Chapter Text
The video lasts only about ten seconds. Blue fingers move away from the screen, and a woman’s voice is heard: “Gamilon Colony Ilk-23, sixth standard month, Gamilon year 1125, standard year 158. ” She speaks calmly but urgently. She turns around, and we then see about ten creatures in the distance. They appear both mechanical and organic, with a “jointed” appearance caused by the blue glows dancing beneath their gray skin. They are attacking a house on a farm. “There are probably no survivors,” says a second voice, tinged with sadness. Off-screen, the click of a pistol is heard, then the camerawoman draws her own weapon. The last two seconds are blurry; we see only one Gamilon—it’s unclear whether it’s a man or a woman—then the video cuts out.
“What were those things?” Hyss asked, horrified.
“I don’t know.”
Harlock gave him a piercing look. He’s aged a bit since the last time. Hyss still sees in him a strange resemblance to Frakken.
“My daughters went there to negotiate, and they found no one—except for that.”
Hyss did his best to hide his unease.
“Why are you only telling me this now?”
“I consulted the other representatives of the Ark to find out if any of them knew about these creatures. The answer is no: no one knows where they come from or what they might want, let alone how to communicate with them.”
Harlock gives a sad smile.
“There’s your explanation for your colony’s silence. Don’t send any men there—these creatures are smarter than they seem.”
The two men stare at each other. This simple piece of advice would constitute interference, and Harlock is well aware of that. The Ark is only allowed to exist because it keeps to itself.
“Why are you telling me this, anyway?”
“I feel I owe you a debt. You made the creation of the Ark possible…” (Harlock lowers his voice.) “You brought my daughter to me.”
“Why should I condemn this colony?” Hyss asks a little too sharply. “I can still have the survivors rescued.”
“They’ll seize the ships,” Harlock says with feigned nonchalance. “As for the rest… I don’t think there are any survivors left on the colony. Not at this point.”
Hyss closes his eyes for a moment, overcome by horror. How many were there? Hundreds, thousands?
“Did your daughter make it out?”
Harlock smiles.
“Yes, my daughters made it out.”
A brief moment of silence follows.
“Would you like to see her again?”