activation. Although it made little sense to them, they were also about to forget their past in favor of a phony history.

At the first light of the end of the twin eclipse, a pulse from the top of Mount Ice would suddenly bring the giant play to life.

Each new inhabitant of Serion must have thought he or she had always existed, ever since his or her mother had given birth.

And what an incredible mother it was.

***

In the blizzard-ridden main Farng base, a Chief Engineer collapsed on a catwalk and stood up. Luckily, he had not fallen on the Artillery below.

“Oh! Quite an earthquake. I almost went over the fence!” he said to his assistant on the ground.

“Yeah, you’re right, but it’s okay, I think … the other one answered him, getting up with difficulty. I thought, well, that this quadruped of iron was going to crash on me!

“Sorry,” said the artificial intelligence simply.

“Well,” resumed the Chief, pressed by the program, “as I was saying, it seems to me that the problem with its back cannon is simple: when it caught the Hunter on its back, it must have ripped out two or three cables before it was ejected. Tell me Artillery, can you move your cannon diagonally to the upper right?”

Gears squealed with a shrill sound, and the gun barely lifted before falling back heavily to its original position.

“The sensors tell me that the movement is impossible,” replied the Robot. But I could do it upwards.

“No, it’s okay, I’ve got it,” said the Mechanic, leaning over the bridge. Raising his voice to call out to his disciple, he let some of his white hair fly. “Jalir! Get me twenty-five soft steel cables and get some triple armor for strength!”

The apprentice at the other end of the workshop hastened to obey. He had only been training for ten eclipses, but this diligence brought him the good graces of his superiors.