FATED: Part 3

Councilor Ambross leaned back in his chair and gazed out at the warm, flickering night lights of Haven. Decades ago they had once imposed a mandatory curfew when crime ravaged so severely it felt as if they were in a war-zone. But then order was restored and the curfew was removed. People were free to live their lives in peace and without fear. There were still criminals, he supposed. It was inevitable. No matter how advance the civilization, there would always be those who enjoyed wreaking havoc. But then again, he realized, there would also be those labeled criminals due to circumstances. A knock sounded from the door though he continued to stare out into the City.

"It opens," he answered without turning around. His secretary, Grayson, quietly entered, a bundle of files nestled carefully under his arm.

"Councilor Ambross?" he asked politely, "I have an update." Ambross finally turned away from the wide bay windows and waved Grayson in. Grayson shut the door behind him and approached the Councilor's desk.

"How does it look? Good I hope?" Ambross asked curiously.

"Yes sir," Grayson replied confidently, handing over a file. "It appears the incident of Family 00D3X was an isolated event. Their surviving relatives have all been tested and cleared, and there is not a trace of any further genetic anomaly."

"I see," Ambross murmured thoughtfully. "And what of the woman and her child: have they been located yet?"

"No sir," Grayson added somberly. "And it appears as they never will be found." He withdrew another report from the bundle of files and handed it over to Councilor Ambross. The Councilor flipped through it uninterestedly as Grayson summed up its findings.

"We believe the Patriarch, Duce, input a series of coordinates that would've lead to sector MC778, a planet that was once investigated for its potential to support colonization."

"And the woman - she never made it there?"

"No. A team of search and rescue were dispatched to the planet but found no trace of them there. Upon further investigation, they believe her course was incomplete and she must've veered off course when attempting to navigate."

"That's already a dangerous course to take," Ambross interrupted as he glanced over the maps. “MC778 is the only known, habitable planet within reachable distance from here."

"Yes sir," Grayson agreed sadly. "The investigators believe that the passengers will likely perish before they are ever found."

"That's a shame. We can't even retrieve the bodies for their families."

"Sir, with all due respect, isn't it… foolish to be so upset over them. They were traitors, after all."

Councilor Ambross slowly raised his eyes and watched Grayson curiously.

"Then why do we clearly feel such pity for them?"

"Sir?" Grayson said uncertainly. And then, Ambross said something that Grayson would never forget:

"You weren't there at the trial, were you, Grayson? No, of course you weren't. It was a closed trial. Anyway, the patriarch of Family 00D3X - this Duce - he was brought before us without a single glimmer of fear or repentance. He'd known what he'd done was wrong. He'd broken into the docks and stolen a spacecraft. He'd destroyed the guard's central control panel to ensure his family's escape, and assaulted several officers in the process. He knew he was breaking the law… but considering that he and his wife were already classified as criminals, I suppose he realized he had very little left to lose."

"Councilor, I'm afraid I don't follow," Grayson admitted. "Are you saying we shouldn't have executed him?"

"No," the old Councilor mumbled. "No, that had to be done for the good of the Community.

“All I mean, is that I don't understand why it had to come to this." He turned away and looked again at the city, seeing it clearly as if for the first time.

The ”D3X Incident” was not an isolated phenomenon as the report had described. This was, in fact, the seventh family to experience such an unusual occurrence in the past three years. The seventh family that they knew of, at least; there was no way of telling just how many others had suddenly found themselves in the extraordinary position of defying their fate.

It was an event he and only a few other Councilors had always feared, one that could easily upset their peaceful way of life.

"No one remembers the ancient days," Ambross mused quietly. "Not me or you, or anyone for that matter. No one left alive who would remember them. The only thing we know for certain is that anarchy, chaos, destruction- these were only some of the common elements our people experience on a daily basis. These were only a few of the common elements that led to our decision to establish Haven and abolish random chance from our lives. But I wonder," he paused and let out a hallow laugh.

“Doesn't that make us the real traitors?" He turned suddenly, startled his young secretary, and looked to him questioningly.

"Tell me, Grayson. Among the many occupations Haven has to offer, would this job truly have been your first choice?" Grayson blinked at question.

"But this was the job I was assigned to, sir," he replied. “From the day I was born it was always meant to be my mission. I'm afraid I don't understand."

"No," Ambross replied with a weak smile. "Neither do I, though I've asked myself that very same question countless times. I can't imagine myself as anything but Councilor. I can't even imagine what that would mean if I could." Ambross's reverie suddenly ended and he waved Grayson away.

"I know. I'm not making much sense. It's been a… a very long and tiring night. Just leave those on the desk and I'll finish reviewing them tonight."

"You would like me to bring you something to eat?"

"No, thank you. You can go home, Grayson, you've already done more than enough."

"Thank you, sir," Grayson said with a nod as he set the files down on Councilor Ambross' desk. He turned to leave and was half way out the door when suddenly he paused and turned back around.

"For what it's worth, sir… I may not understand it, but I don't like that it had to come to this either. I don't think they were traitors."

"That will be all," Ambross replied with an exhausted sigh. "Good night, Grayson."

"Good night, sir," he answered and softly shut the door behind him.

Ambross shut his eyes and simply though about young Daria and her ill-fated family. He and all the other Councilors knew that none of this was her fault.

She had never asked for this to happen anymore than they did. But now that we're here, he thought as he opened his eyes, what are we going to do?

His gaze shifted up to the sky, where the brightest stars twinkled in the night sky. He supposed by now that Daria and her son were up there somewhere, looking back at them and everything they were forced to leave behind; up there somewhere, though most likely dead like her husband.

"Perhaps we are the traitors after all," Ambross muttered to no one in particular. He sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. "Please forgive me Duce, young Daria. Apparently we cannot halt the march of evolution, as we once believed. But we must slow it down as much as we can. Or else the days of war will certainly return in force."

Ambross then returned to his desk and began the tedious work of preparing the death certificates.

***

A voice screamed out, shrill and clear, causing the three hunters to freeze in their tracks.

"What was that?" one asked in a low whisper.

"Sounded like a woman?" another said. As if in answer to the question a second scream echoed through the forest, and the men looked to each other worriedly before heading in the direction of the noise. Within minutes of following the screams they stumbled across the most shocking sight any of them had ever seen. Braced against a decaying log a young woman, no older than 25, squatted with her legs spread and tattered dress barely covering her knees. Sweat glistened across her brow and her face contorted in pain as the contractions radiated throughout her body. A little boy, just as dirty and feral, glanced around and saw them coming. She must've been his mother for as soon as he heard them he jumped to his feet and dashed to her side, wrapping his arms around her protectively.

"Oh my God!" one of the hunters cried as he raced to the woman's side. The little boy stared at him suspiciously and almost hatefully, as if he were afraid they would hurt his mother.

"How in the world?!" the other gasped as the third yanked out his smart phone. He searched the air for a signal and let out a triumphant yelp when, miraculously, he managed to find one and dialed 9-1-1. The woman moaned and screamed again as another contraction hit her like a wave.

"Oh CRAP!" the hunter next to her muttered. He ripped off his jacket and commanded his friend to do the same.

"We have to wait for help!" the friend protested, handing it over. "Can't she hold it in or something?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that," his companion replied as he draped the jacket over the mother's shivering body. "This baby's coming now, we've got no choice."

"But, but…"

"Here, hold that little boy back, but don't take him too far away, okay?" His friend did as he was told, and gently pulled the boy away from his mother. The boy protested and started shouting at them in a strange, garbled language. His mother, also clearly distressed, reached for her son as if afraid they were going to take him away. But the old hunter took her hand and squeezed it gingerly. They locked eyes and he gave her a little smile.

"It's okay," he cooed soothingly, "Everything's going to be okay, mama bear." Though she clearly didn't understand what he was saying the message rang through and her face softened as she panted, preparing for another contraction.

"An ambulance is on the way," the third hunter said, his phone still glued to his ear; he glanced down at the sight before him and quirked an eyebrow disbelievingly.

"You sure you know what you're doing, Mel?"

"Who else do you know has had three kids and five grandchildren?" the Old Hunter replied with a chuckle. He studied the woman's face and his face grew serious once more.

"Okay, this is it," he muttered to the woman watching him intently. "Get ready, Mama – Baby's coming on this push." Though she spoke in a strange language, she nodded, the kindred souls bonded together by this strange and wondrous birth.

She sucked in her breath and let out a long, loud, agonized scream that echoed through the woods. Eventually her shrieks died away and were soon replaced by the feeble cries of an infant girl who breathed in the fresh, clean air of the Canadian wilderness around her.

She was a small infant at a little over six pounds, but healthy and strong as she nestled into her mother's bosom for warmth. Tears of joy dotted the woman's eyes as she and her son smiled down at the child; the first in their family to be born free from purpose.

Eventually the hunters escorted the mother and her children to the nearest hospital for immediate care.

Eventually the craft they had crash-landed in was erased from existence by the natural world, its remnants sinking down to become one with the Earth.

Had Daria's labor pains struck her five days sooner, their ship surely would have been discovered but most likely at the cost of her life. Eventually the mysterious mother and her children learned the language of the land and recovered beautifully from their ordeal. And eventually she would steal her children away from the hospital and the public eye, leaving their story, as unique as it was, to die away in the media's sea of headlines and breaking news.

But none of that mattered to her, this strange, disappearing woman.

The only thing that mattered was that her destiny was now completely her own; she was no longer fated for anything less than what she herself chose. And the same rang true for her precious, beautiful, imperfect children.

They were finally safe and alive.

They were finally Alive, at last.

- edited: 12/21/23