The Duass added, “This challenge eliminates any variables giving each race the same point of origin in an identical environment. This challenge is structured perfectly.”
“No! Your entire premise is wrong!”
The children all spoke at once, creating a chorus of indistinguishable words that translated only as anger and contempt for such a brash suggestion from a puny being.
“You are wrong!” Trevor shouted above the chorus, silencing it. “He has convinced you that strength is to be found in war? War is easy! War is a mindless struggle that reduces us to our most basic, primitive instincts. You will find no answers in how we fight, only in why we fight. I fight for survival.”
The Centurian told Trevor, “It is not your fault. You simply cannot see the big picture. You cannot comprehend.”
“I do see the big picture. I see the truth that eludes you even now-even as it stares you in the face!”
The children grew silent yet again. Trevor burned red in frustration.
“You gave me the genetic memories of my race so that I could fight like humanity’s best soldiers and fly like mankind’s pilots and have the skills needed to rally a resistance.”
“Yes,” Alenna concurred. “It seemed a reasonable balance to the surprise and force of the initial onslaught.”
Trevor’s eyes burned into the little girl’s as he asked, “Why can I fly one of the Centurian shuttles then? Why did I understand the Witiko slave device? How come your father knew how to operate a Geryon battleship? I will wager that each recipient of the genetic memories can tell similar stories.”
The Hivvan tried to reason, “We believe the answer may lay in the manner in which the memories were collected.”
The Duass did the same, “It is possible that during their creation the memories were cross- contaminated.”
Trevor dismissed their excuses.
“No. There was no error of collection, only of time. The gift of memories you gave me contains memories from the Centurians and the Witiko because those memories come-they come from the same source.”
Eyes widened. Heads shook.
Alenna spoke in a confused tone, “What do you-what do you suggest? I do not see your meaning.”
Trevor’s fatherly voice explained, “We are not all different races but the same. We have the same genetic structure-all derived from the same basic materials, scattered around the universe.”
The Witiko refused to listen, “Your suggestion is preposterous. The differences in our life patterns is evident.”
The Geryon agreed, “Our social structures and technologies; our physical attributes all point to demonstratively different life forms. I suspect your suggestion to be a jest.”
Trevor forcefully reiterated, “If we are so different, how is it that one planet-Earth-can be perfect for all races? Because we are created from some original source in your original universe and even now that source-call it nature, call it the universe, call it God if you must-but whatever the source, it has built in protections for its children; protections against Voggoth. Protections like the canines for me; and the instincts of my people’s greatest warriors.”
Trevor put his hand first on the shoulder of the Duass, then on the shoulder of the Hivvan. He told them, “You say you evolved beyond merely the physical, then why can you not see beyond it? Because we look different you assume we must be different. Where is the evolved intellect in such short-sightedness? It serves only Voggoth’s interest for you to be so blind.”
The two alien children shrugged off his grip, stepped away, and glared; the suggestion of a common bond disgusted them.
“No. Our patterns are unique.”
“We see existence differently. We have different philosophies.”
“Witness the armies assaulting your planet. The differences are plain to see.”
Trevor shook his head, “The similarities are plain to see. Weapons and tactics; organizational structures. But you have to see past how you look and act. Our DNA may be different but only by the smallest degree. It all comes from an original source.”
The Witiko said, “Pointless speculation. Guesses. Myths. Do not look to him for answers.”
“No. I do not know. But I know that you won’t find those answers at each other’s throats. For the love of God, see this before it is too late! See the trap you have fallen into! See that the enemy is not each other!”
“There is no trap,” The Hivvan corrected. “Only a challenge of our construction. Everything is of our design.”
“A trap! A trap you built for yourselves set by Voggoth! Look at the your so-called challenge. See how you created it. See how well you isolated and contained each race! Eight battles for survival, perfectly crafted so that no one theater would depend on another!”
“Perfectly created,” the Centurian agreed. “Sterile environments allowing each race to be judged independently, so that one result would not depend on another. Until this contamination.”
Trevor cried, “Perfectly created so as to ensure there would be no winner!”
“Liar!”
“Eight different Earths built to ensure eight failures!”
“Quiet!”
“The strongest will survive!”
Trevor roared, “The Red Hands fell but who grew stronger? Voggoth!”
“You cannot understand!”
“Your reasoning is flawed!”
“It is not so simple!”
“Open your eyes! See! How old is Voggoth? How old?”
Trevor grabbed the Duass by both shoulders and nearly shook the child. The boy could not answer. Instead, a voice from across the circle-the voice of Alenna-replied, “He predates all of our races. He may predate the creation of the universes themselves.”
Trevor pulled away from the Duass and leaned over into the eyes of the Hivvan.
“And where does Voggoth live? What animals come from his environment?”
The Hivvan staggered and stumbled, “He comes from the place between the universes. He-he has followers of physical form, animals and organized alike. They worship his greatness. They participate in the challenge with a token force on his behalf.”
Trevor swung about and took two big steps to the Witiko. He grabbed the child’s hands.
“And where did they come from? If he has evolved beyond the physical universe why does he have followers who take physical form? Why are they not put to this same test? Why do they have nothing to lose? Why? Why!”
“They are not life,” came the answer. “They are immortal, like Voggoth.”
Trevor growled, “They are dead. They are his puppets. He cannot evolve and give birth, but through them he extends his armies. He extends his power. He broke your precious rules and brought his forces across time and put them here, in the field, to face what remains of my people. But you say nothing, because he will wipe my people out and that will be one less enemy for you to face; one less participant in this ‘challenge’. But when he finishes here- then it will be your worlds, one by one, that he will overwhelm.”
The Centurian risked Trevor’s wrath as he suggested, “Voggoth’s actions may be the direct result of the contamination here. It is a counter balance to-”
Trevor jumped to the alien, forcing him into silence.
“He has created and unleashed a massive army of war machines. Machines grown from materials of the physical universe-stand-ins to do his dirty work and far more than a token force. How does it serve the challenge if it is Voggoth-and not your armies-that destroy my people? How is that a judge of mankind’s strength?”
“Your defeat is imminent,” the Geryon said in a shaky voice that suggested his own lack of surety. “It was decided in the beginning to sterilize those who lose.”
“That’s not what Voggoth wants! He does not want the losers to be destroyed. If he did, then why didn’t the rules of your challenge allow each race to use their most advanced technologies? Why have you used your collective
