“My name is Darryl Draper. I am human. I was born on Earth, Chicago, South Side. I went to the University of Chicago, studied physics. I joined the army, did tours in Eastern Europe and Southern Africa. I joined the CIA after my third tour…” Draper paused, closing his eyes tight to squeeze out more memory. “After my third tour…after my third tour…I was an analyst before being recruited by Special Research, a secret DARPA division…my mission is clear. I have not lost focus. I have not lost focus!”
Draper found himself repeating that mantra more and more. It was a reminder that he needed to pound into his head constantly, like a hammer battering a nail.
He stepped out of his rest pod and stood before a wall that he had buffed until he could see a fuzzy reflection of himself. Oil black eyes the size of golf balls stared back at him. His head was massive and teardrop shaped, divided by a smooth cranial ridge that ran above his bulbous eyes down to the base of his skull. A glistening membrane in the middle of his chalk-colored face acted as a nose. His mouth was a puckering orifice with which he sucked in nutritious gruel, repellant to humans, but quite tasteful to the creature he had become.
The dark gray, close-fitting garment he wore covered a gaunt body with willowy arms, long legs that bent sideways, and a mouse-like tail. His four fingered hands and feet were webbed. If he wanted, he could submerge both sets of extremities in elastic webbing. Draper found that feature the most intriguing of all. The body he inhabited evolved from amphibians and in spite of him being anxious to return to human form, Draper was fascinated by it.
These aliens…or Heritins…as they called themselves were faster than humans, and could jump to heights an NBA player would have envied. Draper was athletic, so he especially enjoyed pushing his Heritin body to the limit in the exercise arena. Heritins placed a premium on physical fitness. Any Heritin falling short of that requirement became useless. A useless Heritin was a dead Heritin. For the sake of the mission, Draper endeavored to be as useful as his assumed identity would allow.
Heritins are superior to all species. We are destined to rule. Those who accept our authority will live. Those who resist us will die.
That voice started out as a faint impression in his mind, a formless whisper he could label as nothing more than a product of a fevered imagination.
If humans had not resisted, two thirds of your home world and all of your colonies would have been spared the ruin inflicted upon them.
With the passage of time, a faint impression, a formless whisper grew more definitive, clearer, until it rang loud as a clarion call.
Humans are lower animals. And like lower animals they must be taught to obey their masters. Your learning experience was harsh but necessary.
“Go to hell,” Draper hissed in the rare occasion when he gave that voice credence. Mostly, he ignored it, continuing to consign it to imagination…or madness.
The scientists who implanted Draper’s consciousness into a Heritin body theorized about the possibility of the host reasserting itself.
Maybe I’m not mad after all, Draper thought. Should he have been relieved or unsettled? Because either way, whether he was losing his mind to madness or this reassertion the scientists spoke of, the mission could still be jeopardized. And it became all the more important that he recited his daily reminders…that he reasserted his own humanity.
***
Darryl Draper alias Umttor, Engine Caretaker, entered Bridge Side.
Ship Master Tuo stood on the watch platform, surrounded by holographic interfaces. He listened to numerous progress reports from department commanders and issued equally numerous orders.
Draper stepped to his work slot, activating interfaces.
“Caretaker, I need you to check Impulse Three,” ordered the Ship Master. “The engine is running at less than optimal.”
“Yes, Ship Master,” Draper responded crisply.
The Ship Master probably ran the most proficient vessel in the fleet. When Draper last checked, all impulse systems had met optimal requirements. Of course, just meeting any requirements was never good enough for Tuo. He had to exceed them.
Draper linked to his interface and brought up the engine’s schematic. A set of numerals floated before him. He tapped a series of characters and the schematic glowed a pleasing shade of green. “Impulse upgrade completed, Ship Master. Engine proficiency is ten percent above normal operational parameters.”
The Ship Master turned to face Draper. “Very good.”
A fragment of the host’s memory brushed across Draper’s awareness. He felt a wave of respect and gratitude toward Ship Master Tuo. Umttor had not been a very promising Engine Caretaker at the beginning of his career. But Tuo had taken the young officer under his wing, tutoring and mentoring him until the latter could practically disassemble and reassemble any ship component with his eyes closed. Draper found himself basking in Tuo’s approval.
“Approaching Mobile Dock,” Ship Guidance Specialist Grinta announced. “Thirty Units to contact.”
Thirty Units, meaning three hours, Draper translated to himself.
Tuo stepped off the platform and the glimmering interfaces he was observing vanished in a sparkling dissolution. “It won’t be long. Once all ships are amassed, it will be on to victory. This vessel and you, the finest crew in the fleet, will be instrumental in our coming triumph.”
The Bridge Side crew cheered the Ship Master’s inspirational words. He is a brilliant warrior and an honorable friend, Draper thought. At that second, he stiffened. Was that his thought or the host’s? He suppressed a shiver and quickly returned to his routine tasks.
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