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Irk capital city
Date unknown

  Within the magenta and violet metal walls of the imperial house there existed an unsettling air of worry. Guard bots and cleaning droids, nonsentient as they were, seemed the only beings unaffected. Members of the house --advisors and secretaries for the most part-- rushed by through the hallways with narry a word to each other. Now was not the time for conversation.

  Dirn stomped through the halls, grinding zipperlike teeth with light purple eyes narrowed until almost shut, seething bitter anger so fearsome to passers-by that one would sooner face off against a Slaughtering Rat Person than attempt to speak to the female. She wore a satiny black robe, the tips of ankle-high purple boots peeking out from under the hem. Such clothes were not meant for a person of her rank, not that that stopped her one bit. Dirn was a chief advisor; no one was going to order her into wearing regulation clothes.

  She reached the turbolift, punching a thin finger on the button to head up. Dirn muttered impatiently as the lift descended, doors receding to reveal a crimson-eyed service bot, who saluted her as she entered.

  "Top floor," she said tersely, brandishing an ID to the small robot. Its eyes glowed brightly as it scanned the coded data upon the card's surface, beeping happily as her clearance was noted. The doors of the turbolift closed as Dirn and the service bot began to ascend within it.

  Moments later, the lift came to a stop and Dirn, visibly calmer for the time of pause, got off. She entered a dimly lit hallway, the viewing windows along the sides all shut tight. A lone cleaning droid stood in the corner, currently inoperative. Dirn marched through the hallway, boots clicking against the red metal with robe flowing out behind her like a ghostly shadow. She slipped her ID through a card slot by the door, which chimed in its approval as the doors slid open.

  A dusty red light filed through the doorway, brought by the circular room's many windows that overlooked the whole of the capital. Through the windows, Dirn saw shuttles darting back and forth across the plain, cloudless Irken sky, small towers dotted with light in the distance, partially obscured by the masking smog layer. The late afternoon light against the desk and low-slung chairs cast long shadows across the metal plated floor.

  A lone figure stood in front of the largest picture window, hands laced behind his back. He was dressed in ceremonial armor as expected of the reigning Tallest, this set an artistic creation utilizing a lot of sharp lines with silver tint on the maroon metal edges.

  Dirn bowed shortly, arm crossed over her chest as she lowered her head and eyes. "My Tallest," she said solemnly, "I request an audience with you on a most important matter."

  The tall Irken lifted his gaze from the city far below him, hovering in a circle to face Dirn, standing rigidly upright with hands still behind his back. His skin was more gray than green, antennae crinkled and lying close to his head. The emperor's dull, deadened eyes, the color of rust, looked upon the female advisor tiredly; his mouth was but a line, threatening to curve downward into a despondent frown, but the Tallest had in his reign mastered the art of maintaining one's outward expressions.

  "Advisor Dirn?" he asked, blinking in mild surprise. Though Irken voices were by nature somewhat high pitched, the Tallest spoke with a voice highly reminiscent to the groan of metal as it's twisted and bent. Not a happy tone, either. "What could you possibly have to say to me now?"

  If Dirn was taken aback at the bitter tone, she did not show it as she rose and explained herself. "My Tallest, there is a rumor within the lower houses, originating on a good authority, that you have made plans to announce retirement. Is this not good reason for me to speak with you?"

  Rarg laughed darkly, turning his head away to look toward the windows. "I'd say it's not, though I'm sure that won't stop you. So you want to hear it directly from me, Advisor Dirn?"

  "It is the only way I will believe it," she said shortly, walking closer to him. "Please tell me it isn't true. Please."

  The emperor shook his head, lowering his eyes. "I could tell you that, naturally. But what would be the point in lying?"

  Dirn went against her better judgment and showed her anger, little fists balled up in fury. "You can't retire, my Tallest! Why, you still have at least two decades on your life yet, and that's with no intervention! There've been so many medical advances lately, we could probably prolong you for another half a century at least!"

  Rarg was not reassured. "You know very well that this has nothing to do with my age. Yes, I'm aware I could nearly live forever, but there is nothing you can do to get me to stay. Nothing, Advisor Dirn. You know as well as I why I've decided to retire." He lifted his left arm, motioning with a single clawed finger for the female Irken to come forward. She did as commanded, joining him by the picture window. With that same hand he directed her eyes to the city below. "Look at it. Five years, maybe ten at most, it'll be ruins. Everything is beginning to fall apart. There is nothing I can do to stop this. Nothing anyone can do."

  "So why...?"

  "Don't be base, Dirn," said Rarg bitterly, narrowing his eyes a little. "If this empire collapses under my rule, I will be blamed. Is it really too much to ask that I die without that much guilt on my shoulders?"

  The advisor stood in silence, wearily shaking her head as she tried to find a way to argue against what the Almighty Tallest was saying. "It's true, this empire will die out. But it isn't because of you, my Tallest, anyone can see that. Please, would it not be a greater service to the empire to live out its last days instead of introducing them to a new, unfamiliar ruler?"

  "Greater common sense and a love for my empire might drive me to that, but my cowardice has always overshadowed loyalty." Rarg sighed heavily. "I will not delude myself: I am not brave, not noble... I wish to die with as little darkness on my conscience as possible, and to hand the price of failure from me to another is a far smaller black spot than being the fall of the Irken empire myself. Advisor Dirn, I know it is below your rank, but I request that you take the order to the nurseries yourself. An order for an heir."

  Dirn protested the assignment. "But, my Tallest, wouldn't such a job be better suited toward an underling of much smaller stature?"

  "I wish for the knowledge of my retirement to remain as much under wraps as possible until my heir is ready to take the throne. Advisor Dirn, I know that I can trust you with this mission. Go down to the birthing tanks and speak with the head overseer. He's not hard to find, he's the only Irken there that isn't a fetus."  Rarg reached into one of his looping pockets and produced an electronic notepad, which opened up into full form and presented him with an electronic pencil, onto which he hastily scribbled a note. That done, he entered a combination into the number keys at the base of notepad, and under the note appeared the Irken imperial crest, shining a luminous violet.

  He closed the notepad and handed the trinket to Dirn, who accepted it graciously but held it in unease, as if afraid that it was sealing her fate. She looked up at the Tallest as he explained the reason for the note. "That includes my authorization to give you say on the heir's characteristics. I trust you will choose them well. One additional note, though: see that it's in the heir's genes that at full height he will stand at least an inch taller than me."

  Dirn gaped at him, knowing what this meant. "A full inch, sir? At least? But... my Tallest..."

  "In case I am not permitted to retire, I will be forced to give up the throne anyway as he will be taller than me. Please make sure to add that in your specifications, Advisor Dirn." Rarg looked down upon the female Irken, a small smile flitting across his face, if for only a moment. "I know you are against me, and that you will rally the other advisors to see that I will not be allowed to retire. But I am the Tallest, and my order to you is to see that my heir will be taller, thus defeating your plan. See that you follow it, Dirn."
 

  What an awkward position to be in, Dirn thought to herself as she boarded a civilian transit tube and input her destination. I can't betray him outright, of course... Ohh, quasars, this is difficult... She let out a depressed sigh, watching the capital city flash by her through the blue-tinted glass of the transit tube.

  Dirn had to admit, if she didn't know for a fact that the Irken society was fated to die out within a few years, she'd say that things were going pretty well. About ninety percent of all new Irkens were assigned to military now as all civilian jobs were handled by machines. The streets were spotless, crime was stupendously low-- if you didn't count the riots in the underprivileged cities where food rations had been short lately.

  It seems we failed, she thought. All those space exploration missions and we scarcely find a thing, and nothing remotely useful to us. We're running out of space and resources. A metalworks factory flashed by her, great pillars of black smoke coming from the fire pits. And there's so much pollution, can't forget that... Dirn decided it was entirely too depressing to think about and began to occupy her mind with the coming event. She anticipated that the overseer at the nurseries would ask for a whole slew of specifications. Height was a given, of course, but there were other measurements to worry about as well. And the eye color... Should she go with reddish-pink as Rarg had or choose a different color? For that matter, how many traits from Rarg should be included in the heir?

  The transit tube came to an abrupt stop and Dirn was nearly thrown off her feet. She gripped the slippery glass of the tube for support, which melted quickly to liquid and receded to give her a doorway. The female advisor to the Tallest jumped down onto the metal plated walkway.

  For safety precautions, as there were still some activist groups out there viciously opposed to the tanks though they had been in place for centuries, the nurseries existed on the outskirts of the capital and were heavily guarded. Walking along, Dirn could have sworn she needed to flash her ID at guard bots every ten feet.

  She approached the double doors, wide as the walkway and twice that length in height. From along the door frame there came a small whir and a click; a compartment in the wall opened up and produced a long metallic coil, rounded head a shiny black lens. It was a fully maneuverable surveillance camera. The coil flew down through the air in great curves and twists like a snake, the black lens stopping inches from Dirn's nonexistent nose.

  "State name, rank, and purpose," came the terse command, the deep and rumbling computer voice that every Irken was familiar with from the day of their birth. The sound set was so chosen for a great number of computer voices because the familiarity would undoubtedly cause the listener ease, as was no different for Dirn as she said brightly:

  "Dirn of Seylph-Nawd, chief advisor to Almighty Tallest Rarg. I come with orders to speak with the overseer." Dirn brandished her ID and the notepad, flashing both before the camera's eye.

  Without another word, the robotic coil retracted itself into the compartment from where it had come, and the doors began to creak slowly outward as their locks broke their hold. A cold frost filtered out in the form of a mist, crawling over the metallic floor and leaving a trail of ice before it died in the heat out upon the walkway. Dirn hugged herself for warmth as she walked inside, regretting having worn cleric attire today instead of something of thicker material.

  The heavy icy fog covered nearly everything, obscuring the looming black walls, articulated with storage capsule compartments, all of which faded into indistinct shadows. Cold metal plating beneath her boots felt brittle: Dirn noticed herself stepping lightly through it even without a clear idea of where to go. Fortunately, there were no twists and turns to be found in the nursery; within a few minutes, Dirn arrived at the dimly illuminated office, dusty glass windows on each side looking into a small room with a computer console fifty years out of date, a single Irken sitting before it, so motionless that he could be thought as dead.

  Hesitantly, Dirn reached up a gloved fist and rapped on the window.

  The Irken jumped up, surging to life. He brought a blaster weapon from out of his utility pack and looked wildly around, searching for an attacker. Dirn waved at him as mild-manneredly as she could, even when he raised the gun to her and prepared to fire.

  "Excuse me, I'm here on orders to speak to the overseer," she said, trying to maintain a steady tone. A spark of recognition came across the Irken's face, and he slowly lowered his weapon. He replaced it in his utility pack as his free hand slammed down on a red button. There was a long, resounding beep; the door snapped open, allowing Dirn entrance.

  As she entered, the overseer's face turned to puzzlement as he scratched the back of his head. "A cleric? The voice on the camera said you were an advisor to the emperor..."

  "I am," Dirn said impatiently, upset that this was always the sort of response she got from wearing garments as the black satin cleric robes. "Pity that the style of uniform changes your perception so much. Of course I'm an advisor! Look how tall I am!"

  "'The heck are you doing in cleric clothes if you're an advisor?" the overseer asked, narrowing an eye in curiosity at Dirn. "Quasars, nevermind it... So what's this business anyway?"

  Dirn dove into the inner pockets of her robes and produced the notepad once again, delivering it to the outstretched hand of the overseer. He twisted the end to have the screen drop down, setting deep green eyes to the page and beginning to read with forced interest. The overseer's eyes fell upon the violet crest at the bottom. He sighed and shook his head, giving the notepad back to Dirn.

  "Figures. Why else would the Tallest bother sending word to me on anything?" The overseer's antennae drooped a little, as did his eyes. "...So you're Advisor Dirn, then? I was apprentice overseer here when we were creating a new batch of advisors." His mood brightened a little. "In all likelihood, I'm the one that programmed you up."

  Despite herself, Dirn flushed a dark green. Even though there wasn't much proof that he was indeed her creator, it still made her more than a little uncomfortable at the possibility. "That's not important," she said hastily. "Shall we get on with creating the heir already?" Dirn motioned toward the control panel.

  "Eh, 'guess you're right," the overseer said with a large shrug. The two Irkens moved toward the computer console. With a flurry of keypresses, two metal antennas shot up from the flat top and sparked together, creating a holoscreen between them. Green eyes still on the screen, the overseer typed with lightning speed as he brought up the proper directories and produced a single file. It was a diagram of full-grown Irken of Tallest stature. Besides the obvious height, the forward hunch of the shoulders, crooked neck, and two-fingered hands also helped denote the form. A few more keypresses and the overseer also brought up a diagram of the double helix DNA model that composed that creature's form.

  "Fascinating," Dirn breathed, blinking her light purple eyes at the display. "An entire being summed up in computer code..."

  The overseer chuckled. "Heh, don't tell me you've never seen this program before. Don't they test you guys on this in-- Oh yeah, you're an advisor, not a cleric," he said, sneering slightly. "Well, in that case, I guess I should explain some things. Genetics is basically a game of chance... if it were left up to nature. There are dominant and recessive genes, and they all exist within the Irken, except only some of them --the dominant ones-- will show. In the old days, before we cracked the gene code, the gene to be born in the height range of a Tallest was within everyone's cells. That was quite a mess, as you can imagine. We'd sometimes have three or four would-be Tallests all really sore that they weren't the ones ruling; the empire usually ended up killing them just to keep the peace. Since we built the birthing tanks, we've slowly removed the recessive 'Tallest' gene from most all Irken fetuses. That way we never have another almost-Tallest out for murder or whatever."

  "Still, seems very complicated," said Dirn, furrowing her brow. "But your program is advanced enough to where it can select whatever dominant features one wants, am I correct?" The overseer nodded. "Then can you simply copy Rarg's design, for a start?"

  "Not the original sort, are we?"

  Dirn bristled. "I didn't come here to be criticized for something I have no experience with. Please copy Tallest Rarg's design as I have asked. We'll use it for a basis from which to form a new one."

  Shaking his head slightly, the overseer brought up Rarg's file to copy the data.

  "So where do you want to go from here? I suppose you want to keep the height the same and all..."

  Dirn recalled her instructions. She said in a steady tone: "No, actually, make him about an inch taller. At least an inch, rather."

  The overseer gave her a peculiar stare. "You're serious?"

  With a bracing sigh, Dirn nodded. The overseer shrugged again, inputting the new data. The diagram of the Irken on screen was lengthened ever so slightly.

  "I put in a variable so that he'll be at least an inch greater in height, up to two inches. It's more interesting if there's a factor of uncertainty. Anyway, he won't end up any shorter than what you asked. Now... what about eyes?"

  Dirn was tempted to have him keep the rusty reddish-pink eyes that Rarg had, but she kept in mind the option for variability. "I got an idea: make it random. Any color-- well, that's natural anyway. We don't want a Tallest ending up with something disturbing like, say, brown eyes. Does that sound good?"

  There were but a few short seconds of typing, and the deal was done. "You're trying too hard now. Try to keep it simpler than that for most of it. Now, here's where things get really complex..."

  For the good part of an hour, Dirn and the overseer spoke in mostly terse little phrases to each other, questions and answers leading to form the soon-to-be being before them. The constant barrage for input was causing Dirn's head to become muddled: things seemed to blur before her, as they checked through different styles of cheek bone structures and the exact count of fat cells within the palms of the hands. But she did as requested of her and kept the variables to a minimal. Her utility pack's clock stated that it was well after the sun had set by the time they were finished.

  "So that's a Tallest to be," Dirn said, blinking at the completed diagrams in tired wonder. "...Heh. He's still got a resemblance to Rarg..."

  "Once I deploy the order the tanks will begin to assemble him. About three years until he'll be ready for birthing. Twelve years until fully matured, though I suppose I can speed it up for you if you want." The overseer eyed the outdated technology surrounding him. "Might cause a glitch in the system, though, as it hasn't been done before."

  "Twelve years..." Dirn echoed, antennae drooping as she bit her lip. In twelve years the empire would be in ruins, possibly even sooner than that. Twelve years was too long. "Yes, if you could, speed up their development." She paused again for a moment, contemplating the possible repercussion from such an action, but continued despite it. "Twice the rate, if possible. Six years." That's cutting it close even with that... Dirn thought worriedly.

  The operator jerked his head back at her, green eyes to their widest. "Six years? Are you insane?"

  "It wouldn't work?"

  "Well..." The overseer scratched the back of his head uneasily. "In theory it could work, but as I said, it might cause a malfunction, and things going wrong in the nurseries turn out really nasty. I don't suppose you remember the shipment of 'rejects' that populate the southern cities now? That started from just one error in a single line of coding. An entire batch of Irkens rendered useless from one small mistake in the system. Do you want the same thing to happen to a creature as important as a Tallest? It takes a lot of resources to form a Tallest, whether it's a suitable one or not, so if something goes wrong we'll have wasted an awful lot developing that mistake into a living creature.

  "You still want to go through with it?"

  Dirn let the question sink into her. She sighed and bit her lip, staring at the floor pensively. This was a tough decision. On the upside, if something did go wrong, and Rarg was left with no heir, he would have to stay in power like the board of advisors would want...

  If something went wrong, though, she would be blamed. It would be deliberate treason.

  Could she really afford to go through with it?

  She looked up at him. "Yes." The word answered all of her questions.

  The overseer nodded grimly, and returned to his console. There was the brief tapping of keys, and then a gloved hand hovered over the large red button, ready to deploy. The overseer glanced quickly back at the advisor Irken.

  "There's an old saying we use in the nurseries. Just something you take up along with your trade. 'Tallest aren't grown, they're made, but only by Mother's good grace.'"

  "Superstition," Dirn remarked.

  "I know."

  A single finger pressed down upon the button, which slid down under the weight. The overseer nearly winced, as if sensing right then the pain of the aged mechanisms around him. A grinding began soon after.

  "Is that normal?"

  "Yes."

  Whirring. The movement of the various capsules, the transport of fluid. The row of Tallest-suitable capsules lit up in the far back of the main nursery hall.

  And then, a snap. The crackle of electricity. A brief shower of white sparks floating down to the floor. The lights above Dirn and the overseer shuddered and dimmed twice, and then blinked out.

  "...Is that normal?"

  "What do you think?" the overseer snapped, rubbing his head fretfully. "We may have just lost the whole nursery! Babies can't live long without the stasis system up." He visibly twitched with frustration, though his companion could not see this. Five decades of work in a nursery without a single error to report! And now this! The overseer screamed every curse he had come to learn, and furiously punched the dead console.

  The lights came back on. The console screen flickered back into its lively color. The overseer, baffled, backed away from it. Whirring and grinding continued as if it hadn't halted. And then, upon the console screen, the message that the required task had been executed without error.

  Both Irkens sighed in great relief.

  Dirn straightened the collar of her robe, and turned to the exit. "Thank you for the assistance. It will be a year and a half until he's born, correct?" She knew the answer, and so didn't find it odd that the overseer didn't respond. She moved to the door.

  But as she reached for the handle, the overseer's voice was heard. "...Ma'am?" His tone was uneasy. "If you would hold on for a second... There's been an error. Oh, bleeding quasars, this isn't just an error, this is a disaster!"

  "What is it?" Dirn's antennae perked up. The overseer didn't respond, but beckoned her over with a hasty movement of his hand. Joining him again in front of the console, she was directed by a single gloved finger to a small monitor above a row of keys, displaying the nursery wall with the birthing tanks for Tallest-rank Irkens. Her purple eyes squinted at the sight, and then went wide.

  "Th-there's... two..." she whispered. She snapped her head at the overseer. "This cannot happen! This is totally unacceptable! Can't you flush one of them..?"

  The male Irken nodded, moving her aside for more space to move in, and began to rapidly punch the keys before him. On the screen above them, a large window, an angry crimson, popped up. The overseer read the message aloud in a weak voice.

  "'No response from the system node responsible for system operation 'capsule flush'. Possible wire shortage.'" He turned to her. "One of the wires that shorted out earlier must have been the one that links this computer to that system. And there's a ten-month waiting list for repair crews these days. And if it's ten months, why, that's a nearly fully-formed creature already when it's at twice the development rate... The computer prevents flushing at that stage anyway."

  "What would you advise?" Dirn asked quietly.

  "Well, wait until they're born, obviously--"

  "Unacceptable!" Dirn's purple eyes flared. "We can't have two Tallest alive, no matter what stage of life! It'd be public outrage and--"

  "Let me finish," the overseer said impatiently, raising his hands to her. "At birth, their gene codes should be finalized, even given the variables we put in. We can determine which will be the tallest of the two right then and there, and eliminate the other one. See? It's simple."

  "What if it's determined they'll be the same height?"

  "Mother nature seldom plays that way." The overseer shrugged. "I'd worry more about an indeterminate gene code. Sometimes the computers can't get up a good reading of the code, regardless of how advanced or how accurate they're meant to be. If that's the case, you have to wait until they've matured before you can figure their maximum height. Then you'll have a mess on your hands. But then, it's virtually unheard-of. Don't fret." He broke into a small smile of encouragement. It failed to impact the female Irken.

  "If there are complications, no matter the sort," she said slowly, glaring at him, "I will personally see to your execution."