It was a small room. There was one table, one chair, illuminated by one light from directly overhead. There was barely enough space to walk around, especially with a teen sitting in the chair. There was nothing else. It was clean, clinical. Yet under the waft of chemicals used to clean, there was the unmistakable fragrance of sweat, tears, vomit and blood. There was nothing to hint that they should be there. There was nothing in the room that indicated what happened there.
The tabletop was smooth and white. In the centre there was small plastic dot. It was not affixed. It was one of those dots used to play games. Checkers, or a false coin. The colour had changed over time. Red, blue, green, orange, black, brown. All colours. Not white. Never white. That dot had to be visible. There were cameras on that dot. They covered every angle.
There was a boy in the chair. His dark skin was shiny with sweat. It wasn't hot in the room. It was a pleasant temperature, maintained mostly by the room's location, rather than artificial means. There was never a breath of air to disturb anything. His black eyes were fixed on the dot. Intense concentration marked his features. The dot was blue today.
Blood trickled from his nose. He didn't move. He kept staring. Tiny veins lined his eyes. He kept staring.
The dot was his entire world. It was all that mattered, all that would ever matter. He barely breathed.
The dot moved. A bare millimetre but it moved.
The teen gasped and collapsed on to the table. Blood flowed more freely from his nose and eyes. Droplets appeared in his ears. It was a small smudge of red on the white of the table.
The door opened. The room became ever more crowded as two others entered. They weren't the same as the teen. They were different, alien. They didn't enter far. The chair had its back to the door for this exact reason. They pulled the teen's arms up, pulling the chair back over, so that it was almost out the door. Then they hauled. The teen didn't resist. His head hung low. Blood dripped.
The chair was pushed upright again, and the door closed. The blood had smeared, and the blue dot had moved further.
A voice spoke, disembodied but pleased. "There will need to be more tests, but we are on the right track."
---
War Commissioner Aithne watched the holo from Drana. Dranitor had some quaint views, but then the grunt hadn't been chosen for his intelligence, merely his commonality and the odd charisma he possessed. They'd noted his leadership abilities, how those in the prison had gravitated towards him. That had sealed the choice. The aliens of the Alliance could relate to him, to his experiences. In that, he was almost the perfect mouthpiece. That Prison Warden, what was her name - Deborah Dran Drantaiz - had done well.
She flicked the holo to the side, and flexed her fingers to bring up several lists of numbers. Losses over Drana were within tolerances. That was good. It meant less fiddling with the numbers in other places. The Dranta were accepting aide. That was better. It reinforced the differences. It established reliance.
Really, you'd think after so long the Bright Ones would know how to control a species. Force was such a boorish method. It was rudimentary, crude. There were better ways but then, they'd never needed anything better.
*Until us,* her mind supplied, lips quirking in a brief smile. A slightly different approach, a bit more flexibility in their thinking and the Commonwealth would have joined the Alliance.
"Amateurs," she murmured tapping for another list. That wasn't bad. They'd captured three on Drana. That brought a small smile. Maybe these ones would know more. Those that had been captured so far were young, relatively speaking. They were arrogant. They only knew the truths they'd been raised with. They knew nothing of importance.
Aithne tapped out the usual orders. Question then entrapment in the black armour that would become their coffin. It was a fond hope that one of them might know the secrets of enhancement. Not the piss-weak stuff they saw now on every soldier, the stuff they'd done earlier. Those had been magnificent. Works of deadly art. She shivered, remembering the battle holos. If the Bright Ones had made more of them, the war would have been over. And not in a good way for the Commonwealth.
It was a good thing they couldn't, or wouldn't. No one was sure which the answer was. Aithne leaned towards couldn't. There were still Humans in the Alliance territory. There was no reason they couldn't be *changed* in the same way the others had. Yet so far, none had been. Extensive tests on every Human captured to date meant they were positive about that. It was disappointing. The captured… freed Humans tended to bear the brunt of that disappointment without knowing why.
They'd live. They were Human.
Maybe they could be put into the test units for psychic ability. At that, Aithne frowned. She let those tests continue because she had to. That persistent belief was annoying. The Commonwealth had shown why the Bright Ones had no effect on Humanity. It had nothing to do with a nascent psychic ability. It was nothing that flimsy. It was chemistry. Pure and simple. Human chemistry was stronger than those of the other species. There was evidence in the Alliance as well.
Dranta came from a Class 10 planet, Kishne from a Class 6. The Dranta had to be more heavily reminded of their supposed duties to the Alliance than the Kishne. If they'd been Class 11 maybe they'd also be free. But extinct. They didn't have the temperament to do what was necessary, not what had been done over Earth.
That would have been the reality of their freedom. Still, it was evidence of a sort and had lead the Commonwealth to push towards Drana because the Dranta would be the most accepting.
They could make more mistakes there and still be heroes. They wouldn't make mistakes. Those on the surface genuinely wanted to help. The Dranta would see that. They would feel that. That would be the basis on which they made their decisions, and that's all they needed. In due course, the Commonwealth would get a new member nation.
War Commissioner Aithne smiled. On paper, that's what it would look like. She did like that old expression. Maybe they'd even use paper for the signing. Reality would be just slightly different. Reality always was. The Dranta wouldn't mind, they wouldn't even question it, not like they occasionally did the Bright Ones, because the Dranta would assume it was like this for everyone.
It would be, for those formerly of the Alliance.
She sighed happily and sat back, half closing her eyes as she thought. Actually, it might be time to try… a swipe of one finger changed the orders given about the captured Bright Ones. Two would know their fate. They would become Destroyers. The third would become something new. It was time to see how well a Bright One could fight a Bright One, with certain restrictions of course.
The Commonwealth was getting close to the end and it would be such a pity to have to destroy Cyndya completely, especially when there was so much to learn. Right now, there was no choice. Destruction would have to be absolute. She hoped to make a choice available. It would make the future easier and surely the Bright Ones would appreciate the pursuit of knowledge.
Aithne took a deep breath. She would continue to make the difficult choices. Those that needed to be made.
For all mankind.
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