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Desolation by Andrew Davis

I can barely recall who I was before I was reconstructed. I believe I was G’hulon, although I do
not remember which of the four nations I hailed from. I believe my scales were dark brown and rugged,
and my legs – I think I had two legs because I was male – were shorter and thinner than most others. It
made me appear smaller and weaker, which I don’t think was inaccurate. The humans compared the
head shape of my species to that of two turtles from their world. I recall being more similar to the
loggerhead than the snapper, but I never saw these creatures for myself. I only had vague descriptions
from the humans during my rehabilitation. I had a partner; I think she was female, as she had a snake-
like lower half instead of two legs. The scales on her back were the pale colour of dead grass, while the
scales on her underside more closely resembled the coarse dirt the blades would sprout from. I
remember she would lift herself high on her serpentine body to be more intimidating; I believe she was
rather fierce. Only bits and pieces of my memory have remained intact; the others I’ve lost to this
metallic fusion with my heart and brain. But there is one memory that stays forever burned into my
soul.

“Al’Dora, I must see this through,” my partner said while putting the finishing touches on her
poster. “As the coordinator, I am responsible for leading everyone in this march!”

“Surely you could find some way to lead from safety. They produce weapons! If they get upset
by the march, they will open fire, and the IGC will never hear about it,” I pleaded.

“The Interstellar Guidance Council is of no concern; no amount of protesting would get their
attention. They are too busy keeping the peace between the governments of the galaxy. No, we march
to get Hal’as and his employer’s attention. If that means drawing the ire of their weapons, then so be it,
we cannot stand idly by as they ruin the lives of this colony.”

“She’var, there are other ways to enact change without marching down the barrel of a weapons
development company. You will get hurt.”

“Then come with me, put these years of medical school to use and help patch up those who do
get hurt.”

“I can help by finishing my degree; the galaxy needs medics. Once I’m done, we will be free to go
anywhere.” I stepped forward and tried to place my hand on her shoulder.

She’var pulled away and looked at me with pleading eyes, “but the people here will be lost.” She
picked up her posters and slithered out the door.

I had no choice but to follow with my med kit, muttering a small prayer to whatever may be
listening. Outside many others were exiting their homes and beginning a procession down the street. I
looked up at the biodome that covered the settlement, which projected an image of the night sky, which
we all knew we wouldn’t be able to see through the factory smoke. On every other street corner, I saw
factory enforcers either knocked out or tied up, sometimes with rebels and children taunting them or
taking pictures. I remember I felt the urge to help them but did not wish to lose She’var in the crowd.

When we arrived at the central factory, people were already banging against the large metal
doors. I swore I could make out the shapes of trampled enforcers beneath the boots of the protesters.
She’var used her commanding voice to make a path for her and me to get next to the doors. She began
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to help force them open while I tended to a Sal-Teren who had broken one of her front legs. With a
metallic crash, the doors burst open, and I had to hurry not to be engulfed by the crowd. In the rush, I
only saw bits and pieces of the factory floor, which looked harsh and rusted. I quickly found myself with
She’var in front of a crowd that filled the entire room. Above was a catwalk leading to the manager’s
office, with windows that overlooked the floor.

“Hal’as, come out here and speak to your employees, so we may come to an agreement that
doesn’t end with you receiving everything you have forced upon us this past decade!” She’var
commanded, inciting cheers and cries from the crowd around her until motion stirred in the high office.

Stepping out was a large brass-scaled G’hulon dressed in a custom-fitted human-style suit.
Hal’as was adjusting the edge of the sleeves when he put his hands on the railing and gazed down at the
mob below. “Very well, if it’s an audience you seek, send your leader up here so we may discuss.”

The crowd collectively turned to look at She’var, who looked towards me and said quietly, “You
do not have to, but I would like you to be there with me.”

“I do not wish to speak, but I will be with you,” I said, looking deep into her eyes, which sparkled
slightly with confidence. She and I walked over to the stairs, where I helped her up the steps ill-fitted for
a serpentine body. The metal echoed forebodingly over the murmuring crowd as we entered the lavish
office. Hal’as was standing in front of his desk as She’var moved to take a forward position, leaving me
closer to the door.

“Hal’as, I am She’var, and this is my partner Al’Dora; we have written up a series of-”

“No gratitude for even being offered this audience? How rude…” Hal’as interrupted.

“I will show no gratitude towards the beast who would rather his employees be test subjects for
the weapons they built!” She’var snarled, barring her fangs which dripped with toxins.

“But how wonderfully they fit that roll, care to demonstrate, miss She’var?” Hal’as pressed a
button on the desk behind him, and a shelf in the office slid open. Stepping out was a giant automaton
like I had never seen before, plated in black metal with veins of glowing purple light. It bore no weapon
but had the artificial musculature to be swift and robust. Where a face would be was a dark plate with
three illuminated lines: two vertical lines that curved inward and the third horizontal, bisecting them.
She’var did not hesitate to lunge towards Hal’as, attempting to bite down with her fangs. But the robot
was swifter, slamming her into the window overlooking the factory floor. It then brought its left arm
around, where two metal plates parted to give space for a long barrel. It placed the tip below She’var’s
head and fired, splattering her brain against the window.

I cannot remember if I stood there, frozen in fear and shock, or if I had run to my partner’s side,
gathering the splattered pieces in my hands. I do not remember if I heard gunshots from the floor below
or if the one that had killed my love was echoing in my ears. It mattered none, as the robot turned the
weapon on me and shot me through the chest.

I laid on the ground, slowly bleeding out for some time. My vision of the world around me began
to fade. Eventually, I heard two voices speaking in human tongues enter the room. “This one will do.”

“But, sir, their body is beyond repair.”

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“Who said anything about the body, put the brain and heart on ice, toss the rest.”

Everything went dark for some time. I could feel my life, memories, and dreams rushing past me
like a raging river, cascading over a cliff edge but meters behind me. The rapid current threatened to pull
me over the edge, but a cold fire in my soul held my feet in place. Soon the waters of my life began to
dry up, leaving me in a damp riverbed of scattered thoughts. There was a strange relief to be rid of
connection and past, but without direction, I grew fearful. There I heard a voice, distant and alien,
unintelligible, but it was calling me. I chased it through the void of my mind, clambering over hills and
valleys for what felt like life ages. Finally, I crested a hill and saw its source, a grand and ancient tree of
life.

Then I woke up.

I was attached to the wall of a white laboratory, where I towered over human technicians who
watched me shift. I could not feel my body, yet I seemed to have some control over something. I must
have begun to pull against the restraints that bound me as the technicians flinched in fear. Finally, one
stepped forward and tried to steady me. “Do not worry. You are safe here. Take some time getting used
to your new body. We are here to help you get back on your feet. It may be difficult to start, but with
time you will learn to control this body.”

The robotic body they had given me was hard to master. The only sense of feeling I had was
from the plates in my hands and feet. The technicians told me it took months before I could fully move.
Even when I gained enough control to move about, the technicians described my movement as
hunched, although they said it didn’t seem to be caused by the mechanics of my body. While I never
overcame the physical hunch, I quickly gained control of my new voice box. It was static and artificial,
but it allowed me to ask questions; where was I, who was I, who were they? They answered most openly
but simply referred to themselves as the Desolate, a political party looking to empower the
disenfranchised in the galaxy.

There was one question that always perplexed them, however: What was the call? The strange
alien call did not abandon me after I awoke; it would come to me when I was at my lowest. There was
comfort in the voice, but the technicians knew nothing about it and grew concerned. They theorised it
could be a glitch caused by the connection between my organic and metallic parts, but I swore there
was an intention behind it. Someone was calling me.

Eventually, they deemed me ready to see their “Director”, who was the voice from when I died. I
exited the laboratory for the first time, ducking to fit through the human doors even with my hunch. I
found him behind a plain desk with papers and schematics inside his office. “Welcome, friend. It has
been incredible to see your development over these past few months. Your timing is impeccable, as my
partner and I will be speaking with an old acquaintance of yours on matters of diplomacy. I wish for you
to be there. You do not have to speak if you don’t want to. These are delicate times, and we need him
on our side. Mr Raklin and I have planned out what to say, and we believe you should be there to
observe. I think you would be a valuable member of our organisation, perhaps even a leader, so we
would like to show you how we conduct our dealings.”

I stood there for a bit, trying to take in what was said, “I do not understand why you believe this
of me; I can barely remember where I am from, Director.”
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“That is unfortunate, but perhaps your memories will return with time, or perhaps this can be
an opportunity to redefine yourself. If you do not wish, you need not join our meeting with Hal’as, and I
thought you would like to be there.”

The name sparked a cord in my memory as if flames washed over my mind. “I will come watch,
but I do not wish to partake in any contracts.”

“Very well,” The Director clapped his hands, and as if a spell was cast, we were quickly whisked
out of the office and onto a shuttle by several technicians. The spacecraft departed from the space
station we had been on, which I realised was orbiting the planet I once called home, or at least I believe
that was my home planet. The Director entered the cockpit area with his companion, Mr Raklin. I stayed
in the cargo area by myself, watching space from the window. I tried to feel a sense of wonder as many
described space as being, but all I could feel was apprehension. The weightlessness of my current state
and the microgravity of space made my fragile sense of balance tremble. Soon the shuttle began to
tremble with me as it tore through the planet’s thick atmosphere. Flames encompassed the view of the
windows, so I stepped away and instead focused on holding on. It eventually calmed down, and we
landed just outside a biodome. The Director and Mr Raklin stepped into the cargo bay and equipped
oxygen masks, but they did not offer me one as they opened the shuttle doors. I quickly learned I did not
need one as we all stepped onto the smoke-filled planet and entered an entry building attached to the
biodome.

The only person there to greet us was Hal’as, in a slightly fancier suit. At the sight of him, I
wanted to feel my blood boil; alas, I had none. The only sensation I could feel was my hands clenched
tightly into fists at my side. Rage filled my mind to the point where I could not hear their conversation. I
watched, seething in the back. The discussion also seemed to grow heated, as I could sense their voices
rise, and Hal’as began to point accusatorily at the Director and myself.

Then someone said, “She’var”. I could not tell you why or from whom, but within a moment, I
found myself in front of Hal’as, pinning him to the wall with my left hand. The G’hulon grasped at my
metallic claw and whimpered with the last of his breath, “Who… are… you?”

“I, am Desolation.” I decided.

Two metal plates on my arm parted to give space for a long barrel, which slid right up into
Hal’as’s neck. I fired, and his brains and blood splattered against the wall and across my body. I stood
there, unable to feel the wet weight of his corpse hit the ground by my feet. I could not feel the weight
of my actions. I stood there in silence and rage, waiting for the gratification of vengeance to sink in. It
never did, yet I was pleased.

The silence broke with the sounds of applause from the Director. I saw a smile across his face
while Mr Raklin seemed aghast. “Well done, Desolation. See Mr Raklin, when cries for help go unheard,
a gunshot will.”

“HOW CAN YOU BE PLEASED WITH THIS!” Mr Raklin shouted, “Your pet project has just killed
our key to an audience with the IGC!”

“Hal’as would have sooner sold us to the newest factory than give us the audience we sought.”

“Now, the only audience we may get is at court! This could mark us as terrorists!”
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“I fail to see the issue,” The Director placed a hand on Mr Raklin’s shoulder. “We have waited
long enough for the IGC to give a damn. It’s time for us to gather our own audience. And now, with the
help of the late Hal’as’s resources, we can begin amassing the power we need. Isn’t that right,
Desolation?” The Director turned towards me.

I stood there for a moment in silence when I heard a distant and alien whisper in the back of my
mind. It had always called me to safety before. “We will need more than power,” I finally spoke.

“Even the robot gets it,” Mr Raklin proclaimed. “The moment we get the tiniest bit of power, the
IGC will mark us as a threat and annihilate us! We need them to like us!”

“Or we need something stronger than them,” I stated coldly.

“Oh?” The Director cocked his head, “And where might we find that?”

“At the Tree of Life, something calls me there.”

The Director seemed confused but intrigued, “Very well. Let’s clean up and gather what we
need from Hal’as, then pay a visit to planet Eden to find what the ancient voice calls our friend there.”
With that, he turned to leave, Mr Raklin trembling behind him. I followed, retracting the blood-covered
weapon back into my arm.

With time and effort, we found what had called me to Eden, a trail left by a species that long
predated history as we knew it. A course that I believe will lead us to our rightful inheritance, so who
cares if we started a war to find it? With this discovery and development, I quickly became the leader of
the Desolate and abandoned all memory of who I was. For he is dead, and I AM Desolation.