The Observers
By David Velazquez
Part 1: Observation
They christened it Planet X773.
Not because the world asked for a name.
They always used numbers.
It was simpler that way.
From the void, the planet appeared vibrant.
It was blue.
It held clouds.
Everything moved with a deceptive lethargy.
If you did not look closely,
you might believe all was well.
But it wasn’t.
The cities lay in ruin.
Many had ceased to exist entirely.
Fire and fever reigned where millions once thrived.
The coastlines shimmered with an unnatural light, as if the planet itself were wounded.
“Third World War confirmed,” the analyst stated. “The majority of metropolitan hubs have been eradicated.”
The Captain ran a claw along the metal railing. She stared at the world in silence, watching the shroud of smoke veil the sphere.
She did not look angry.
She was merely attentive.
“Should we intervene?” the analyst asked, his gray eyes blinking in succession.
The Captain took her time to answer.
“No,” she said at last. “Let it run its course.”
Silence followed.
“They will destroy themselves,” another officer remarked. “Or at least, they will try.”
“Yes,” the Captain replied. “That is exactly what they will do.”
Suddenly, a brilliant flash erupted on the planet’s night side.
Then another.
And another still.
Nuclear blossoms.
“More launches detected,” the analyst whispered.
“I see them,” the Captain said.
On the surface, chaos was the only law.
Signals flickered out.
Cities vanished into light and noise.
The masses scrambled for sanctuary.
Leaders spoke to cameras that no one would ever watch.
“Radiation will follow,” the analyst said, his antennae twitching. “Then famine.”
“Then disease.”
“And even then,” the Captain said, “they will continue to fight.”
Time passed.
Days.
Weeks.
The war shifted.
The heavy ordnance was exhausted.
The smaller weapons took their place.
Eventually, only desperation remained.
Borders became irrelevant.
Food became a phantom. Radiation poisoned the tides.
“They nearly made it this time,” the analyst noted.
“They had even begun to establish stations in the stars.”
The Captain flicked her tail slowly.
“A pity.”
Later, she pulled up a different image.
It was a jungle.
Green.
Vital.
Unscathed.
“Do you see this?” she asked.
“I do.”
“There are tribes here that never made contact with the others,” she said. “Roughly two thousand souls in total.”
“They never took part in the war. They never drew blood.”
There was a long pause.
Part 2: The Trial
“Do we save them?” the analyst asked.
“Do we take them to the preserves?”
“Yes,” the Captain replied.
“As we did with Planet 4732?” the officer inquired.
“Yes,” she said. “Just like that one.”
The analyst hesitated.
“Do not grow fond of them,” the Captain warned.
“If you do, you will not survive this vocation.”
“And after the planet is restored?” he asked.
The Captain kept her gaze fixed on the jungle. “We return them to X773. So they may try again.”
The ships descended through scarred skies.
The jungle canopy parted beneath them.
The forest people looked upward, seized by terror.
They had never seen such vessels.
They had never seen such beings.
Some clung to one another.
Others fell to the earth.
Some prayed.
Children clutched tattered blankets.
An old man spoke to the heavens.
They all harbored the same questions:
Why now? Why us? Where is everyone else? No one answered.
From the vacuum of space, the planet returned to a state of perceived tranquility.
The clouds drifted.
The ocean breathed.
“Preserve assigned?” the analyst asked.
“K3,” said the Captain. “Temporary.”
The file was closed.
The ship departed.
Behind them, Planet X773 continued its rotation.
Not as a punishment.
Not as a lesson.
But as a trial…
…"
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