Page 16 of Koha’vek (Cyborg Guardians Spinoff)

General Vyken Dark

My holographic projection flickered into the central chamber of the Federation High Council, and I instantly felt the familiar burn of scrutiny, even from across a dozen light-years.

They sat in a perfect arc: eight consular booths, two from each of the significant power blocs, arranged like royalty or watchful gods.

Behind them, the seal of the United Galactic Federation shimmered brightly, a sapphire metallic blue against the nearly white marble of the chamber wall.

“General Dark,” Councilor Lin-Har intoned, her voice crisp. “We’ve received your petition and supplemental evidence from Cyborg Protector Blackwood. You may begin.”

“Councilors, what I’m about to present won’t sit well with some of you. It doesn’t sit well with me either,” I paused long enough to let that sink in. “But just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t consider it. ”

I activated the evidence packet provided by Protector Blackwood on a large holo screen that appeared beside my projection.

It featured a series of interviews and footage of the Mesaarkans and their daily activities in a small community.

There were Mesaarkans tending gardens, building shelters, gathering around fire pits with human females and mixed-species children.

“There is a Mesaarkan refugee colony hidden deep in the Colorado wilderness,” I said. “Forty or more at last count. All are confirmed deserters from the Mesaarkan military.”

I let the silence stretch.

“Many have human mates. Some have children. They are not part of a larger plot. They have no military weapons. No fleet contact. And they are not seeking power or expansion.”

Councilor Gavarn’s voice cut in sharply. “And you believe them?”

I met his gaze squarely. “I didn’t say I trusted them. I said I’ve seen no evidence they’re lying.”

I continued. “They simply request: Asylum. They want the right to remain on Earth without fear of arrest or deportation to Mesaark, where they would face prison or death.”

Councilor Na’shuri, ever the diplomat, leaned forward. “And your recommendation, General?”

I inhaled slowly.

“I fought the Mesaarkans for ninety years. I watched friends bleed out on a dozen worlds. I’ve been rebuilt more times than I care to count. I hated them. Still do, in some part of me.”

That got their attention.

“But these individuals didn’t start that war. Many were conscripted. Others defected the moment they saw what their leaders were doing. Some helped us . One of them—Koha’vek—assisted Protector Blackwood during a high-risk civilian rescue. Not for reward. For justice .”

Councilor Rios crossed his arms. “So, you propose we let armed deserters settle peacefully among our citizens?”

I shook my head. “They’re not armed. And they won’t be.”

I tapped the control panel at my side, pulling up a clause from my draft proposal.

“We recommend that all military-grade or energy-based weapons remain banned under the terms of asylum .

To ensure survival in wilderness conditions, non-automated tools—such as bows, spears, and mechanical traps—should be allowed for subsistence hunting only .

All such tools will be registered and monitored through a Cyborg Command liaison, under direct oversight.”

Councilor Lin-Har raised a brow. “And you’re volunteering someone for that position?”

“I already did,” I said. “Blackwood.”

That earned a few murmurs.

Na’shuri tilted her head. “You’re aware this may cause unrest among surviving war veterans?”

“I am,” I said. “But we don’t punish beings for what others did in their name when they’ve chosen to live in peace.”

Another beat of silence.

Then Councilor Gavarn scowled. “And if they break that peace?”

“Then I’ll be the one to take them down.”

That shut him up.

Lin-Har nodded once. “Very well. The Council will deliberate. A decision will be rendered within seven days. Until then, the Mesaarkan colony will remain under surveillance. No arrests. No interference.”

“I understand.”

“And General,” she added as I began to end transmission, “if the Council approves this… expect a new division to be formed under your name.”

My projection gave the ghost of a smirk. “After ninety years of war, I think I’ve earned a stranger job.”

The connection cut, leaving me alone with the pulse of my own thoughts.

I’d stood before the Federation for hundreds of reasons in my life.

Today, for the first time, I’ve done it to protect the enemy. No. Not the enemy. Refugees.

And maybe, something more.

After the chamber faded, the holographic link severed with a low-pitched chime, and I stood alone at Cyborg Command in New Chicago. The artificial lighting is a poor match for the storm building behind my eyes.

Ninety years I fought them. That’s how long I bled beside my brothers. How long I told myself it was us or them —no middle ground, no compromise, no forgiveness. We killed them, or they killed us .

And now I’d just told the Federation Council to make room for them. To give refuge among us.

The cyborg warrior in me hated it.

But the man I’ve become—after everything—weighed the facts, the scars, the silence of that hidden colony, and made a different call. These Mesaarkans were not in the war that I fought. They were conscripted to invade Earth after the war ended.

So, this isn’t about the war anymore. My logical side could not justify sending these dissidents to their deaths because of their species.

That would hardly be different than sending in a company of cyborgs to wipe them out.

That would be no different than what started the war in the first place—a massacre of innocent colonists over land.

This is no longer about war, but about what comes after .

I’ve seen their children. Small, partially scaled, and wide-eyed. Human softness wrapped in alien skin. I've seen the way those Mesaarkan deserters look at their mates—like they’ve found something worth surviving for.

I recall when I stopped fighting and returned to Earth to rebuild civilization.

It was the first time I’d seen the devastation firsthand.

I had shipped out within hours of my awakening over a century ago.

Until I saw that colony, I never really thought about Mesaarkans having mates and families, and building communities.

They didn’t look like us, but they weren’t all that different. War is so counterproductive to building families and civilizations. I knew it had to end, and making this happen was the right thing to do.

Letting go of hate in the face of old wounds is what peace costs.

I hoped the Council would listen. I wouldn't blame them if they didn't.

But if they do—

Then maybe the next generation won’t grow up preparing for war.

Maybe they’ll grow up learning how to share worlds instead of carving up territories.

And maybe, just maybe.

That’ll be the fight that finally ends.