The Culling Pact

An alien world holds a terrible secret that dooms the galaxy.

The Culling Pact


I noticed right away the gravity on Helis Station was lighter than Earth’s. It was late and I checked my watch. Thankfully, I could catch a connection for Velux in a few hours, though I’d probably be one of the last journalists to arrive. I really hoped not to miss this story. Still, my stomach grumbled and the waft of felusian phlam caught my nose just as I spied an advertisement for Needler’s Café – Deck Eleven – Open 27hours.

One of the busiest waystations during peak time, Helis processed arrivals and departures via wormhole every 15 minutes. Now, the corridors were nearly empty, and I strolled past closed storefronts for everything from massage bots to trinket shops, even a clinic for nuisance eyeball removal, finally arriving at the small coffee shop tucked quietly into a corner.

“What can I getcha?” the gangly Sorrian owner asked from behind the counter, his single eye glaring at me beneath a soda jerk’s hat.

“I’ll take some phlam,” I answered.

“With or without scales?”

“With, please,” I replied, and he put the order in. “So, what’s new around here?”

“Everyone’s talkin’ about the Veluxian revolt, of course.” He motioned to the vid screens on every wall, then set my bowl in front of me.

Sipping my stew, I discovered one other patron, who happened to be Veluxian, staring emotionlessly off into space. His Earth coffee had long gone cold, so I picked up my phlam and joined him, taking a seat. “That’s an expensive drink to just sit there,” I remarked.

He didn’t reply.

“Ironic, running across a Veluxian here, especially now,” I smiled, angling for some sort of comment that might add to my story.

Still, nothing.

“Seems like your people are pretty upset,” I prodded again. “Your government really must’ve pissed ‘em off to warrant a revolution.”

“They don’t understand,” he finally replied, his cobalt skin shifting to gray, a dermal cue indicating sadness.

“Understand? Is there something they should know?”

“Are you a reporter or something?”

“Stephen Veracruz, Tellurian News Service.” I motioned to shake his hand. He didn’t take it. “So, what’s the angle here. Velux is a peaceful world. I’ve been there.”

“We’re doomed.”

“Well, that’s ominous,” I smirked. He then shifted from gray to brown - fear. “Okay,” I prompted him along, “How are we doomed?”

“The Culling Pact,” he replied, then shrunk away, realizing, “I’ve said too much.”

“I remember reading something about that in the Spacer’s Archives. It’s just a legend.”

The chaos and rioting continued on the screens, and my companion confirmed, “It’s true.”

“So, the Velux really do have a lottery system to cull their population?

He nodded.

“Well, that would explain the coup. I guess they’ve had enough. Your government is about to fall...”

“And destroy the whole galaxy,” he interrupted, just as the gates to the royal palace crumpled and citizens stormed in.

“Maybe a bit alarmist?”

His eyes welled up. “The fools.”

“Tell me. I reach a lot of people. Maybe I can help.”

“My name is Mexion Pavilus Velux LXII.”

“Of the royal line?” I marveled. “Why are you here?”

“I was on my way back from university…for the next culling. It’s our burden…our curse,” he explained, eyes sullen.

“A curse which is about to end, looks like.”

“The Culling is a pact, a process to keep an ancient doorway sealed. Eons ago, long before space travel…before ships and waystations, my family discovered a doorway to a tangent dimension – a universe filled with horrific monstrosities. They flooded through and consumed us. Our civilization was nearly lost when we chanced upon the means to close the breach, using cosmic energy and the blood of nearly all the remaining survivors. Since then, the only terrible way to maintain the seal is to feed the gate with our own people, and at least one member of the royal house – a direct bloodline from those who first opened the gate. Our family must be amongst the culling. It was little Orexa the last time,” he wiped a tear away. “For eons the seal has held, but only because we’ve been there to ensure it.”

“That’s...horrible.”

“And if our bloodline ends, the seal will breach, and the creatures from that dimension will drown us in death.”

“So, how do we stop it?” I asked, the foundations of the palace tumbling in upon themselves. In their place, horrible writhing beasts churned from below ripping into the masses and tearing them apart.

“We cant. It’s too late.”