Cody II, Chapter 5 The frenetic energy of the news deck was palpable, humming in the air like a live high-wire electrical tower. Reporters darted with purposeful strides between the balcony's edge and the hyperspace communication terminals, their fingers dancing over keyboards as they filed stories that would travel across the cosmos. The Aurora's indoor sporting arena had never been intended for such a purpose, yet now it played host to the most crucial assembly in human history. From the balcony, the floor below was a sea of color and movement—an undulating mass of diplomats from countless worlds, each adorned in the regalia of their respective cultures. They clustered around a long table that, under different circumstances, might have hosted an intergalactic banquet rather than a deadlock of cosmic consequence. Amidst the throng, the negotiation table stood like an island in stormy waters. Human delegates on one side, their brows furrowed in consternation, cast furtive glances toward their counterparts who were not of flesh and blood but of shimmering luminescence. The Ara, beings of light and mystery, hovering in serene stillness. The talks had ground to a halt. Diplomats shuffled papers, reiterating points and countering arguments that had circled for hours, if not days. The humans, desperate to bridge the chasm of understanding between two vastly different species, found themselves grappling with concepts that defied their language and experience. Frustration simmered beneath the surface of practiced diplomacy. No one wanted to be the first to show weakness, to concede or demand more than the delicate dance of negotiation would allow. Yet, the impasse weighed heavily upon all present, a silent acknowledgment that what transpired here could either open a door to the stars or seal it shut forever. Above, the reporters continued their relentless dispatches, sending ripples of information across star systems. Each word, each image broadcast from this arena held the power to ignite hope or fear in the hearts of trillions. As the negotiations teetered on the precipice of deadlock, all eyes remained locked on the figures below, waiting for a sign, any sign that the future was not as distant and unreachable as it felt in this moment of suspended breaths. In a glass-enclosed news booth with panoramic views of the arena, three news anchors sat before their cameras, faces set in expressions of focused concern. The largest of the news networks had claimed this perch, and the gravity of their responsibility was etched into every line of their poised demeanors. "Good evening, I'm Marissa Vale," began the lead anchor, her voice an anchor itself amidst the storm of uncertainty below. "Beside me are Greg Sato and Lina Reyes. We're here live at what may be one of the most critical moments in human history." "Indeed, Marissa," replied Greg, his eyes never leaving the floor where the Ara floated, ethereal and undisturbed by the human frenzy. "The negotiations have stalled, and the tension is growing. Our future relationship with the Ara hangs in the balance." Lina nodded, adding, "The scene down there is a stark reminder of how little we know about the Ara." Marissa turned to Greg with a sense of urgency. "Greg, you've been following the developments on the Ara closely. What can you tell us about this mysterious species?" Greg cleared his throat, readying his report. "Well, Marissa, the Ara are unlike anything we've ever encountered. As non-corporeal beings, they exist within living crystals—almost as if the crystals themselves are vessels for their consciousness. From what we understand, they're a silicon-based lifeform, but also entities of pure energy that defy our traditional understanding of life. As you can see below, their crystals are not present. Some scientists think the crystals might be similar to what a house is for a human. But, what we do know is they are an ancient race." "An ancient race, you say?" Marissa interjected, her brows knitting together. "Absolutely," Greg affirmed. "They are believed to date back to the origins of the universe itself. There's so much mystery shrouding their existence—we don't know how they reproduce, their life expectancy, or the intricacies of their society." "And their leader? The First Light of Ara?" Lina's voice was tinged with fascination. "Ah, yes, The First Light of Ara," Greg continued. "Their revered leader, whose mere presence commands silence and respect even among our own delegates. While we cannot confirm the exact nature of their governing structure, the reverence shown suggests a monarchical system, or something similar, with The First Light at its apex." The trio fell silent for a moment, absorbing the weight of the unknowns that hovered over them like the very beings they discussed. In the booth, surrounded by the hum of equipment and the distant murmur of countless voices, they were the translators of this historic moment—a bridge between two worlds on the cusp of either alliance or adversity. "Marissa," the lead anchor, turned her gaze to the co-anchor beside her, a woman whose sharp eyes had been tracking every fluctuation on the arena floor. "What insights can you share about the boy at the heart of it all?" "Indeed, Marissa," Lina began, her voice steady despite the undercurrents of excitement around them. "Fourteen years ago, when Dr. Samuel Branson and Dr. Amelia Branson first landed on the uncharted planet we now know as Ara, they were searching for new forms of life but found none—at least not in the way we understand it." She paused for effect, letting the weight of history settle over the viewers. "Their son, Cody, born amidst those alien crystals, became a bridge between two worlds. He spent four years on the planet until his parents moved their base to an asteroid not far from the planet. At some point during the next thirteen years, Cody discovered the Ara. We believe that Cody was altered on a genetic level while living on the planet, giving him the unique ability to communicate with the Ara." Marissa's eyes glowed with the fervor of someone revealing an extraordinary secret. "The Ara embraced him as their own, dubbing him The First Son of Ara. We don’t know if it’s a title, or perhaps a translation of his name." Just then, the flurry of activity from the intern pool caught Greg's attention. "Where's that legal expert?" he called out, his voice cutting through the cacophony. A man, slightly disheveled from the rush, skidded into the booth, clutching a tablet overflowing with digital documents. "Right here, Greg," the man panted, straightening his tie as he came to a halt. "Jonathan, thank goodness," Greg exhaled. "We need clarity amidst this confusion. What can you tell us about Cody's status? Legally speaking?" Jonathan adjusted his glasses, tapping swiftly on his tablet before locking eyes with the camera. "Cody Branson presents a unique case. Born on an alien world, raised by a species beyond our understanding, and now, recognized by the Ara as one of their own. While he may have Earthling parents, his genetic alterations and acceptance by the Ara complicate any claims Earth might have over him." He paused, ensuring the gravity of his words resonated across the network. "It's a legal labyrinth, Greg. One that challenges our conceptions of citizenship, sovereignty, and even humanity itself." Jonathan's expression was inscrutable, betraying nothing of his thoughts on the unprecedented situation unfolding below them. Jonathan tapped on a hand-held device, searching for a specific document. "In accordance with Earth Law," he began, bringing up the screen where The Charter of Planets glowed faintly, "Cody Branson holds dual citizenship by virtue of his birthright and the unique circumstances surrounding his upbringing." He glanced up at the camera, his gaze steady. "However, even if he were to renounce his Earth citizenship, Cody would not escape the legal web that entangles him." "Are we talking about the Treason Act?" Greg interjected, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Yes," Jonathan confirmed. "Cody's actions, leading an offensive against the Mining Corporations, sit in a murky area of law. Was it wanton aggression or self-defense of his adoptive planet? The statute is clear on acts of violence against Corporations legally extracting resources from a planet, but this," he spread his hands wide, encompassing the scope of the debate, "is uncharted territory." The anchors leaned forward, absorbing the weight of Jonathan's analysis. He continued, "The corporations claim legal ownership of the planet—" "Ownership that's under dispute," Greg cut in, his voice a blend of curiosity and skepticism. "Indeed," Jonathan agreed. "And they've wasted no time. They're pushing for a warrant for Cody's arrest, claiming that the attack constitutes a direct violation against their assets." "Assets that include a living, sentient species," Greg mused aloud. "Exactly," Jonathan nodded. "But let us not forget that looming over this legal skirmish is the Aurora," he spread his arm out, a gesture encompassing the massive ship. "Captain Maximillian Archer's presence here isn't just symbolic; it's a formidable deterrent." "Speaking of involvement," Greg said, seizing on a new thread, "rumor has it there was assistance from the inside—a human girl who played a significant role in the attack on the Mining Corporations. What about her?" Jonathan's expression tightened for a brief moment. "Ah, yes. The young woman in question collaborated closely with Cody, allegedly aiding in the tactical preparations against the Mining Corporation's Fleet." "Arrestable offense?" Greg prodded, eyes narrowing. "Potentially, but unlikely." Jonathan tapped his tablet once more, a hint of finality in his gesture. "She's part of this intricate dance between power, influence, and legality. Detaining someone with such...proximity to Captain Archer would be more than just a legal challenge—it would stir the waters of galactic politics in ways we can scarcely imagine." "Delicate indeed," Greg concluded, sharing a knowing look with his co-anchor as they both turned their attention back to the chaotic scene unfolding below. Jonathan, couldn't help but suppress a chuckle at the notion, his eyes momentarily glinting with humor amidst the gravity of the situation. "That girl," he began, leaning in closer to the microphone as if sharing a well-guarded secret, "is Tara Archer. She's not just any bystander; she's the niece of Captain Maximillian Archer." His voice carried a note of reverence even as he spoke it—a name that resonated through the annals of history like a mythic echo. "Since the tragic loss of her parents in an accident during her infancy, it has been Captain Archer who has stood as her guardian." Jonathan paused, allowing the weight of his next words to settle over the news deck. "There isn't a judicial entity across the fifteen hundred human worlds bold enough to issue a warrant for Captain Archer's niece. We're discussing a man whose life spans epochs." He continued, arms unfolding as he became more animated, "Captain Archer was born two-million years ago aboard the World Colony Ship, Destiny. The majority of those millennia were spent in cryogenic stasis, to be sure, "but upon awakening, he laid the foundations for our modern civilization. He established the first human colony, brought an end to the Colony Ship Wars, and even played a pivotal role in resettling Earth after it recovered from the ecological disaster that sent humanity to the stars in search of new worlds to colonize." Jonathan's hands gestured emphatically, as if painting the history of humanity in the air before him. "He is the savior of our species, the architect of the galaxy as we know it. His influence extends to every corner of human expansion—every world, colony, space station, outpost, and ship. To move against Captain Archer," he finished with a pointed look, "is to move against the very fabric of our society." The lead anchor, Marissa Vale, met Jonathan's fervor with a furrowed brow, her skepticism undeterred by his impassioned speech. "He's just a man," she interjected sharply, the words cutting through the reverence like a knife. Her eyes were locked onto Jonathan's, challenging the narrative that had been spun around the legendary figure. "Flesh and blood, like any of us. His storied past doesn't grant his family immunity from the law." Jonathan regarded Marissa with a measured gaze, his earlier amusement tempered by the gravity of her challenge. "Certainly, he's human," Jonathan conceded, his tone now steady and sober. "But consider the reverence with which he's held across the galaxy. His actions have shaped our present and will undoubtedly influence our future." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in among the viewers hanging on the broadcast. "Consider too the legal precedents," he continued, tapping his fingers lightly on the polished surface of the desk. "Captain Archer has been at the heart of landmark rulings, treaties, and agreements that govern interstellar law. The judiciary respects him not just for his heroics but for his integral role in establishing the order we rely upon today." Marissa's expression softened slightly—a grudging acceptance flickering behind her eyes—but she remained poised and ready to counter. "Respect is one thing," she said. "But it doesn't place him above the law. If there is evidence against Tara Archer..." "Ah, but evidence and action are two different beasts," Jonathan interjected smoothly. "It's not about what Captain Archer can or cannot do; it's about what society will permit. And history has shown us time and again that the galaxy is not eager to act against its greatest hero—or those under his protection." As the exchange concluded, a silent acknowledgment passed between the anchors. The conversation had reached an impasse, but their duty to report the unfolding events remained. Marissa turned back toward the camera, her face once more the mask of composed neutrality expected of the galaxy's premier news anchor. Jonathan's gaze was sharp, his voice a low hum that carried a certainty as unyielding as the vacuum of space. "Captain Archer has the hyper-thought genetic mutation," he said, each word chosen with precision, his eyes locked onto the camera lens as if he could see through to every individual in the audience. "That alone renders him nearly invincible in the grand scheme of things. Then you add Master Chief Brock into the equation—his companion, confidant, and quite frankly, one of the most formidable figures in his own right—and you have a duo that is simply untouchable." He inclined his head slightly, his tone laced with finality that bordered on reverence for the man they discussed. "Captain Archer isn't just shielded by his military prowess or his historic contributions; it's his mind, his hyper-accelerated cognitive abilities that set him apart. He’s a living legend—a strategic enigma that can’t be cornered or coerced. As I said, there isn't a court anywhere that will make a move against Captain Archer." Marissa’s poise suggested she might never fully concede to Jonathan's assertions. Before she could voice another challenging point, however, her hand shot up to her earpiece, fingers pressing against the small device as if to confirm the urgency of the message coming through. Her eyes widened fractionally, and the studio, already thick with tension, seemed to contract around her next words. "Apologies, Jonathan, I'll have to interrupt you," Marissa interjected abruptly, her voice taking on an edge of strain that reverberated off the high ceilings of the news deck. The hushed commotion from the floor below grew louder, seeping into the booth like a harbinger of chaos yet unseen. "Something is happening, viewers—we're about to switch our feed to the arena floor. Stay with us." Marissa's grip tightened on the edge of the news booth as she leaned forward, her gaze riveted to the scene unfurling below. The arena's floor, moments ago a mosaic of diplomats and aides, had erupted into disarray, the pattern breaking apart as hundreds of bodies surged away from the entrance tunnel in a tide of terror. "Oh my God, what are those?" Marissa's voice was a mix of disbelief and rising panic as she narrated the chaos. Two imposing columns of figures, scales glinting like polished armor under the artificial lights, marched with thunderous synchrony into the heart of the diplomatic enclave. Human delegates stumbled over each other to escape the path of a legion of Draconian soldiers, their fear palpable even from the elevated vantage of the news deck. "Jake!" Marissa called out to an assistant, her eyes never leaving the spectacle. "Research, now! There's two races of Ara—why didn't any Intel mention these dragon people?" Her demand was clipped, urgent—the need for information paramount in this unprecedented encounter. Her hand flew back to her earpiece, pressing it closer as she received live updates. "I'm being told that only moments ago, the Ara fleet landed on the deck of the Aurora, and an army of Draconian soldiers disembarked," she relayed, voice tense. "The Aurora is on high alert, and the order to prepare for evacuation has been given. This... this could escalate beyond anything we've prepared for." Below, the cameramen, dwarfed by the towering forms of the Draconian soldiers, huddled behind their equipment, their lenses trained unblinkingly on the newcomers. Marissa's command cut across the din of the arena, amplified and unequivocal. "Keep those cameras rolling!" she yelled into her microphone, her directive slicing through the cacophony. "This could be the start of an inter-galactic war! We need every moment documented—history is unfolding before our eyes!" The heavy tread of the Draconian soldiers resonated up to the news deck, mingling with the staccato rhythm of Marissa's own heartbeat. Her hands trembled slightly, but her voice remained steady, a beacon amidst the pandemonium as she continued to broadcast to a galaxy hanging on her every word. In a ripple of hushed awe, the once frenetic news deck fell silent as the Draconian soldiers halted their march. They positioned themselves into two distinct lines, an impenetrable wall of scaled might stretching across the entrance of the arena floor. The diplomats that had been swarming the negotiation table moments prior now clung to the edges of the arena, a collective breath held in anticipation. Then, cutting through the simmering tension, a voice boomed from the entrance tunnel's mouth. Amplified by the loudspeakers, the human announcer's words resonated with formality and reverence, "His Highness, The First Son of Ara, Commander of the Ara Fleet, Sword and Shield of Ara, Defender of the innocent, and Protector of the Lights of Creation." Marissa, the lead anchor, leaned forward over the balcony railing, her knuckles whitening as she gripped it tightly. Her eyes tracked the source of the proclamation, seeking the subject of such grand titles. A figure emerged, silhouetted against the stark illumination of the tunnel's entrance—a younger Draconian figure, his scales catching the light in a cascade of crystal-blue iridescent glory. He moved with a fluidity that spoke of both strength and serenity, a presence so commanding that for a heartbeat, the world seemed to rotate around him. Marissa's gasp was audible, a soft exclamation escaping her lips, "Oh my, who is that, he's... stunning." Her professional demeanor battled the shock of witnessing a being so out of legend and myth, walking with a confidence that seemed born of the stars themselves. He advanced with purpose, each step measured, unyielding; a dance of power and grace that left no doubt of his significance in this unprecedented gathering. The news deck, once a flurry of activity, mirrored the stillness below as countless eyes were fixed upon the young Draconian prince. Marissa knew, in that moment, they weren't just reporting history—they were witnessing the unfolding of a new chapter in the galaxy's tale, one that promised to change everything. "Look at him," marveled one of the anchors, her voice a whisper of awe that somehow carried over the cacophony below. "That is the most beautiful young man I have ever seen." She leaned closer to the glass, eyes following the mesmerizing dance of light playing off the contours of his figure. "I think that's Cody Branson." Her co-anchor, equally entranced, squinted against the glare, trying to reconcile the image with the stories they had all heard. "The Ara made him a Prince?" she asked, voice tinged with disbelief. The notion seemed fantastical, yet there he was—a human wrapped in the otherworldly aura of the Ara, standing among them with an air of regal certainty. Jonathan leaned into the microphone, his voice cutting through the speculative murmurs of the news booth. "They didn't call him a prince," he clarified with a firm shake of his head, eyes locked onto the figure commanding silence below. "But they made it clear he has the authority of one. I don't believe they are here for war; rather, it seems that when the negotiations broke down, they sent their First Son. And I don't think it's a term of endearment—it's a title to be sure, and possibly translates to the Ara version of a prince." Below them, Cody Branson stood apart from both delegations, his posture unyielding yet devoid of aggression. The light that seemed an extension of his being pulsed with a rhythm that suggested communication beyond human understanding. "But... he's human, isn't he?" The question from the co-anchor was almost a plea for reason—a search for normalcy in this unprecedented event. "Indeed," the expert replied, his tone suggesting layers of complexity yet to unfold. "But humanity, it appears, is but one facet of his identity now." Cody Branson's silhouette stood stark against the gleaming backdrop of the negotiation table, the glow from his form casting a soft luminescence on the arena floor. Diplomats that had retreated to a respectful distance, slowly began to return as the Draconian boy gestured for them to do so. "His birth," the legal expert continued, his voice steady and contemplative in the hush of the news booth, "occurred under mysterious circumstances on the Ara's home world. The more I consider it, the more convinced I am that the Ara foresaw this impasse. They possibly engineered him to serve as their intermediary—a genetic masterpiece designed to bridge two entirely disparate forms of life." The co-anchor leaned forward, her eyes never leaving the figure of Cody below. "It's like witnessing myth become reality," she whispered, almost to herself. "This isn't just a diplomatic envoy; it's the dawn of a new era." "Indeed," agreed the legal expert, his gaze still locked onto the scene unfolding below. "And let's not overlook the implications here. After seeing him—seeing what he represents—I doubt he can be held accountable by our laws. He is no longer merely one of us; he is a sovereign entity of the Ara. Whatever territorial claims the Mining Corporations have staked, they've surely lost their footing now." The lead anchor nodded, her expression sober as she absorbed the gravity of the statement. "Viewers across the galaxy," she addressed the camera with practiced poise, "you are watching history unfold. The being you see below is a nexus—a convergence of human heritage and alien legacy." Her co-anchor chimed in, her tone a mixture of awe and excitement. "We're talking about a living testament to the possibilities beyond our understanding. A young man who's both of Earth and beyond it, standing as the voice of an ancient, enlightened race." "Absolutely," the legal expert said, his eyes not leaving the screen showing live feeds from various angles of the arena. "Every law we've written, every treaty we've drafted... all of it will have to be re-evaluated in light of his existence. The ramifications are staggering." The trio fell into an animated discussion, their voices overlapping as they speculated, analyzed, and reported on the extraordinary developments below. Meanwhile, on screens throughout the fifteen hundred colonized worlds, viewers clung to every word and image of Cody Branson.