both stood silently as the tubes filled with Atlanteans.
The turbulence grew by the second, and finally, the figure turned to Ares. “It’s time.”
Ares stepped into the closest tube, and the fog slowly consumed him. His people’s exodus would be complete soon, and they would land at their new home. The avatar had told him that the ship dilated time as well. The passage here would be nothing compared to the time outside.
Finally, the avatar returned, and the tube opened. Ares stepped out and followed him back to the bridge. The viewscreen showed an untouched world, green, blue, and white.
“What if the serpent finds us?”
“We’ve established a new sentinel line and placed a beacon in orbit around this world. It will shroud you. But there’s no guarantee. We’re at the end of what we can give you. We’ve shown you the danger, and we have saved you. I can offer you one last gift: the human code. It will ensure you don’t repeat our mistake.”
The avatar talked at length, sharing his people’s philosophy, a blueprint for a peaceful existence. “A simple life according to the code is all we ask in return for saving the last of your people. There are many human worlds within the new sentinel line, all less developed than yours. Someday they too will venture out, seeking answers, disturbing the new sentinel line. Your people can bear witness to the danger beyond, saving countless lives on countless worlds. Spread the human code, and you can all live here in safety. It is the key to your shared survival.”
Ares thought of his last moments with his wife, what they had done to her, and of his world, the black ships covering it, the slaughter of billions. He tried but failed to calm the rage inside him. “The beast you created massacres my people, and you make demands?”
“We offer guidance, a path to serenity and peace. An opportunity to prevent others from repeating your mistake, from suffering the same fate.”
Ares focused on the small group of sentinels that floated next to the ark.
We’re not going to hide and pray and try to wish away our enemy. We’re going to fight. A second too late, he remembered that the avatar could read his thoughts.
“You contemplate your own great mistake.”
“Says the dead man who’s been watching human worlds get massacred for millions of years.”
“Your fear and hatred betray you.”
Ares ignored the avatar. A plan began to form in his mind.
The avatar stepped closer to him. “Remember our story. The technology we built enslaved us. Beware, Ares: the cost of your security could be your freedom. Possibly your survival.”
“You know what I think: you’ve been losing this war for so long, it’s all you know. And you can’t even remember what it feels like to be human—that’s the only way you would allow so many to be murdered on my world. It’s all a big math problem to you. But they were lives to me, people who mattered. We’ve had enough of your help. We’ll fend for ourselves now.”
“So be it, Ares.” The avatar slowly faded, a sad expression on his face.
For a long moment, Ares stood alone in the dark chamber, gazing at the endless rows of tubes that held the last of his people. They would awaken soon. They were all Ares had left, and he would ensure their survival at any cost.
From the escape pod, David watched the forcefields in the beacon at the Serpentine battlefield flicker and dissolve. The atmosphere vented to space in a burst that sent the beacon crashing into the debris field. The pieces tumbled and collided as they settled into empty pockets in the field. David felt the mass of the field pulling his own escape pod, and he knew his body would soon be a permanent fixture here.
He thought about Kate. How would she spend her last days? He had only one wish: to see her again, if only for a second. His last vision of her ran through his mind: her standing in front of the screen, explaining some science thing he could barely understand. What were his last words to her? “Lock the door.” He smiled. It was somehow extremely fitting. Their last interaction had been like most of their time together. Time was a precious thing. Now both of theirs was short, measured in hours.
He realized something then: that he had actually been scared of living without her. Knowing he wouldn’t have to face that provided a strange sense of calm.
Above the debris field, a rift opened, like a jagged blue and white rip in the black fabric of space. A single ship slipped out and quickly moved across the debris field, making a direct path for David’s escape pod.
Had the destruction of the beacon enabled the ship to see what was happening here, realize he was stranded?
As the ship grew closer, David could make out an insignia on the front: a ring. No, a serpent swallowing its tail.
CHAPTER 37
Dorian lay on the floor, sweat pouring off of him. The last memory had been the worst. But he couldn’t stop. He was close. He felt it. The ship—the ark—was the same Ares had buried under Antarctica. Had the Serpentine Army found the Atlanteans again? Were they the great enemy Ares feared?
Dorian walked into the enormous factory and looked at the lines that produced sentinels by the thousands. Or had the sentinels betrayed him?
Dorian ate and steeled himself to see the final truth.
In the days after the ark had landed on the new Atlantean homeworld, Ares’ people had confirmed everything the avatar had said. The reborn who emerged from the resurrection vessel had been filled with purpose and fire, a unity Ares had never seen before. They were one people with one purpose: the fall of the Serpentine Army. They had dedicated every ounce of their energy to it. And the technology on the ark and sentinels had provided the rest.
Around the ark, first settlements, then cities, then civilization had risen. The cornerstone of their laws derived from the avatar’s story, his warning about the dangers of runaway technology. Ares had rejected the avatar’s demands, but he knew his people would be foolish to ignore the truth: an advanced civilization with no limits on technology would always grow into a Serpentine world, whether assimilated or not. The anti-Serpentine laws banned any innovation that could lead to a singularity, and the battle against uncontrollable technology became a shared mantra.
At the ratification ceremony, Ares stood on a stage, shouting to the crowd, “We are the greatest enemy we face. The serpent lurks inside of us. We must guard against ourselves as we guard against our enemy beyond the sentinel line.”
The memories came in flashes after that. Ares stood on a ship in orbit, staring at a sentinel construction facility that floated beyond the new Atlantean homeworld. “We need more.”
He stood in another factory, staring at a new sentinel assembly line which stretched so far into space he couldn’t see the end.
“More.”
The memories flowed by. Other factories. New sentinels. The pace of innovation slowing. Him standing in a room, pleading his case for more research and technology staff. But he himself didn’t believe it anymore. His own fire was gone. Using the time dilation and healing properties of the tubes, he had leap-frogged through the ages, to a point when the automated mining ships and robotic factories were producing more sentinels than the Atlanteans could even count.
The members of the exodus, who had been reborn in the tubes, had all lived long lives, opting like Ares to use the tubes to return to optimum health. But they were all gone, having long-since lost the will to go on. Some had made it to their eight hundredth birthday, a few to their thousandth, but ultimately, all but him had met the true death, far out of range of the resurrection tubes, never to return.
He found himself utterly alone, the last of the founders, the last of his kind, the tribe that had seen the carnage of the Serpentine Army firsthand, the hardworking citizens who had built their new world.
For millennia after the fall of the old world, vigils were held every year at the ark. Then the ceremonies came every ten years, every century, and finally, they stopped.
Each time Ares awoke from his tube to attend the council meetings, he felt more like a stranger in his own world. His people had settled into a life of leisure and comfort, focusing on art, science, and entertainment. The sentinel factories were all empty, left to be tended by the robots. The Serpentine threat had turned into the proverbial boogeyman, a scary nighttime tale that might not even be true.
He was regarded as a relic, a figurehead from a dark chapter in the distant past, an era of intense paranoia and war-mongering.
He had announced to the council that he would meet the true death, and they had reluctantly agreed.
The betrayal came in the form of a public announcement the following day: the council had voted to archive him, honoring his service and forever remembering the sacrifice he and the other members of the exodus had made.
Guards had appeared at his residence, news cameras crowding behind them.
People lined the path to the ark shrine, children and adults alike maneuvering to get a