ancestors morphologically or physiologically with the passage of eons.”
Sateron’s torment was evident in the sudden slouch of his shoulders as he sat heavily back on the rock. The humans grieved in commiseration. Aleris picked up the thread, allowing Sateron time to hold himself apart in his distress.
“Immortality is an abomination. With no end to life, the Min’yel’os have lost touch with sentiency and have become remote from the variant species in their Empire. Also did they lose the joy of living and the creativity that accompanies a measured existence. Their rule is as master to slave: those they govern are objects in the fruitless expansion of their bloated Empire. There are data records in the archives that allude to uprisings against them, but with forces loyal—more likely terrified of termination—they seem invincible.”
Aleris was irate, an emotion rarely seen in the geneticist. Sateron remained mute, his eyes hooded, the suffering of his species a raw wound in his heart.
“There were those who claimed they knew of distorted data in the genetic archives of Hakilam,” Aleris continued. “Intrigued, we investigated cautiously and encountered extensive manipulation of documentation and missing data. Others clandestinely joined our cause. We debated ways to halt the oppression of the Min’yel’os, to destroy their rule and to return our species’ ability to procreate. There was no conclusive evidence of this skewed information ... until we discovered the moss-like entity growing now in the Humid Zone.”
Sateron’s eyes lost their misery as he focused once more on the gathering before him. Exploding off the rock he seemed to swell, pride and optimism natural attributes of this alien who had dedicated his life to ending the miasma that enveloped his species. At nearly seven feet in height and two hundred and seventy pounds, he was of the Ton , the category given to those who served the government directly, the most highly regarded in the Empire; and Re , the sub-classification of scientist, the most prized by the Min’yel’os. Most assuredly he had terrified the diminutive natives of Earth, his mahogany-colored skin almost purple in the light, nearly black in the dark. And when they looked into his eyes and beheld the black elongated irises and pupils surrounded by lemon-tinted eyeballs, they believed they were in the presence of great evil.
Aleris nodded and Sateron took up the telling. “The realization that Eocene dicit’ledoni grew naturally was what began our quest.” His voice had returned to its previous dynamism. “There were no records in any archives of dicit in any form, except for the engineered complexity on Hakilam. We concluded that the Min’yel’os must have had all natural forms of dicit destroyed once it could be fabricated. finding dicit-E on Earth further corroborated our suspicions about their subterfuge. We instinctively knew the key to our emancipation from this racial atrocity would be tied to Earth—and dicit-E. We queried: Why did they fear us? Who were we to cause such apprehension?” His eyes alight with the fire of righteousness, Sateron’s body quivering with suppressed excitement, his restlessness contagious.
“We needed a laboratory in which to conduct our experiments, some place shielded from psychic probe and accidental discovery. In searching archaic galaxy charts for suitable locations, we found the star system Zubeln and then used androids designed for primary planetary exploration to calculate orbital changes in the star system over a specified span of time.
“Understandably, Zubeln’s three planets appeared to have never been colonized, each one nothing more than wastelands of blowing sand and electrical storms. This one, Izorach, proved a perfect location. It had several hundred canyons that created fantastical winds, electrically charged debris that swirled hundreds of feet in the air and a high concentration of static in the particulate.
Sateron’s torment was evident in the sudden slouch of his shoulders as he sat heavily back on the rock. The humans grieved in commiseration. Aleris picked up the thread, allowing Sateron time to hold himself apart in his distress.
“Immortality is an abomination. With no end to life, the Min’yel’os have lost touch with sentiency and have become remote from the variant species in their Empire. Also did they lose the joy of living and the creativity that accompanies a measured existence. Their rule is as master to slave: those they govern are objects in the fruitless expansion of their bloated Empire. There are data records in the archives that allude to uprisings against them, but with forces loyal—more likely terrified of termination—they seem invincible.”
Aleris was irate, an emotion rarely seen in the geneticist. Sateron remained mute, his eyes hooded, the suffering of his species a raw wound in his heart.
“There were those who claimed they knew of distorted data in the genetic archives of Hakilam,” Aleris continued. “Intrigued, we investigated cautiously and encountered extensive manipulation of documentation and missing data. Others clandestinely joined our cause. We debated ways to halt the oppression of the Min’yel’os, to destroy their rule and to return our species’ ability to procreate. There was no conclusive evidence of this skewed information ... until we discovered the moss-like entity growing now in the Humid Zone.”
Sateron’s eyes lost their misery as he focused once more on the gathering before him. Exploding off the rock he seemed to swell, pride and optimism natural attributes of this alien who had dedicated his life to ending the miasma that enveloped his species. At nearly seven feet in height and two hundred and seventy pounds, he was of the Ton , the category given to those who served the government directly, the most highly regarded in the Empire; and Re , the sub-classification of scientist, the most prized by the Min’yel’os. Most assuredly he had terrified the diminutive natives of Earth, his mahogany-colored skin almost purple in the light, nearly black in the dark. And when they looked into his eyes and beheld the black elongated irises and pupils surrounded by lemon-tinted eyeballs, they believed they were in the presence of great evil.
Aleris nodded and Sateron took up the telling. “The realization that Eocene dicit’ledoni grew naturally was what began our quest.” His voice had returned to its previous dynamism. “There were no records in any archives of dicit in any form, except for the engineered complexity on Hakilam. We concluded that the Min’yel’os must have had all natural forms of dicit destroyed once it could be fabricated. finding dicit-E on Earth further corroborated our suspicions about their subterfuge. We instinctively knew the key to our emancipation from this racial atrocity would be tied to Earth—and dicit-E. We queried: Why did they fear us? Who were we to cause such apprehension?” His eyes alight with the fire of righteousness, Sateron’s body quivering with suppressed excitement, his restlessness contagious.
“We needed a laboratory in which to conduct our experiments, some place shielded from psychic probe and accidental discovery. In searching archaic galaxy charts for suitable locations, we found the star system Zubeln and then used androids designed for primary planetary exploration to calculate orbital changes in the star system over a specified span of time.
“Understandably, Zubeln’s three planets appeared to have never been colonized, each one nothing more than wastelands of blowing sand and electrical storms. This one, Izorach, proved a perfect location. It had several hundred canyons that created fantastical winds, electrically charged debris that swirled hundreds of feet in the air and a high concentration of static in the particulate.
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