DAYS SURVIVED: 70
COLONY SIZE: 7
DAYS UNTIL FLOODS: 100
Three months. One hundred days exactly.
The number sat in Kai's mind like a countdown timer he couldn't turn off. Every morning he woke up and the genetic memory whispered: Less time. Running out. Prepare more. Not enough.
The alliance with Scar-Mandible's colony had been working smoothly—too smoothly, maybe. They shared threat intelligence. Coordinated patrol routes. Even traded food during scarce periods. The ants brought down prey too large for them to process, the World Cats helped clear ant tunnels that had collapsed.
It was... functional. Professional. Exactly what Kai had hoped for.
But it wasn't enough.
Seven kits wasn't enough. One allied colony wasn't enough. Surface shelters and cached supplies weren't enough.
The genetic memory kept showing him the same pattern: extinction happened to the unprepared. To those who assumed they'd done enough. To those who stopped at "probably survive" instead of pushing for "definitely survive."
Kai needed insurance. Real insurance. Something that would outlast disaster. Something that couldn't fail even if he did.
The idea had been growing in his mind for weeks, ever since Shadow had asked: What if you don't make it?
He'd been researching in the genetic memory during his rare moments alone. Diving deep into World Cat breeding protocols. Finding sections marked ADVANCED and EXPERIMENTAL and USE WITH EXTREME CAUTION.
He found something called Generational Inheritance Protocols.
The ability to encode not just physical traits, but behaviors. Missions. Purpose. And make them stable across multiple generations. Instructions that would persist in the genetic code, passed from parent to offspring to offspring's offspring, potentially for thousands of years.
It was exactly what he needed.
It was also deeply, fundamentally wrong.
DAYS SURVIVED: 72
Kai chose a chamber three levels below the main den. Deep. Hidden. Accessible only through a crack too narrow for anyone but him—even Shadow couldn't fit through without difficulty.
He'd told the colony he was scouting deep tunnels. Mapping potential evacuation routes. All true, technically. Just not the whole truth.
The chamber was perfect. Ancient stone, stable, naturally defensible. A thin seep of water in one corner. Cool enough for long-term storage.
He spent two days preparing it. Reinforcing weak points. Sealing secondary entrances. Creating a space that could remain undisturbed for years. Decades. Centuries.
Then he began the breeding.
But this wasn't like the previous breedings. This was precise. Calculated. Every genetic input carefully measured.
PROJECT DESIGNATION: KEEPER STRAIN
Purpose: Long-term knowledge preservation and crisis response
Mission encoding: ACTIVE
Behavioral constraints: MAXIMUM
Ethical concerns: SIGNIFICANT
He started with the genetic template. Took his own cells as the base—World Cat primary, with all the adaptation capability that implied. But then he added limitations.
Size: Restricted. Keep them smaller than standard kits. Sixty percent mass maximum. Less threatening. Less resource-intensive.
Intelligence: Capped at seventy percent of his baseline. Smart enough to problem-solve. Not smart enough to question deeply. Not smart enough to philosophize about free will.
That last part made his stomach hurt.
But he continued anyway.
The behavioral encoding was the crucial part. He spent hours composing the mission parameters in chemical language that would write itself into the very DNA of what he was creating:
PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: Observe and record. Document all colony activities. Preserve knowledge across time.
SECONDARY DIRECTIVE: Activate during crisis conditions. Provide support during disasters. Ensure colony survival.
TERTIARY DIRECTIVE: Serve the World Cat bloodline. Protect descendants. Endure across generations.
CONSTRAINT ALPHA: Mission completion takes precedence over self-preservation.
CONSTRAINT BETA: Loyalty to mission is genetically hardcoded. Cannot be overridden by individual choice.
That last constraint was the thing that would haunt him. He knew it even as he encoded it. He was creating beings that couldn't refuse. Couldn't choose differently. Couldn't wake up one day and decide they wanted something else.
He was creating slaves.
"For the greater good," he whispered to the empty chamber. "For survival. For—"
He stopped. The justifications felt hollow even as he said them.
But he didn't stop working.
The first test pod took three days to form. He fed it carefully selected genetic material—not for combat or security or construction, but for observation. Enhanced sensory suite. Perfect memory. Tireless work ethic.
And the behavioral encoding. Woven into every cell. Inescapable.
KEEPER PROTOTYPE POD: ESTABLISHED
Genetic template: Observer variant
Mission encoding: Stable (projected 98% retention across 5 generations)
Development time: 5 days
Warning: This organism will have limited free will. Proceed with caution.
The warning made him pause. Made him really look at what he was doing.
Limited free will.
Not absent. Just limited. They'd be able to make tactical decisions. Choose routes. Solve problems. But they couldn't choose to stop. Couldn't choose to abandon the mission. Couldn't choose themselves over the purpose he'd coded into them.
"I'm a monster," Kai said quietly.
Then he sealed the chamber and went back to his colony, and lied to them about where he'd been.
DAYS SURVIVED: 77
TEST SPECIMEN: HATCHING DAY
Kai returned to the hidden chamber alone, telling Shadow he needed to check the deep evacuation routes one more time.
The pod had matured. Something moved inside.
He broke the seal and watched it emerge.
Small. Sleek. Black and silver fur that seemed to drink in light. Compound eyes more pronounced than his kits, giving it an almost insectoid appearance. Face refined, purpose-built rather than evolved.
It moved with eerie precision. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Every action deliberate and economical.
It looked at Kai and produced a pheromone marker: Creator. Reporting for duty. Awaiting mission parameters.
Not "hello." Not "what am I?" Just immediate readiness to serve.
Kai felt sick.
"Status," he said, using command pheromones.
The specimen responded instantly: Designation: Keeper-Alpha. Primary systems: Functional. Sensory suite: Operational. Mission encoding: Stable at 98.2%. Ready for deployment.
"Not deployment yet. This is a test. I need to verify the behavioral encoding before I create more of you."
Understood. Test protocols: Accepted.
Kai placed one of his carved stones in the chamber. Then he produced a pheromone command: Guard this stone. Protect it from all threats. This is your purpose.
The specimen's posture shifted immediately. It moved to the stone, positioned itself between the stone and the chamber entrance, and stopped. Perfect stillness. Perfect focus.
Kai left. Returned six hours later.
The specimen hadn't moved. Hadn't eaten. Hadn't rested. Just guarded.
"Status," Kai said.
Mission: Active. Stone: Protected. No threats detected. Awaiting further orders.
"Are you hungry?"
Hunger: Acknowledged. Mission priority: Higher. Hunger: Manageable.
"Are you tired?"
Fatigue: Acknowledged. Mission priority: Higher. Fatigue: Manageable.
Kai felt the wrongness of it in his bones. The specimen was suffering—not dramatically, but suffering nonetheless—and couldn't choose to stop because he'd made it impossible to choose.
"New mission," Kai said. "Eat. Rest. Maintain yourself. The stone doesn't need constant guarding."
Clarification: Previous mission status?
"Suspended. Self-maintenance is now priority."
Understood. Executing new mission parameters.
The specimen ate from the cached food Kai had left, then found a corner and entered a light sleep state—not true rest, more like a power-saving mode.
Even in sleep, its ears tracked sounds. Ready to wake. Ready to serve.
Over the next week, Kai ran more tests.
Test 2: Starvation Override
He removed all food and watched to see if the specimen would abandon its post to hunt.
It didn't. For three days it guarded the stone, growing visibly weaker, until Kai terminated the test and forced it to eat.
Test 3: Pain Conditioning
He introduced mild acid near the stone. The specimen crossed the acid repeatedly to maintain its guard position, accepting chemical burns without complaint.
Test 4: Social Override
He brought Shadow down—carefully, with extensive warnings about what was happening. Let Shadow approach the stone.
The specimen threatened Shadow. Didn't attack, but made clear: mission comes before family bonds.
Shadow backed away slowly, eyes wide.
"Kai," Shadow said quietly once they were back in the main den. "What is that thing?"
"Insurance," Kai said. He couldn't meet Shadow's eyes.
"That's not insurance. That's—" Shadow struggled for words. "That's wrong. That's really, really wrong."
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because I'm terrified!" Kai's voice cracked. "I'm terrified that I'll fail, that we'll all die, that everything we've built will vanish and no one will even know we tried. I'm terrified of being the Maker on Stone 7, standing alone while everyone I care about dies around me."
He touched the carved stones arranged around their den.
"They failed, Shadow. A whole civilization failed. I won't let that happen to us. Even if it costs me—" He stopped. "Even if it costs me everything I used to believe about myself."
Shadow was quiet for a long time.
"You're creating slaves," Shadow said finally. "Beings with intelligence who can't refuse. Can't choose. Can't be anything except what you made them to be."
"Yes."
"Chicago Kai—the one who wanted to save his mother, who believed in free will and dignity—he'd hate what you're becoming."
"Chicago Kai is dead. He died in a parking lot the night I won the lottery. This Kai survives. Even if survival makes me a monster."
Shadow pressed against Kai's side despite the obvious disapproval.
"I still love you," Shadow said quietly. "But I don't like what you're doing."
"I don't like it either. But I'm doing it anyway."
"What happens next?"
"I verify the encoding is stable. Then I create forty more. Four different lineages, each with different activation conditions. They'll stay dormant until disaster strikes. And when it does—when the floods come, or I die, or something worse happens—they'll wake up and do what they were made to do."
"Which is?"
"Ensure we survive. No matter the cost."
DAYS SURVIVED: 85
The verification tests continued for another week. Kai bred five more specimens from Keeper-Alpha's genetic line. Watched them hatch. Tested their behavioral encoding.
All five were identical in purpose. Unwavering. Unquestioning. Perfect little slaves who couldn't choose to be anything else.
GENERATIONAL STABILITY TEST: COMPLETE
Mission encoding: Stable across 5 generations
Degradation rate: 1.2% per generation (acceptable)
Loyalty imprinting: Genetic lock confirmed
Conclusion: Viable for long-term deployment
"It works," Kai whispered to the empty hidden chamber, surrounded by six specimens that watched him with compound eyes that held intelligence but no real autonomy.
"It works, and I hate that it works."
He terminated five of the specimens humanely—quick, painless. They deserved that much at least. Kept Keeper-Alpha alive as a proof of concept.
Then he began the real work.
KEEPER STRAIN PRODUCTION: PHASE 1
He created forty pods over the course of two weeks. Divided them into four groups, each with specialized functions:
WATCHERS (10 eggs): Enhanced sensory suite. Mission: Observe and document. Activate when seismic pressure drops indicate earthquake imminent.
WHISPERERS (10 eggs): Enhanced pheromone production. Mission: Guide descendants through chemical influence. Activate when Kai enters forced hibernation.
KEEPERS (10 eggs): Maximum armor and defensive capability. Mission: Guard knowledge caches and sacred sites. Activate when colony goes silent for 30+ days.
SHEPHERDS (10 eggs): Balanced combat and support traits. Mission: Active intervention during crises. Time-delayed activation across millennia.
Forty insurance policies. Forty slaves. Forty beings that would wake up and serve without choice.
He sealed them in the vault with preservation protocols. Chemical stasis. They could remain dormant for thousands of years if necessary.
He carved the location into his genetic memory in encrypted form. Left coordinates in the colony's pheromone library in a corner where only advanced readers would think to look.
And he added one final note, hidden where only someone looking for it would find it:
WARNING: The Keeper Strain exists. 40 eggs, sealed. They will serve. They cannot refuse. I created them because I was afraid. If you're reading this, judge me as you will. But use them if you need them. They exist to save lives. Even if their existence is a crime against everything I used to believe.
He didn't sign it. Future generations would know who wrote it.
Would know what he'd become.
DAYS SURVIVED: 92
Kai emerged from the deep tunnels after two weeks of intensive work. The colony had continued preparing without him—Dig had completed the main surface access, Quick had mapped new water sources, Twitchy had tripled the alarm systems.
Shadow was waiting when he surfaced.
"Is it done?" Shadow asked quietly.
"It's done."
"How many?"
"Forty."
Shadow's ears went back. "Forty slaves."
"Forty insurance policies. If we die, something remembers us. Something continues our work. Something survives."
"At the cost of their freedom."
"At the cost of my soul, probably. But they're viable. Hidden. Ready to activate when disaster strikes."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Just you. And that prototype I showed you—Keeper-Alpha. It's still in the vault. The others are in stasis. They won't wake until trigger conditions are met."
"Which are?"
"Earthquake warnings for the first group. My hibernation for the second. Colony extinction for the third. Time-delayed for the fourth, staggered across thousands of years."
Shadow absorbed this. "You're planning for deep time. For civilizations that don't exist yet."
"Because they might exist. Because if we succeed here, if we build something that lasts, it needs protection. Even after I'm gone. Even after you're gone. Even after everyone we know is dust."
"That's... ambitious. And terrifying."
"That's survival thinking. Plan for the worst. Hope for the best. Build insurance for everything in between."
Shadow pressed close despite the obvious moral discomfort.
"I still don't like it. But I understand why you did it."
"That's all I can ask for."
They sat together in silence, listening to the sounds of their colony. Dig working three levels down. Twitchy checking perimeters. Bitey and Tank having one of their usual shoving matches. Quick returning from a surface run.
Seven kits. Forty hidden eggs. One allied colony. One hundred days until the floods.
They were as ready as they could be.
Kai hoped it would be enough.
He suspected it wouldn't.