The Eight of Earth

1: Leo Abernathy- *Metal Eggs*

I was not born like a human. I did not tear from my mother at the end of a rope. Squealing. Hysterical. Natural. No. I was hatched from a metal egg. On a planet unthinkably far from Earth. Alone. Quiet. And helpless.

No mother. No father. No siblings. No humans. Alone. Yet... not exactly alone.

Creatures were there. Staring into the egg at a being not from their world that, for all they knew, began materializing out of thin air.

How terrifying that must have been for them?

Their horror would only multiple in the minutes to come.

For another would hatch...

And another.

And another.

And another.

Hundreds, possibly thousands of these metal eggs lined the halls of the alien craft they stood in. Surely, an infestation was under way.

Is it of any surprise the actions they took to solve it? Certainly not. Panic is nature's reaction to the unknown. I would've considered destroying the other eggs as well. So, how can one resent a decision made that they themselves would've also made? You can't. But it doesn't change the simple truth that my species was robbed of its resurrection that day. That is why I hunch over this table in the dimness of our lab and squint at microscopic strands of life.

Sure, they allowed the eight of us already hatched to live. But whether their motivations stemmed from a sense of moral obligation, sheer curiosity or sinister intent, it doesn't matter. As one life does not deem humanity reborn. Nor do eight. I signal my technician to increase the magnification of the lens I stare through because the dream of my father was not for a lone generation of humanity to experience life, only to disappear once again into the ethers of existence. No... His dream was that of a second chance for mankind. A lasting civilization where we could start over and redeem ourselves from the transgressions of our past.

That simply cannot be done with eight people. So, if humanity is to be anything more to this world than a fossilized moment in time, the cloudy solution in this petri dish is that answer.

The sole window of the laboratory is a tiny square on the door that lets in light from the hallway. The only other light in the room shines up from under the petri dish and illuminates the strands of my DNA that lay inside it.

Sweat beads along the ridge of my brow. Patawa wipes it away so it doesn't drop in the solution and ruin the formula. I can feel her constantly glancing at Bryl, who stands guard at the door. As if my nerves weren't shrieking already, every set of footsteps I hear in the hallway makes my stomach drop. But I trust my crew. It doesn't matter if they aren't human, they're still family. Besides, I wouldn't dare look away.

My open eye burns as I squint through the microscope. I don't remember the last time I blinked. Focus. Even the tiniest of errors and my formula is ruined. I run my thumb along the stitching of my father's journal that sits in my lap and concentrate... Too much has been sacrificed for the formula to be ruined.

I swallow and try to control my breathing but it quivers. I haven't uttered a word in so long, the order I give my technician comes out in a hoarse whisper.

"Spri, increase levels on two and seven by half a percent."

Through the lens, a tiny orange protein fluid disperses into the solution and snakes in between every crevice of the oval shaped receptors of my DNA. I just need one receptor to bind to the fluid. Just one. One bind and I can save the human race from its second extinction in 100 years. One bind and everything my father sacrificed will have been worth it. One bind and this planet will know more than eight humans. One bind and I can change the world...