A Synthesizer's Plight

Chapter One

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

The emptiness doesn’t allow for it. No air, no sound.

But our bodies became firelight. We became the igniting force between match and flame, hurtling towards each other amidst destruction. We are the particles needed to vocalize.

All around us, collapsing Human ships line a circumference. They had been dominating the exosphere at a thousand strong, ready to attack a single, spherical intruder.

Partners, Casca and I, saw to it that each ship held advanced features. Though inhuman ourselves, we share our minds and forces as allies.

We are Na'utl, Synthesizers, or 'Synths,' a dying race.

Humans painted us in their caves and later depicted us in their writings and art, and we promised to return when they were ready. They told stories of us, called us gods, deities, prophets, apostles, while revering our image. The reality is that we travel the cosmos. We know causality. We know its dangers. We want to nurture Humans as we would our own children.

Only five Na'utl remain now, with the mission to initiate Humankind with more universal understanding. Though, we aren’t a perfect race ourselves.

The silver sphere first appeared in Earth’s exosphere shortly after our return from Mars, only the third successful human particle expedition. We had guided Humans through disintegration and reanimation before the sphere arrived. Once there, it waited, unmoving, almost invitingly so.

Upon the ascent and formation of Human ships, it came to life. Such a simple declaration of war; the sphere catapulted itself into the engine bellies of the ships, destroying an entire armada in a matter of moments. The sphere, so plain, so elementary, was impervious to shield and laser ray, and seemed to move on its own accord. It was calculating to some degree, and we were too slow.

With all the battle preparation performed, never would we predict the use of an archaic technique by an inhuman assailant. In minutes, ships, lacking functional engines, combusted internally and began to collide into one another. The sphere is a bullet.

We should have been prepared.

In exchange for our lack of foresight, I find myself tearing through the void, an impetus of consciousness searching for its counterpart.

“Casca!” I scream, the reverberation carried by the atoms of my body filling the darkness.

Detecting me, her comet immediately rushes to mine. I can see her, feel her fear, understand her worry, her panic, without yet making contact.

I extend myself, like reaching hands, and catch her. We combine in a spin of union, a gale of smoke, separated only by our cognizance.

“We have to merge,” I urge.

“Valour, that’s never been done!” She yells.

“I can’t lose you to this end, trust me,” I push, but I could already feel her.

Her faith, her lightness, pushes into the space in between the pieces of me that intertwine, covering hers in a protective shell. We knew the price of stagnation all too well. She imagines my name, ‘Valour,’ in a soothing, rhythmic pulse that wills me to perceive her.

I experience her mind, her thoughts, her ideas, like a hand reaching inside of me, each finger a hive of memories. I welcome her and she welcomes me. I can feel her questions, her wonder of who would attack and why. But our time is waning.

“Transmissions were disrupted, we have to carry the message ourselves,” I warn.

Her essence hardens, silently agreeing, prepared for redirection.

Convergence could make our minds greater and our body stronger once reanimated, or destroy us entirely, in theory. In the long run, it wouldn’t matter.

Fused together we knew that only one thing was true.

We had to warn Earth.