2543 (27-5th-7) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
“You want me to do what now?”
Baroth sighed and rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. Cailin could be distinctly trying sometimes, especially when she’d just finished her shift. He suspected that woman she worked with was probably responsible.
“I want you to actually meet Arla and talk her through the advantages of having an implant,” he repeated, fighting hard to keep any emotion out of his voice. “The sooner she can start to learn things by herself, the sooner she’ll progress.”
“Baroth, I know you find it perfectly easy to talk to people regardless of their race or class, but I find it perfectly impossible myself,” Cailin snapped. Behind her, Inge winced at the volume of her voice and glanced through the vitruvium at Arla, who was very carefully dismantling the wash-unit, oblivious to them. “What if I go and give her a mental breakdown? Or tell her too much? Or something?”
“You won’t,” Baroth said calmly as Inge rubbed one pointed ear. “I’ll be in there with you, don’t worry. Just try and answer her questions as completely as you can, and if she pauses half-way through a sentence don’t interrupt.”
“Is she a genius yet?” Cailin asked plaintively. “Because I hate High Intellects.”
“You know, I’m standing right behind you,” Inge muttered. Cailin snorted.
“You’re a Symbiote, Inge, you don’t count. Her? She’s a freak of nature.”
“Cailin,” Baroth began, but Cailin waved a hand dismissively.
“I know, I know,” she said irritably. “Fine. Take me in. But you owe me at least three drinks. Or a voucher for a professional hitman, either’s good.”
“How about I help you save the universe?”
“Baroth, that is so clichéd.”
They arrived at the door and Baroth keyed it open whilst Cailin fidgeted impatiently. She was partly right, in fact, or at least had the potential to be; Baroth had no idea whether or not Arla would be okay talking to Cailin, given her recent mental state. But they had to try. Hopefully, exposure to small amounts of Cailin wouldn’t prove fatal.
The door slid open, and Arla looked up expectantly. She smiled as she saw Baroth, a genuine expression that lit up her face, and in seconds she was on her feet and darting for the shelf. Baroth grinned and stepped into the room, Cailin trailing behind him. It seemed that today was one of Arla’s ‘good days’.
Arla pulled the pot off the shelf, and suddenly Baroth found himself nose-to-pot as she thrust it excitedly towards him.
“Baroth, look! Nut grew! Nut became Sprout!”
Sure enough, a thin green tendril was just poking out of the earth, barely a centimetre in length still and curled at the tip. He smiled at Arla, lifted by her obvious joy.
“So it did! Well done, Arla. You must have taken good care of it.”
She looked bashfully proud of herself, and hugged the pot to her chest.
“I watered it,” Arla said. “Every day, like you said.”
“Very good,” Baroth said gently, looking at her carefully. “Can I ask you something? Why have you now changed Nut’s name to Sprout?”
And instantly, Arla deflated, self-doubt riddling her expression.
“Shouldn’t I have?” she asked, uncertain. “Is that bad?”
“Not at all,” he told her firmly. “I’m just curious as to the reasoning behind it, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Arla looked down at Sprout, thinking. “Because… just because it’s a Sprout now,” she said. A thought struck her. “Do you mean Nut is still there?”
“Yes, it is,” Baroth nodded. “Eventually it won’t be, but for now, Nut is still under the soil. It’s just got a sprout as well as roots now.”
“Oh.” Arla stared at the pot in her arms, apparently thinking hard. “It looks different,” she said at last, in the voice she used when making conclusions. “And it has a sprout now as well. But… it’s the same. It’s still Nut. Just with… extra things.”
“Yes,” Baroth said simply. Arla smiled her I-got-a-question-right smile, and Baroth grinned.
“Anyway,” he said, stepping carefully to the side so that he was standing near Arla, “this is Cailin, a friend of mine. And hopefully of yours. She’s come to meet you.”
“Hello!” said Arla brightly, and Baroth breathed an internal sigh of relief at her lack of reserve. She brandished the pot eagerly at Cailin and said, “This is Nut! He has a sprout, now.”
“Er… so I see,” Cailin said, with the look of someone who secretly knew that small children were poisonous and had just met one masquerading as an adult. Baroth hid his smile. “Very… green.”
“Isn’t it?” Arla agreed happily. She did seem to like green, Baroth had noticed. “I watered it. Do you know any puzzles?”
“We’d like to talk about something else, actually,” Baroth said gently. “Hopefully it’ll stop you being bored. Cailin?”
“Have you ever come across a computational unit?” Cailin asked. Arla smiled brightly, and nodded.
“Can I fix one?” she asked eagerly. “I only have the wash-unit to fix here, really, because I’m not allowed the vitruvium. And I have to break it first.”
“Actually, I was thinking you could use one,” Cailin said, apparently dryly amused in spite of herself. “A high-info one. So you could learn all about – well – everything, really.”
Arla’s jaw dropped, her eyes round. “Use one?” she asked. She seemed astonished. “I – I can’t, I’m… no, I’m not anymore…”
“No, you’re not,” Baroth said firmly. “So, if you want to, you can use a CU.”
“It’ll just require you to have a cranial implant,” Cailin said. “I have one, they don’t hurt.”
“What’s a cranial implant?” Arla asked, keenly interested. Cailin winced.
“That’s… a bit more complicated to explain…”
“Don’t,” Arla told her. “If I can learn everything after I get one, then I can learn then. When can I have it?”
“You know, that’s really not good logic to take through life,” Cailin said. Baroth ignored her.
“Right now, if you wish,” he said. “Inge has one ready for you. He can explain all the details to you.”
“I don’t want details,” Arla said stubbornly. “I want the implant.”
“You’ll still get the implant,” Baroth assured her. “But you should always find out what it is you’re getting.”
Arla paused to consider that. “In case it’s bad,” she said, more or less to herself. “Okay. Now?”
“Now,” Baroth smiled, and went to fetch Inge.
********
I got bored of waiting to do this story, so I've started again. I can't remember a lot of what I planned, so it won't be as good, but what the hey. You'll all just have to deal with it.
Showing posts with label Symbiosis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Symbiosis. Show all posts
Tuesday, 18 December 2007
Thursday, 31 May 2007
Symbiosis - The Archon
2543 (25-4th-6) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
The ambassadors filled the room, and the Archon suppressed a shudder. Animals dressed as men, he thought with a sneer as they slithered and padded their ways to their chairs or perches, or splashed in their tanks, thrusting their mouths into translation tubes. They disgusted him. He plastered a smile onto his face.
“Ambassadors,” he said, his voice oily. “Welcome! I trust you are all in good health?”
There was a general murmur from the translative speakers mounted about the table. The Archon felt his skin crawl.
“Excellent,” he lied. “Well then: to business, shall we? Although, I’m afraid the subject of this meeting perplexes me somewhat.”
There was an angry chirrup from a drofor to his right, and the Archon just stopped himself from rolling his eyes.
“It perplexes you?” the drofor spat, the cold computerised voice from the speaker betraying no hint of the creature’s obvious emotion. The Archon was rather proud of that; he’d installed that voice himself. “With respect, how can it possibly perplex you? It’s been five years, Archon! Five years, and only three successful Symbiotes! Why haven’t you been the one to call this meeting?”
“Because I feel that this is not a cause for such alarm,” the Archon answered calmly.
There was a general uproar at that, and he waited for a few moments before continuing.
“Ambassadors!” he said. “Please! I understand the worry, but I do feel you’re all over-reacting. The Forum is aware of the situation. We share your concerns. But, two of those three Symbiotes were produced last year. We may have more this year, who knows? We think it’s simply a matter of tragic incompatibility, nothing more. It will most likely sort itself out.”
“But you have know way of knowing that,” a fennar chimed in further down the table. Its fins moved lazily in the water, and the Archon looked pointedly away from them, at its lidless eyes. He felt sick. “For all you know there’s a deeper problem here, and it’s one that needs sorting.”
“I’m afraid I disagree,” the Archon answered simply, and felt a smug thrill of satisfaction as the slight mutter of animal noise increased with irritation at his attitude.
“Well, we don’t,” the fennar answered back. “And apparently, neither do the other races represented here, or we wouldn’t be having this meeting. Now, it’s obvious that we all rely on the Symbioses more than you humans, Archon, but you aren’t entirely needless of them. Frankly, I can’t understand your attitude at all.”
“Have you even started conducting an investigation into this?” the drofor asked, wings vibrating slightly in its anger. The Archon almost snarled at their impudence, but controlled himself.
“Of course,” he said. “But so far the data is inconclusive. Now, really, Ambassadors, I can’t offer you anything more than this. Surely you can all see this?”
The animalistic sounds continued, but no one spoke out. The Archon risked a glance at the terahl representative, crouched over the table at the far end like some sort of overgrown mantis, its four-jointed fingers steepled beneath its pointed chin. Could they read minds? He’d never really been sure; they were said to only feel psionic energies, but did that mean they could tell what people were thinking? Or when someone was lying? The creature showed no sign of suspicion. The Archon looked away.
Eventually, the meeting broke up, and they left in a flurry of wings, fur and bubbles. The Archon sat in the empty room, shuddering in repulsion before standing and stretching out his limbs. Aliens! Animals feigning intelligence! They simply leeched off humanity, parasites of human advancement and values. Why had the Forum ever seen fit to continue any allegiance with them? The Symbiotes weren’t bad, of course; quite useful in fact. And if humanity only ever had to deal with Symbiotes there would probably be no problem, but the wretched creatures insisted on having ‘pure’ representatives in the Forum, as long as the Archon himself was Chair…
The illumination changed in the room, and the Archon smiled. A cloud of light hovered in front of his desk a foot off the floor, golden and twinkling. It seethed in place, roiling until it formed the rough image of a face in the air, and it wore a smile.
“The final nitrovium has been diverted to you,” the Archon said quietly. “And I have the final results of the fennar experiments for particle selection. Not long now, hopefully.”
The face seemed to nod, and two beams of light shot out and hit the Archon’s forehead. He felt the usual odd prickling sensation inside his skull, and smiled. Such an effective way to communicate, all meaning instantly conveyed. This was true advancement.
What information is left now?
“Very little. Only three stages remain, then it’s just for me to combine all the data and actually make the weapon.”
How long?
“With luck and harder work, three weeks for the last of the data. More likely a month and a half, EST of course.”
Of course. The Archon winced slightly at the almost imperceptible sneer. Very well. You have done well, Archon. What is this glitch?
“Ah.” The Archon paused. “We’re not sure yet. But I’m looking into it. These things never last more than a few weeks after they’re noticed, though. I’ll find it.”
Is there any way our designs could be known?
“No. I’ve taken the utmost care,” the Archon said firmly. “We’re safe.”
Excellent. Then I shall take my leave of you. Is the new data ready for me now?
“Yes,” the Archon answered, smiling. He turned to a palm screen on the desk and depressed it, and a quirky little mechanism rose up. He switched it on, and a thin beam of light hit the ceiling from it. The cloud shifted and placed itself over the beam, which bent, and was absorbed into the cloud. The light pulsed brighter, and then faded back to its original glow. The Archon sighed. True advancement.
It is done. I shall return next ‘week’.
The cloud dispersed at blinding speed, and seeped out of the windows. The illumination returned to its usual neutral glow, and the Archon turned back to his holo-screen. Time to find this glitch…
The ambassadors filled the room, and the Archon suppressed a shudder. Animals dressed as men, he thought with a sneer as they slithered and padded their ways to their chairs or perches, or splashed in their tanks, thrusting their mouths into translation tubes. They disgusted him. He plastered a smile onto his face.
“Ambassadors,” he said, his voice oily. “Welcome! I trust you are all in good health?”
There was a general murmur from the translative speakers mounted about the table. The Archon felt his skin crawl.
“Excellent,” he lied. “Well then: to business, shall we? Although, I’m afraid the subject of this meeting perplexes me somewhat.”
There was an angry chirrup from a drofor to his right, and the Archon just stopped himself from rolling his eyes.
“It perplexes you?” the drofor spat, the cold computerised voice from the speaker betraying no hint of the creature’s obvious emotion. The Archon was rather proud of that; he’d installed that voice himself. “With respect, how can it possibly perplex you? It’s been five years, Archon! Five years, and only three successful Symbiotes! Why haven’t you been the one to call this meeting?”
“Because I feel that this is not a cause for such alarm,” the Archon answered calmly.
There was a general uproar at that, and he waited for a few moments before continuing.
“Ambassadors!” he said. “Please! I understand the worry, but I do feel you’re all over-reacting. The Forum is aware of the situation. We share your concerns. But, two of those three Symbiotes were produced last year. We may have more this year, who knows? We think it’s simply a matter of tragic incompatibility, nothing more. It will most likely sort itself out.”
“But you have know way of knowing that,” a fennar chimed in further down the table. Its fins moved lazily in the water, and the Archon looked pointedly away from them, at its lidless eyes. He felt sick. “For all you know there’s a deeper problem here, and it’s one that needs sorting.”
“I’m afraid I disagree,” the Archon answered simply, and felt a smug thrill of satisfaction as the slight mutter of animal noise increased with irritation at his attitude.
“Well, we don’t,” the fennar answered back. “And apparently, neither do the other races represented here, or we wouldn’t be having this meeting. Now, it’s obvious that we all rely on the Symbioses more than you humans, Archon, but you aren’t entirely needless of them. Frankly, I can’t understand your attitude at all.”
“Have you even started conducting an investigation into this?” the drofor asked, wings vibrating slightly in its anger. The Archon almost snarled at their impudence, but controlled himself.
“Of course,” he said. “But so far the data is inconclusive. Now, really, Ambassadors, I can’t offer you anything more than this. Surely you can all see this?”
The animalistic sounds continued, but no one spoke out. The Archon risked a glance at the terahl representative, crouched over the table at the far end like some sort of overgrown mantis, its four-jointed fingers steepled beneath its pointed chin. Could they read minds? He’d never really been sure; they were said to only feel psionic energies, but did that mean they could tell what people were thinking? Or when someone was lying? The creature showed no sign of suspicion. The Archon looked away.
Eventually, the meeting broke up, and they left in a flurry of wings, fur and bubbles. The Archon sat in the empty room, shuddering in repulsion before standing and stretching out his limbs. Aliens! Animals feigning intelligence! They simply leeched off humanity, parasites of human advancement and values. Why had the Forum ever seen fit to continue any allegiance with them? The Symbiotes weren’t bad, of course; quite useful in fact. And if humanity only ever had to deal with Symbiotes there would probably be no problem, but the wretched creatures insisted on having ‘pure’ representatives in the Forum, as long as the Archon himself was Chair…
The illumination changed in the room, and the Archon smiled. A cloud of light hovered in front of his desk a foot off the floor, golden and twinkling. It seethed in place, roiling until it formed the rough image of a face in the air, and it wore a smile.
“The final nitrovium has been diverted to you,” the Archon said quietly. “And I have the final results of the fennar experiments for particle selection. Not long now, hopefully.”
The face seemed to nod, and two beams of light shot out and hit the Archon’s forehead. He felt the usual odd prickling sensation inside his skull, and smiled. Such an effective way to communicate, all meaning instantly conveyed. This was true advancement.
What information is left now?
“Very little. Only three stages remain, then it’s just for me to combine all the data and actually make the weapon.”
How long?
“With luck and harder work, three weeks for the last of the data. More likely a month and a half, EST of course.”
Of course. The Archon winced slightly at the almost imperceptible sneer. Very well. You have done well, Archon. What is this glitch?
“Ah.” The Archon paused. “We’re not sure yet. But I’m looking into it. These things never last more than a few weeks after they’re noticed, though. I’ll find it.”
Is there any way our designs could be known?
“No. I’ve taken the utmost care,” the Archon said firmly. “We’re safe.”
Excellent. Then I shall take my leave of you. Is the new data ready for me now?
“Yes,” the Archon answered, smiling. He turned to a palm screen on the desk and depressed it, and a quirky little mechanism rose up. He switched it on, and a thin beam of light hit the ceiling from it. The cloud shifted and placed itself over the beam, which bent, and was absorbed into the cloud. The light pulsed brighter, and then faded back to its original glow. The Archon sighed. True advancement.
It is done. I shall return next ‘week’.
The cloud dispersed at blinding speed, and seeped out of the windows. The illumination returned to its usual neutral glow, and the Archon turned back to his holo-screen. Time to find this glitch…
Monday, 28 May 2007
Symbiosis - Dreaming part 2
2543 (23-3rd-6) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
“Why won’t you talk to me, Arla?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
The answer was short, and left Baroth feeling distinctly Told. It disturbed him deeply. Overnight, Arla seemed to have been transformed from the innocent child she had been into something old and bitter; and worse, she was trying to block off her emotions again. She seemed to be succeeding, too.
“Will you listen to me, then? Just for a minute?” Baroth pleaded. “Then, if you’re utterly not interested I can go again.”
Arla glanced at him briefly, her eyes unreadable. She shrugged, hunched into the corner, her legs drawn up to her chest. Baroth nodded heavily, and lowered his massive frame to the floor.
“Right,” he said, ordering his thoughts. “Something has happened to you that is hurting you deeply, inside your mind. Do you agree?”
She remained motionless and silent, staring at her feet. He took it as a ‘yes’.
“And now you’re trying to avoid it,” Baroth continued. “Because you’re understandably afraid of ‘reliving’ it, and by talking about it you’ll have to think about it.”
Arla buried her head between her knees, hiding her face.
“The problem with emotional pain, Arla, is that it’s like a poison,” Baroth said gently. “It gets in, and it hurts. But getting it out would hurt slightly more – so people try to ignore it, and push it further inside where it hurts less. But although they don’t feel it as strongly anymore, it still hurts them. It carries on doing damage, deep inside. Do you understand?”
He knew she did, but he needed her to admit it herself. There was a silence, as neither of them moved. Finally, Arla pulled her head back up and looked at Baroth, her cheeks stained with tears. She crawled towards him and curled up by his side, child-like and vulnerable, and he threw an arm around her and drew her close. They stayed like that for a while, whilst Arla cried into his chest.
Eventually she shivered, and looked up at him.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, her eyes red. Baroth hugged her tightly.
“Please, just talk to me,” he said quietly. “Tell me about it. You only have to relive this once, in this way.”
“But I don’t want to,” Arla choked, her voice breaking. He could feel her trembling in his arms. “I don’t want to think about it.”
“Let’s start there,” Baroth said. “Tell me exactly why. What are you afraid of?”
“It…” Arla trailed off, but Baroth recognised the cogs turning in her head, and stayed quiet. “It felt so real, when I saw it,” she managed. “Or not… not entirely real, but I was as scared, and it hurt as much. And I thought it was real, at the time. It was only when I woke up that it wasn’t anymore.”
She paused, thinking again. Baroth wiped a strand of dark hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
“I think that – I’m scared that if I think about it now, I’ll see it again tonight,” Arla said, her voice slightly stronger with the new application of logic. “If I tell you about it now… you’re right: it’ll hurt, but I know it’s just a memory. But when I dream I think it’s real.”
Baroth squeezed her close. “I see,” he murmured. “Well… unfortunately, you’ll dream about it whether you talk about it or not. But if you do talk to me, you’ll stop dreaming it. You see?”
Arla nodded.
“Okay,” Baroth said. “First of all, I want you to imagine that the whole thing has happened to someone else who you can see. Imagine the first image in your mind, okay?”
“Okay,” Arla said.
“Don’t see it as you. See it happening to another girl.”
“Okay.”
“Good,” said Baroth gently. “Now: tell me what happened to that girl.”
“Why won’t you talk to me, Arla?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
The answer was short, and left Baroth feeling distinctly Told. It disturbed him deeply. Overnight, Arla seemed to have been transformed from the innocent child she had been into something old and bitter; and worse, she was trying to block off her emotions again. She seemed to be succeeding, too.
“Will you listen to me, then? Just for a minute?” Baroth pleaded. “Then, if you’re utterly not interested I can go again.”
Arla glanced at him briefly, her eyes unreadable. She shrugged, hunched into the corner, her legs drawn up to her chest. Baroth nodded heavily, and lowered his massive frame to the floor.
“Right,” he said, ordering his thoughts. “Something has happened to you that is hurting you deeply, inside your mind. Do you agree?”
She remained motionless and silent, staring at her feet. He took it as a ‘yes’.
“And now you’re trying to avoid it,” Baroth continued. “Because you’re understandably afraid of ‘reliving’ it, and by talking about it you’ll have to think about it.”
Arla buried her head between her knees, hiding her face.
“The problem with emotional pain, Arla, is that it’s like a poison,” Baroth said gently. “It gets in, and it hurts. But getting it out would hurt slightly more – so people try to ignore it, and push it further inside where it hurts less. But although they don’t feel it as strongly anymore, it still hurts them. It carries on doing damage, deep inside. Do you understand?”
He knew she did, but he needed her to admit it herself. There was a silence, as neither of them moved. Finally, Arla pulled her head back up and looked at Baroth, her cheeks stained with tears. She crawled towards him and curled up by his side, child-like and vulnerable, and he threw an arm around her and drew her close. They stayed like that for a while, whilst Arla cried into his chest.
Eventually she shivered, and looked up at him.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, her eyes red. Baroth hugged her tightly.
“Please, just talk to me,” he said quietly. “Tell me about it. You only have to relive this once, in this way.”
“But I don’t want to,” Arla choked, her voice breaking. He could feel her trembling in his arms. “I don’t want to think about it.”
“Let’s start there,” Baroth said. “Tell me exactly why. What are you afraid of?”
“It…” Arla trailed off, but Baroth recognised the cogs turning in her head, and stayed quiet. “It felt so real, when I saw it,” she managed. “Or not… not entirely real, but I was as scared, and it hurt as much. And I thought it was real, at the time. It was only when I woke up that it wasn’t anymore.”
She paused, thinking again. Baroth wiped a strand of dark hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
“I think that – I’m scared that if I think about it now, I’ll see it again tonight,” Arla said, her voice slightly stronger with the new application of logic. “If I tell you about it now… you’re right: it’ll hurt, but I know it’s just a memory. But when I dream I think it’s real.”
Baroth squeezed her close. “I see,” he murmured. “Well… unfortunately, you’ll dream about it whether you talk about it or not. But if you do talk to me, you’ll stop dreaming it. You see?”
Arla nodded.
“Okay,” Baroth said. “First of all, I want you to imagine that the whole thing has happened to someone else who you can see. Imagine the first image in your mind, okay?”
“Okay,” Arla said.
“Don’t see it as you. See it happening to another girl.”
“Okay.”
“Good,” said Baroth gently. “Now: tell me what happened to that girl.”
Tuesday, 22 May 2007
Symbiosis - Dreaming
2543 (22-3rd-6) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
She was in the medlab, but she was bored. Casually she pulled the leg off of the bed and peeled off an entire plasteel wall, rolling it up into a tight spiral. Outside was a double row of trees, marching away into the distance in front of her; but they looked like Nut, green and bulbous at the base with the white roots snaking into the sky and interlocking with each other over her head. Yet there was an impression of green there somewhere, of leaves, on the edge of her mind… She struggled for it, but it slipped though her fingers; impatiently she pushed the feeling away, and ran forwards, down the channel made by the trees. She revelled in the speed at which she was moving, almost flying.
A lake appeared, so she went in, remembering to hold her breath. It was blue underwater. Presently, she realised that she wanted to breathe, so she did, only vaguely registering her surprise that she was able to do so. Shadows moved, and she became scared, so she left –
- and was in a dark room, unable to see anything but the rectangle of the doorframe, shining yellow with the illumination behind it. She was terrified; tears drenched her cheeks as she cowered beneath the bed-frame, her heart beating so hard that it physically hurt and deafened her slightly, her hands balled into fists and clenched between her teeth until the blood ran from them. Her entire body ached, every muscle locked tight and trembling. She stared at the door, willing it to stay closed.
Footsteps approached it outside, and she bit back a whimper, petrified of making the slightest sound. Every footstep sounded loudly, each an individual earthquake that slowly grew louder as he came nearer. The flooring creaked three steps from the door, and she squeezed her fists so tightly that her fingernails sliced into her palms. The footsteps slowed, and stopped; the line of light at the bottom of the door was blocked with two shadows. In her head, she screamed.
The door creaked, and slid open, revealing his silhouette, fat and swaying. The smell of ethylene wafted into the room, mixed sickeningly with that of stale sweat and vomit. She gagged, silently. He stepped forward, and her heart beat so hard it made her dizzy and nauseous.
“Where are you?” he whispered, his voice rasping and slurred. He giggled, and shut the door, plunging the room into darkness again. She closed her eyes and wished that she was anywhere else, hoping and willing him to leave.
“I know you’re in here, precious,” he cooed. “’S no use hiding from me, I find you in a bit…”
He staggered forward towards the bed, but the ethylene toppled him. He crashed to the floor with a yelp and a curse, his forehead grazing the bed-frame and landing six inches from hers. She shrank back, but he heard the movement and looked right at her, physical pain turning to anger turning to blame.
“Get out here,” he snarled, the stench of his breath hitting her full in the face. She cried out, all attempts to hide abandoned as she frantically tried to scurry back but he was too quick for her, seizing her hair with one hand and dragging her out. She screamed with the pain, and received a blow full across the face before being thrown face-down onto the bed –
And woke up screaming.
A4386A leapt off of her bed, her legs tangling in the sheets and tripping her up. She hit the floor and thrashed until they tore, then struggled to the vitruvium and leaned against the panels, ripping the last shreds of the sheets off her legs and pushing herself into the corner of the room. A part of her mind, unaffected by the panic, watched her reaction and tried to analyse it. She was fleeing, trying to be as far away as possible from the bed, raw fear pumping through her. It wouldn’t help. She’d seen it now. The rest of her mind was numb.
She stayed there for several minutes, not moving and surrendering entirely to her racing heart beat, struggling to breathe as the sobs choked her, crouched in the corner. After a while she found that she was starting to calm down, but a thick feeling of nausea was replacing the blind panic. She fought it gamely as her mind raced.
What the hell was that?
A4386A tried to think. She’d been asleep. In bed, and everything, and then she’d seen all that stuff in her mind. Had she been dreaming? Inge had told her it might happen. She’d been hoping it wasn’t true. But… he’d also said it wasn’t real. It couldn’t hurt her again. She would wake up.
And she had. She was awake now, so that was true. And it hadn’t been real, that was true too. A damned shame the part about it not hurting her again wasn’t, really.
She heard the door-lock beeping as someone tried to get in. Apparently they were rushing, since it kept sounding the ‘error’ tone. A4386A wondered emotionlessly if she should be worried, and found that she felt utterly drained. She was sick to the stomach still, and sweating and shaking, but it seemed that now she’d calmed down, her mind simply couldn’t form any emotional response. She watched as the door finally slid open.
It was Baroth, his enormous shoulders almost hiding Inge’s taller, slimmer frame from view. He all but ran into the room, his eyes staring around until he saw her sitting hunched in the corner, the remains of the bed sheets in front of her. Relief filled his eyes as he noted that she wasn’t screaming or dead, and he hurried forwards.
Inge closed the door, and Baroth crouched swiftly in front of her, placing his bear-like hands on her shoulders. She flinched, but controlled herself, feeling at once ashamed of the response. He looked worried.
“Worker?” Baroth asked, his voice tight. “Are you okay?”
She stared at him numbly, trying to formulate an answer.
“Arla,” she said at last. “My name is Arla.”
She was in the medlab, but she was bored. Casually she pulled the leg off of the bed and peeled off an entire plasteel wall, rolling it up into a tight spiral. Outside was a double row of trees, marching away into the distance in front of her; but they looked like Nut, green and bulbous at the base with the white roots snaking into the sky and interlocking with each other over her head. Yet there was an impression of green there somewhere, of leaves, on the edge of her mind… She struggled for it, but it slipped though her fingers; impatiently she pushed the feeling away, and ran forwards, down the channel made by the trees. She revelled in the speed at which she was moving, almost flying.
A lake appeared, so she went in, remembering to hold her breath. It was blue underwater. Presently, she realised that she wanted to breathe, so she did, only vaguely registering her surprise that she was able to do so. Shadows moved, and she became scared, so she left –
- and was in a dark room, unable to see anything but the rectangle of the doorframe, shining yellow with the illumination behind it. She was terrified; tears drenched her cheeks as she cowered beneath the bed-frame, her heart beating so hard that it physically hurt and deafened her slightly, her hands balled into fists and clenched between her teeth until the blood ran from them. Her entire body ached, every muscle locked tight and trembling. She stared at the door, willing it to stay closed.
Footsteps approached it outside, and she bit back a whimper, petrified of making the slightest sound. Every footstep sounded loudly, each an individual earthquake that slowly grew louder as he came nearer. The flooring creaked three steps from the door, and she squeezed her fists so tightly that her fingernails sliced into her palms. The footsteps slowed, and stopped; the line of light at the bottom of the door was blocked with two shadows. In her head, she screamed.
The door creaked, and slid open, revealing his silhouette, fat and swaying. The smell of ethylene wafted into the room, mixed sickeningly with that of stale sweat and vomit. She gagged, silently. He stepped forward, and her heart beat so hard it made her dizzy and nauseous.
“Where are you?” he whispered, his voice rasping and slurred. He giggled, and shut the door, plunging the room into darkness again. She closed her eyes and wished that she was anywhere else, hoping and willing him to leave.
“I know you’re in here, precious,” he cooed. “’S no use hiding from me, I find you in a bit…”
He staggered forward towards the bed, but the ethylene toppled him. He crashed to the floor with a yelp and a curse, his forehead grazing the bed-frame and landing six inches from hers. She shrank back, but he heard the movement and looked right at her, physical pain turning to anger turning to blame.
“Get out here,” he snarled, the stench of his breath hitting her full in the face. She cried out, all attempts to hide abandoned as she frantically tried to scurry back but he was too quick for her, seizing her hair with one hand and dragging her out. She screamed with the pain, and received a blow full across the face before being thrown face-down onto the bed –
And woke up screaming.
A4386A leapt off of her bed, her legs tangling in the sheets and tripping her up. She hit the floor and thrashed until they tore, then struggled to the vitruvium and leaned against the panels, ripping the last shreds of the sheets off her legs and pushing herself into the corner of the room. A part of her mind, unaffected by the panic, watched her reaction and tried to analyse it. She was fleeing, trying to be as far away as possible from the bed, raw fear pumping through her. It wouldn’t help. She’d seen it now. The rest of her mind was numb.
She stayed there for several minutes, not moving and surrendering entirely to her racing heart beat, struggling to breathe as the sobs choked her, crouched in the corner. After a while she found that she was starting to calm down, but a thick feeling of nausea was replacing the blind panic. She fought it gamely as her mind raced.
What the hell was that?
A4386A tried to think. She’d been asleep. In bed, and everything, and then she’d seen all that stuff in her mind. Had she been dreaming? Inge had told her it might happen. She’d been hoping it wasn’t true. But… he’d also said it wasn’t real. It couldn’t hurt her again. She would wake up.
And she had. She was awake now, so that was true. And it hadn’t been real, that was true too. A damned shame the part about it not hurting her again wasn’t, really.
She heard the door-lock beeping as someone tried to get in. Apparently they were rushing, since it kept sounding the ‘error’ tone. A4386A wondered emotionlessly if she should be worried, and found that she felt utterly drained. She was sick to the stomach still, and sweating and shaking, but it seemed that now she’d calmed down, her mind simply couldn’t form any emotional response. She watched as the door finally slid open.
It was Baroth, his enormous shoulders almost hiding Inge’s taller, slimmer frame from view. He all but ran into the room, his eyes staring around until he saw her sitting hunched in the corner, the remains of the bed sheets in front of her. Relief filled his eyes as he noted that she wasn’t screaming or dead, and he hurried forwards.
Inge closed the door, and Baroth crouched swiftly in front of her, placing his bear-like hands on her shoulders. She flinched, but controlled herself, feeling at once ashamed of the response. He looked worried.
“Worker?” Baroth asked, his voice tight. “Are you okay?”
She stared at him numbly, trying to formulate an answer.
“Arla,” she said at last. “My name is Arla.”
Saturday, 19 May 2007
Symbiosis - Boredom
2543 (20-3rd-6) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
A4368A looked around her room. It looked back. There was no use denying it, she reasoned. She was bored.
Nut had kept her entertained for a while, of course, growing in its pot; she carefully unearthed the top of it everyday to check its progress, although so far it was taking its time in growing. After that, she’d examined the wash unit, and found its serial number. She’d spent a happy two hours just playing with the numbers, splitting them up and putting them into patterns and sums in her head. A pair of parallel lines in the vitruvium panelling had provided much the same entertainment for her. But she’d now lost interest, and even drinking water didn’t occupy her.
For some odd reason… she wanted to run. And shout.
And she especially wanted to go outside.
Slipping over to the door, she tried to open it experimentally. It was locked. Maybe it was a test? Like Baroth giving her Nut. Maybe there was a way out? She’d wondered that for a while now, beyond the obvious door of course. She went back to the mirrors again, and placed her palms and ear against it.
There were definite vibrations coming from the other side, albeit only slight. They sounded like machinery, maybe; something electrical, thrumming away. She pulled back, and looked at the mirrors with a worker’s eye.
Three large, squared panels of vitruvium in all, then, each with the smallest seam between them. They formed every inch of that wall, with their adjacent plasteel counterparts meeting them at right angles. It meant a possible weakness in the corners, A4368A thought. Enough force applied could bend the end panels away from the plasteel, although it could also break the vitruvium if she wasn’t careful. Delicately she ran her finger tips over one panel, gently pressing it in places and tapping it in others. Structurally, it seemed quite strong; but then, one could never quite tell with vitruvium.
Worth a try, anyway. She just needed something long to even out the pressure…
A4368A looked at her bed.
*****************
Inge jumped uncharacteristically as the sound of metal under stress screamed behind him, the decibel level too high for his delicate hearing. He spun around from the blood test read-outs, and froze.
A4368A stood before him, in a freshly made gap between the wall and a sheet of peeled back vitruvium, looking around with nothing but wide-eyed fascination. She saw him and smiled widely, dropping the plasteel bar in her hand to the floor with a clang. He controlled the wince as she entered the room eagerly.
“Hello!” she said. “I was bored. Do you live here?”
Inge could only stare at her. How in hell had she done that? What did she do? That room was supposed to be secure!
She was distracted, moving to the machinery and running a hand over it delicately. Inge swallowed. What should he say? Baroth handled talking to her really, Inge’s abilities at talking to other sentient beings were poor at best. He composed himself.
“Do you realise that you shouldn’t have come back here?” he asked mildly.
Her smile faltered. “Shouldn’t I?” she asked, apparently saddened by the news. “I thought maybe…”
Inge paused to let her finish, but she trailed off. Should he press her for the answer?
“What did you think?” he asked, making his voice as gentle as he could.
A4368A looked up at him. “That maybe it was a test,” she said. “Like Nut was, and when Baroth asks me what I want and things. I was bored,” she added. “I thought maybe I was meant to find things to do.”
He looked at her.
“Interesting,” Inge murmured. “You’re trying to analyse people. Not to mention evaluate your situation. That’s almost a week ahead of schedule.”
She cocked her head, and subjected Inge to the most calculating stare he’d ever experienced. He could almost see the synapses firing behind her eyes, as well as sense them.
“You’ve estimated my progress as I develop emotionally,” she stated at last. “And you’ve worked out a schedule?”
Inge smiled. Very interesting. “Yes,” he said aloud. “That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
She blinked at the question, and then looked away as she thought, twining a strand of dark hair around her finger as she did. Inge held his breath, feeling the energy in her brain as it worked. Yesterday, he’d have been astounded if she’d produced anything approaching an answer. Right now, he’d be astounded if she was entirely off the mark. The psychograph was definitely inaccurate, even with his allowances.
She looked back at him.
“I’ll be completed at some point, and you have calculated a completion date for it.”
Inge smiled, feeling somehow pleased. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Or rather, we can take you so far in your development, and that’s the level we’re aiming for. No one ever stops developing emotionally, you see.”
“Then… what is the level you’re aiming for with me?”
Inge sighed. “That would be difficult to explain.”
“Why can’t I come here?” she asked sadly. “Is it your home?”
“No,” Inge smiled. “But… well, us giving you back your emotional capacities like this, it’s… illegal. As such, no one can find out about you yet.”
“Oh.” She looked crestfallen. “Can I ever go outside?”
“Of course,” Inge said soothingly. “Just… not yet.” He stroked his cheek thoughtfully with a long finger. “Where you truly that bored?”
“Yes,” she said, with feeling.
“Hmm. We’ll have to do something about that. Cerebral implant possibly,” he added to himself. “We’ll have a meeting about it. Um… could you possibly fix that mirror, in the meantime?”
*************
“We have a glitch,” the voice said quietly. It slid across the waves of music crescendoing around the Archon, jarring in the flow of notes and dragging his mind out of the myriad of melodies and harmonies into the physical room. He opened his eyes, and focused on the small man standing in front of his desk.
“A glitch?” he purred. “Really? How exciting.”
“In Control,” the man confirmed. “It’s small. So much so that I nearly didn’t notice it, but it’s there. So far I’ve been completely unable to find who it’s covering, or who’s causing it.”
“Ah. A challenge, then.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The Archon smiled, lulled on the crest of the cellos. This was just like the old days.
“Very well,” he murmured. “Do what you have to, full clearance. Keep me updated.”
He closed his eyes again as the man left the room, and lost himself to the music.
****************
“There,” A4386A said happily, standing back and dusting off her hands, apparently satisfied. “Is that sufficient?”
“My word yes,” Inge answered. “Impressively quick and impressively thorough.”
“I’m good with vitruvium,” she informed him. “I like it.”
That seemed to be no idle boast; the mirror had been repositioned perfectly. Inge looked at the girl in front of him. She looked back expectantly. He sighed.
“There’s… something I must discuss with you,” Inge murmured. “When you sleep at the moment, you see nothing, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I close my eyes. I see nothing then.”
“Do you imagine images when you are awake?” Inge queried. “’See’ them in your mind?”
“Yes!” A4386A said merrily. “I practise it.”
“But you don’t see anything in your mind while you sleep?”
“Oh. No.”
“Right,” Inge said wearily. “Well, most people do. It’s not something we can help, you see, but our minds like to produce these images. Whole scenarios, sometimes. It’s called dreaming.”
“Scenarios? Like… memories.”
“Very often, yes. And that may be the problem.” Inge stroked one high cheekbone thoughtfully. “I know you don’t want to remember your life before you were a worker, but someday soon you are going to start dreaming again; it’s not something we can prevent, I’m afraid. And you may dream about your memories of that life.”
He felt her fear.
“But – I don’t want to…”
“They aren’t real, worker,” Inge said gently. “Just remember that. If it does happen, remember: those images won’t be real. Those events have already happened. They can’t hurt you again. Whatever you see, you will wake up. Understand?”
Panic danced in her bright blue eyes, but Inge felt her resolve, bravely clutching at his words. She nodded, looking hunted.
“Okay,” Inge said. “Now – shall we do something about you being bored?”
“Yes!” she said. “Please.”
“Have you ever heard of puzzles?” he asked. She thought about it, and he felt for her brain energies gently. They tingled pleasantly. Evidently, she was eager to think about this new topic.
“No,” she admitted, deeply interested.
“Excellent!” Inge smiled. “It’s a toy, problem or other contrivance designed to amuse or entertain by presenting difficulties to be solved by ingenuity or patient effort. Usually a hypothetical problem.”
It was a test. He ‘watched’ the psionic energies as they soared. His explanation confused her, but – impressively – she was ignoring her own confusion and deciphering it for herself.
Eventually she looked at him. “They sound… fun. I think. I would like to try one.”
“You shall try many!” Inge declared. “I’ll compile some for you.” He steepled his elongated fingers and looked at her sternly. “However – you cannot go leaving this room again without our permission. Agreed?”
A4386A nodded quickly. “Okay.”
“Very well. We will begin with this one.” Inge cleared his throat. “A man is doing his job when his suit tears. Three minutes later, he’s dead. How and why?”
“I…” She paused. “The suit is of paramount importance to his life within this circumstance. Presumably, this circumstance has arisen from his job… The suit keeps him alive within his job. He’s… he’s a space worker?”
“Yes!” Inge felt rather pleased with her. “That’s right. This one will be harder: a hunter aims his gun carefully and fires. Seconds later, he realizes his mistake. Minutes later, he dies.”
“I am to explain his mistake?”
“And why he is now dead,” Inge nodded. “I’ll bring you more. That one will keep you going for the time being, however.”
She nodded, and sat down to think.
A4368A looked around her room. It looked back. There was no use denying it, she reasoned. She was bored.
Nut had kept her entertained for a while, of course, growing in its pot; she carefully unearthed the top of it everyday to check its progress, although so far it was taking its time in growing. After that, she’d examined the wash unit, and found its serial number. She’d spent a happy two hours just playing with the numbers, splitting them up and putting them into patterns and sums in her head. A pair of parallel lines in the vitruvium panelling had provided much the same entertainment for her. But she’d now lost interest, and even drinking water didn’t occupy her.
For some odd reason… she wanted to run. And shout.
And she especially wanted to go outside.
Slipping over to the door, she tried to open it experimentally. It was locked. Maybe it was a test? Like Baroth giving her Nut. Maybe there was a way out? She’d wondered that for a while now, beyond the obvious door of course. She went back to the mirrors again, and placed her palms and ear against it.
There were definite vibrations coming from the other side, albeit only slight. They sounded like machinery, maybe; something electrical, thrumming away. She pulled back, and looked at the mirrors with a worker’s eye.
Three large, squared panels of vitruvium in all, then, each with the smallest seam between them. They formed every inch of that wall, with their adjacent plasteel counterparts meeting them at right angles. It meant a possible weakness in the corners, A4368A thought. Enough force applied could bend the end panels away from the plasteel, although it could also break the vitruvium if she wasn’t careful. Delicately she ran her finger tips over one panel, gently pressing it in places and tapping it in others. Structurally, it seemed quite strong; but then, one could never quite tell with vitruvium.
Worth a try, anyway. She just needed something long to even out the pressure…
A4368A looked at her bed.
*****************
Inge jumped uncharacteristically as the sound of metal under stress screamed behind him, the decibel level too high for his delicate hearing. He spun around from the blood test read-outs, and froze.
A4368A stood before him, in a freshly made gap between the wall and a sheet of peeled back vitruvium, looking around with nothing but wide-eyed fascination. She saw him and smiled widely, dropping the plasteel bar in her hand to the floor with a clang. He controlled the wince as she entered the room eagerly.
“Hello!” she said. “I was bored. Do you live here?”
Inge could only stare at her. How in hell had she done that? What did she do? That room was supposed to be secure!
She was distracted, moving to the machinery and running a hand over it delicately. Inge swallowed. What should he say? Baroth handled talking to her really, Inge’s abilities at talking to other sentient beings were poor at best. He composed himself.
“Do you realise that you shouldn’t have come back here?” he asked mildly.
Her smile faltered. “Shouldn’t I?” she asked, apparently saddened by the news. “I thought maybe…”
Inge paused to let her finish, but she trailed off. Should he press her for the answer?
“What did you think?” he asked, making his voice as gentle as he could.
A4368A looked up at him. “That maybe it was a test,” she said. “Like Nut was, and when Baroth asks me what I want and things. I was bored,” she added. “I thought maybe I was meant to find things to do.”
He looked at her.
“Interesting,” Inge murmured. “You’re trying to analyse people. Not to mention evaluate your situation. That’s almost a week ahead of schedule.”
She cocked her head, and subjected Inge to the most calculating stare he’d ever experienced. He could almost see the synapses firing behind her eyes, as well as sense them.
“You’ve estimated my progress as I develop emotionally,” she stated at last. “And you’ve worked out a schedule?”
Inge smiled. Very interesting. “Yes,” he said aloud. “That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
She blinked at the question, and then looked away as she thought, twining a strand of dark hair around her finger as she did. Inge held his breath, feeling the energy in her brain as it worked. Yesterday, he’d have been astounded if she’d produced anything approaching an answer. Right now, he’d be astounded if she was entirely off the mark. The psychograph was definitely inaccurate, even with his allowances.
She looked back at him.
“I’ll be completed at some point, and you have calculated a completion date for it.”
Inge smiled, feeling somehow pleased. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Or rather, we can take you so far in your development, and that’s the level we’re aiming for. No one ever stops developing emotionally, you see.”
“Then… what is the level you’re aiming for with me?”
Inge sighed. “That would be difficult to explain.”
“Why can’t I come here?” she asked sadly. “Is it your home?”
“No,” Inge smiled. “But… well, us giving you back your emotional capacities like this, it’s… illegal. As such, no one can find out about you yet.”
“Oh.” She looked crestfallen. “Can I ever go outside?”
“Of course,” Inge said soothingly. “Just… not yet.” He stroked his cheek thoughtfully with a long finger. “Where you truly that bored?”
“Yes,” she said, with feeling.
“Hmm. We’ll have to do something about that. Cerebral implant possibly,” he added to himself. “We’ll have a meeting about it. Um… could you possibly fix that mirror, in the meantime?”
*************
“We have a glitch,” the voice said quietly. It slid across the waves of music crescendoing around the Archon, jarring in the flow of notes and dragging his mind out of the myriad of melodies and harmonies into the physical room. He opened his eyes, and focused on the small man standing in front of his desk.
“A glitch?” he purred. “Really? How exciting.”
“In Control,” the man confirmed. “It’s small. So much so that I nearly didn’t notice it, but it’s there. So far I’ve been completely unable to find who it’s covering, or who’s causing it.”
“Ah. A challenge, then.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The Archon smiled, lulled on the crest of the cellos. This was just like the old days.
“Very well,” he murmured. “Do what you have to, full clearance. Keep me updated.”
He closed his eyes again as the man left the room, and lost himself to the music.
****************
“There,” A4386A said happily, standing back and dusting off her hands, apparently satisfied. “Is that sufficient?”
“My word yes,” Inge answered. “Impressively quick and impressively thorough.”
“I’m good with vitruvium,” she informed him. “I like it.”
That seemed to be no idle boast; the mirror had been repositioned perfectly. Inge looked at the girl in front of him. She looked back expectantly. He sighed.
“There’s… something I must discuss with you,” Inge murmured. “When you sleep at the moment, you see nothing, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I close my eyes. I see nothing then.”
“Do you imagine images when you are awake?” Inge queried. “’See’ them in your mind?”
“Yes!” A4386A said merrily. “I practise it.”
“But you don’t see anything in your mind while you sleep?”
“Oh. No.”
“Right,” Inge said wearily. “Well, most people do. It’s not something we can help, you see, but our minds like to produce these images. Whole scenarios, sometimes. It’s called dreaming.”
“Scenarios? Like… memories.”
“Very often, yes. And that may be the problem.” Inge stroked one high cheekbone thoughtfully. “I know you don’t want to remember your life before you were a worker, but someday soon you are going to start dreaming again; it’s not something we can prevent, I’m afraid. And you may dream about your memories of that life.”
He felt her fear.
“But – I don’t want to…”
“They aren’t real, worker,” Inge said gently. “Just remember that. If it does happen, remember: those images won’t be real. Those events have already happened. They can’t hurt you again. Whatever you see, you will wake up. Understand?”
Panic danced in her bright blue eyes, but Inge felt her resolve, bravely clutching at his words. She nodded, looking hunted.
“Okay,” Inge said. “Now – shall we do something about you being bored?”
“Yes!” she said. “Please.”
“Have you ever heard of puzzles?” he asked. She thought about it, and he felt for her brain energies gently. They tingled pleasantly. Evidently, she was eager to think about this new topic.
“No,” she admitted, deeply interested.
“Excellent!” Inge smiled. “It’s a toy, problem or other contrivance designed to amuse or entertain by presenting difficulties to be solved by ingenuity or patient effort. Usually a hypothetical problem.”
It was a test. He ‘watched’ the psionic energies as they soared. His explanation confused her, but – impressively – she was ignoring her own confusion and deciphering it for herself.
Eventually she looked at him. “They sound… fun. I think. I would like to try one.”
“You shall try many!” Inge declared. “I’ll compile some for you.” He steepled his elongated fingers and looked at her sternly. “However – you cannot go leaving this room again without our permission. Agreed?”
A4386A nodded quickly. “Okay.”
“Very well. We will begin with this one.” Inge cleared his throat. “A man is doing his job when his suit tears. Three minutes later, he’s dead. How and why?”
“I…” She paused. “The suit is of paramount importance to his life within this circumstance. Presumably, this circumstance has arisen from his job… The suit keeps him alive within his job. He’s… he’s a space worker?”
“Yes!” Inge felt rather pleased with her. “That’s right. This one will be harder: a hunter aims his gun carefully and fires. Seconds later, he realizes his mistake. Minutes later, he dies.”
“I am to explain his mistake?”
“And why he is now dead,” Inge nodded. “I’ll bring you more. That one will keep you going for the time being, however.”
She nodded, and sat down to think.
Thursday, 17 May 2007
Symbiosis - Conversion part 3
2543 (17-2nd-6) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
“Well?”
“Well. Her intelligence levels certainly match the psychograph.”
Inge joined Groma at the two-way mirror and looked at the girl lying on the bed. She seemed restless, constantly moving her head from side to side and tapping her fingers. Groma watched her. If he paid attention, he thought he could almost discern a pattern in her movements.
“Is that part of the withdrawal?” he asked. Inge gave a graceful shake of the head.
“No. I’m pronouncing her physically fit today, Baroth is releasing her later. Right now, she’s just bored.”
“Well, if she is a genius,” Groma murmured. “How old is she, exactly?”
“Twenty six,” Inge said quietly. “The psychograph was made eighteen years ago, when she was eight. According to my calculations, if we handle her right, give her the right knowledge at the right time, her intellect will increase even beyond the current indication.”
Groma stared at the medtech, and turned back disbelievingly to the figure on the bed. It wasn’t that he’d never met a High Intellect before, but she was just so…different from them. The usual look was of a middle aged being, about seventy or eighty, with enough excess fat to feed a small planet and an ego big enough to be its own planet. The girl on the bed was as lithe as a cat from eighteen years as a worker, slender and muscular, with a remarkably delicate bone structure and, from the little Baroth and Inge had told him, a disposition as curious and eager as a child’s.
“Wow,” he murmured, and then grinned. “I love a woman with a brain.”
“You’re Fennorim now,” came Calin’s acerbic voice from behind them. “You love anything that moves.”
“Oh, Calin,” Groma said dramatically. “You wrong me so, and may I say how ravishing you’re looking tonight?”
“You may not,” she said flatly, swatting a barbel away as she took up position beside him. “Baroth’s just going in now.”
“Is that a new scent?”
"I'm imagining eating a tuna sandwich right now."
"I love a woman with imagination."
“Shut up, Groma.”
*************
The door slid open, and A4368A looked up hopefully. As Baroth walked in, she smiled widely.
“Can I get up today?” she asked. “I want to do something.”
“Really?” Baroth asked, interested. “What is it?”
“I want to look at that,” she said, looking at the pot he’d brought in last time. She noted his smile. “And I want to feel the mirror.”
“Are you bored?” Baroth asked delicately. She thought about it.
“Probably,” she concluded, and felt the warm glow of achievement as he grinned.
“Well, I have some good news for you,” Baroth announced. “You can get up now. Inge says you’re safe and well.”
“Really?” she asked, joy soaring inside her. “Now?”
“Of course,” he said, moving to the panel on the wall where he’d gotten the water. There was a sharp beeping sound, and then the metallic buckles on each strap clicked open, and the restraints fell from her limbs.
She rolled instantly onto her side, curling her legs up to her chest and revelling in the sensation of eased muscles. Her shoulders complained, so she pushed her arms above her head and felt the joints click softly. She stayed like that for a few seconds, enjoying the feelings her body was experiencing. Movement was underrated, she decided. She grinned at Baroth, who chuckled.
“Do you want to get up now?” he asked. “Just do it slowly, you might get dizzy otherwise.”
“What am I?” she asked. “Right now. I’m not bored.”
“Excited.”
Ah. Excited. She liked excited; it made her feel tingly, and happy. Abruptly she pulled her arms down and pushed herself up on them into a half-sit, her weight supported on her hands; instantly her vision swam, and her sense of balance tipped her back onto the bed. She giggled, tipsy on the adrenalin, and waited for the moment to pass before trying again more slowly.
Her body adjusted more quickly after that, until she was properly sitting up, no longer using her arms for balance. She carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed, and paused to readjust. When she looked up, Baroth was looking at her.
“Are you curious about the pot?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, and felt slightly proud of herself. She hadn’t even had to think about that one.
“Why haven’t you asked me about it?”
“Should I?” she wavered. Should she? Was that right?
Baroth smiled. “No, not at all. I just wondered.”
“Oh.” She felt relieved. Good. She thought about the question. “Because I want to find out when I get there.”
“More fun that way?”
“Fun?”
“Oh, you’ll see. You’ll like fun.”
She looked at the pot, and wanted an answer. Carefully, she pushed herself forward and off the bed, standing up. Her legs held her, and she smiled happily. She took a few steps towards the shelf tentatively, and picked up the pot in both hands.
It was heavier than she thought it would be, although not truly heavy still. It was quite dense, about the size of her head, and rounded. What was it made of? It felt like plasteel, but it was black, and cool to touch, and inside –
A4368A sat down abruptly, making Baroth jump. She ignored him, and placed her treasure reverentially on the floor in front of her.
- inside was a dark brown substance like earth, but richer in colour and free of the small stones and plasteel chips and other detritus that she associated with the dirt they used in the foundation blocks of new construction. She smelled it, inhaling deeply; it made her think of -
“Trees,” she murmured. Was that what they’d been called? Living wood, old and gnarled with green feathers that whispered. Where had she seen those?
Cautiously she put one finger to the stuff. It felt cool and slightly damp, and tried to stick to her skin, staining it brown. She giggled, and pushed the fingers of her right hand all the way in, feeling the way it got stuck under her finger nails and tried to resist her as she wiggled them about. She pulled them back out again, and examined her now browned fingers. They looked funny. Carefully, she pulled all of the excess out from her nails and replaced them in the pot.
Of course… she could always replace it all… Happily, she began pulling out the brown stuff, piling it neatly to one side. It had a sort of crumbly texture when handled out of the pot, although clumps of it remained resolutely amongst the rest. Her hands quickly became the wrong colour, which made her laugh; they looked funny, still –
Something hard brushed her finger and she froze. It was still under the brown stuff, so she couldn’t see it, but she could feel it nestled against her skin, solid and unyielding. Meticulously, she peeled away the layers above it with her free hand, not daring to move the other in case she lost it, whatever it was. Slowly, it came into view, and she pulled the rest of the brown away from it.
It was a small, once-spherical object, about the size of her thumb nail, and a mottled green. A4368A stared at it for a moment, taking in the colour. When had she seen that? When she saw the trees, rearing majestically over her head: the memory flashed by again, and she was left staring at the thing in the pot.
“Nut,” she said quietly. Gently, she reached in and pulled at it, but it resisted. She explored its exterior with her fingers. It seemed mobile, not touching anything around it, but then she couldn’t see underneath it – aha! Yes! Something was attached to the base of it, holding it onto the brown. She delicately excavated it, until her fingers scraped the bottom of the pot, and she found the end.
Deferentially, A4368A raised her prize up to the light. Now that she could see it clearly, the nut had obviously split, and the thing on the base had grown out of it. It was about three inches long and tapered, with tens of smaller ‘arms’ growing off it. Carefully, she rubbed it between her thumb and finger: it was almost rubbery to touch, and slightly slimy. It also seemed very delicate, so she let go, and laid the whole thing carefully to one side.
Removing the last of the brown from the pot proved that there were no more nuts, so A4368A picked it up again and considered it. Something in her memory was telling her that they came from the trees, so presumably it was made of tree. In which case… well, if the arms were at the top then they looked a bit like a very small tree. But it hadn’t been that way up… so…
It was a conundrum. She leaned back against the bed and crossed her legs, turning the nut over in her hands. Had Baroth buried it?
“Did you put it upside down?” she asked him. He looked momentarily confused.
“No, I…” His expression cleared. “Oh, I see. No, I didn’t. It was the right way up.”
Interesting. So… an upside down tiny tree in a pot. Although, why so tiny? Was that the point? Should it be bigger? Maybe it was a child. A child tree. Would it grow bigger? Maybe. But why was it upside down? Well… the arms had held it into the brown. It hadn’t come out when she’d pulled it until she’d freed the arms. That was like foundations. They built foundations on buildings because if not, they’d blow away and fall over. Was that what the arms were for? But why? The nut had been under the brown with them, it couldn’t have blown away.
Unless… if it grew bigger… maybe the arms did, too… in which case, when it grew as big as an adult tree and was above the brown, the arms would keep it upright, and stop it from falling over. Presumably, the arms on the top of the tree grew later, once it wasn’t a child anymore. Was she right?
“It grows bigger,” she told Baroth. “And then the arms stay in the ground and hold it up, like foundations. It’s a child at the moment.”
Baroth’s smile had never been wider. “Yes! That’s right!”
She felt flushed with the excitement of it. A child tree! And she’d worked it out, by herself.
“They’re called roots,” Baroth said, crouching in front of her and pointing to the arms. “They also suck water and food from the soil to feed the tree.”
A4368A glanced at the brown. “Soil?” she asked. “It looks wrong.”
“This is proper soil, rather than building dirt,” Baroth explained. “This is what plants grow in.”
“Will it be a big tree?” she asked hopefully.
“Yes, if you take care of it, water it every day. Do you want you?”
“Yes!” She thought for a moment. “Can I have water too?”
Baroth laughed. “Of course you can,” he said.
Happily, A4368A replaced the soil and the nut in the pot, as exactly as she could. It looked right once she’d finished, and a questioning look at Baroth received a reassuring nod, so she left it and stood up again. She liked standing. It felt good. It made Baroth less gigantic, although he still stood a head and a half taller than her, and was certainly wider however she positioned herself. She reinstalled the pot on the shelf, and looked at her hands. They were still brown from the soil.
Baroth directed her to the wash unit in the corner, and she smiled. She understood these. She had fixed many in her time. She placed her hands in the energy field, and smiled at the tingling as her hands returned to their normal colour. Then… there was something else that she wanted to do…
Ah, yes. The mirrors. She walked up to them, and ran her hands over them carefully, feeling the cool smoothness of the vitruvium. Slowly, she moved down the length of them until she reached the end; then she turned and moved back, stopping in the middle of the glass wall. She held her palms still and flat against them, and after a while pressed her ear to them as well. Yes; the vibrations were there. Quiet and indistinct, but there.
She wondered.
“Well?”
“Well. Her intelligence levels certainly match the psychograph.”
Inge joined Groma at the two-way mirror and looked at the girl lying on the bed. She seemed restless, constantly moving her head from side to side and tapping her fingers. Groma watched her. If he paid attention, he thought he could almost discern a pattern in her movements.
“Is that part of the withdrawal?” he asked. Inge gave a graceful shake of the head.
“No. I’m pronouncing her physically fit today, Baroth is releasing her later. Right now, she’s just bored.”
“Well, if she is a genius,” Groma murmured. “How old is she, exactly?”
“Twenty six,” Inge said quietly. “The psychograph was made eighteen years ago, when she was eight. According to my calculations, if we handle her right, give her the right knowledge at the right time, her intellect will increase even beyond the current indication.”
Groma stared at the medtech, and turned back disbelievingly to the figure on the bed. It wasn’t that he’d never met a High Intellect before, but she was just so…different from them. The usual look was of a middle aged being, about seventy or eighty, with enough excess fat to feed a small planet and an ego big enough to be its own planet. The girl on the bed was as lithe as a cat from eighteen years as a worker, slender and muscular, with a remarkably delicate bone structure and, from the little Baroth and Inge had told him, a disposition as curious and eager as a child’s.
“Wow,” he murmured, and then grinned. “I love a woman with a brain.”
“You’re Fennorim now,” came Calin’s acerbic voice from behind them. “You love anything that moves.”
“Oh, Calin,” Groma said dramatically. “You wrong me so, and may I say how ravishing you’re looking tonight?”
“You may not,” she said flatly, swatting a barbel away as she took up position beside him. “Baroth’s just going in now.”
“Is that a new scent?”
"I'm imagining eating a tuna sandwich right now."
"I love a woman with imagination."
“Shut up, Groma.”
*************
The door slid open, and A4368A looked up hopefully. As Baroth walked in, she smiled widely.
“Can I get up today?” she asked. “I want to do something.”
“Really?” Baroth asked, interested. “What is it?”
“I want to look at that,” she said, looking at the pot he’d brought in last time. She noted his smile. “And I want to feel the mirror.”
“Are you bored?” Baroth asked delicately. She thought about it.
“Probably,” she concluded, and felt the warm glow of achievement as he grinned.
“Well, I have some good news for you,” Baroth announced. “You can get up now. Inge says you’re safe and well.”
“Really?” she asked, joy soaring inside her. “Now?”
“Of course,” he said, moving to the panel on the wall where he’d gotten the water. There was a sharp beeping sound, and then the metallic buckles on each strap clicked open, and the restraints fell from her limbs.
She rolled instantly onto her side, curling her legs up to her chest and revelling in the sensation of eased muscles. Her shoulders complained, so she pushed her arms above her head and felt the joints click softly. She stayed like that for a few seconds, enjoying the feelings her body was experiencing. Movement was underrated, she decided. She grinned at Baroth, who chuckled.
“Do you want to get up now?” he asked. “Just do it slowly, you might get dizzy otherwise.”
“What am I?” she asked. “Right now. I’m not bored.”
“Excited.”
Ah. Excited. She liked excited; it made her feel tingly, and happy. Abruptly she pulled her arms down and pushed herself up on them into a half-sit, her weight supported on her hands; instantly her vision swam, and her sense of balance tipped her back onto the bed. She giggled, tipsy on the adrenalin, and waited for the moment to pass before trying again more slowly.
Her body adjusted more quickly after that, until she was properly sitting up, no longer using her arms for balance. She carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed, and paused to readjust. When she looked up, Baroth was looking at her.
“Are you curious about the pot?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, and felt slightly proud of herself. She hadn’t even had to think about that one.
“Why haven’t you asked me about it?”
“Should I?” she wavered. Should she? Was that right?
Baroth smiled. “No, not at all. I just wondered.”
“Oh.” She felt relieved. Good. She thought about the question. “Because I want to find out when I get there.”
“More fun that way?”
“Fun?”
“Oh, you’ll see. You’ll like fun.”
She looked at the pot, and wanted an answer. Carefully, she pushed herself forward and off the bed, standing up. Her legs held her, and she smiled happily. She took a few steps towards the shelf tentatively, and picked up the pot in both hands.
It was heavier than she thought it would be, although not truly heavy still. It was quite dense, about the size of her head, and rounded. What was it made of? It felt like plasteel, but it was black, and cool to touch, and inside –
A4368A sat down abruptly, making Baroth jump. She ignored him, and placed her treasure reverentially on the floor in front of her.
- inside was a dark brown substance like earth, but richer in colour and free of the small stones and plasteel chips and other detritus that she associated with the dirt they used in the foundation blocks of new construction. She smelled it, inhaling deeply; it made her think of -
“Trees,” she murmured. Was that what they’d been called? Living wood, old and gnarled with green feathers that whispered. Where had she seen those?
Cautiously she put one finger to the stuff. It felt cool and slightly damp, and tried to stick to her skin, staining it brown. She giggled, and pushed the fingers of her right hand all the way in, feeling the way it got stuck under her finger nails and tried to resist her as she wiggled them about. She pulled them back out again, and examined her now browned fingers. They looked funny. Carefully, she pulled all of the excess out from her nails and replaced them in the pot.
Of course… she could always replace it all… Happily, she began pulling out the brown stuff, piling it neatly to one side. It had a sort of crumbly texture when handled out of the pot, although clumps of it remained resolutely amongst the rest. Her hands quickly became the wrong colour, which made her laugh; they looked funny, still –
Something hard brushed her finger and she froze. It was still under the brown stuff, so she couldn’t see it, but she could feel it nestled against her skin, solid and unyielding. Meticulously, she peeled away the layers above it with her free hand, not daring to move the other in case she lost it, whatever it was. Slowly, it came into view, and she pulled the rest of the brown away from it.
It was a small, once-spherical object, about the size of her thumb nail, and a mottled green. A4368A stared at it for a moment, taking in the colour. When had she seen that? When she saw the trees, rearing majestically over her head: the memory flashed by again, and she was left staring at the thing in the pot.
“Nut,” she said quietly. Gently, she reached in and pulled at it, but it resisted. She explored its exterior with her fingers. It seemed mobile, not touching anything around it, but then she couldn’t see underneath it – aha! Yes! Something was attached to the base of it, holding it onto the brown. She delicately excavated it, until her fingers scraped the bottom of the pot, and she found the end.
Deferentially, A4368A raised her prize up to the light. Now that she could see it clearly, the nut had obviously split, and the thing on the base had grown out of it. It was about three inches long and tapered, with tens of smaller ‘arms’ growing off it. Carefully, she rubbed it between her thumb and finger: it was almost rubbery to touch, and slightly slimy. It also seemed very delicate, so she let go, and laid the whole thing carefully to one side.
Removing the last of the brown from the pot proved that there were no more nuts, so A4368A picked it up again and considered it. Something in her memory was telling her that they came from the trees, so presumably it was made of tree. In which case… well, if the arms were at the top then they looked a bit like a very small tree. But it hadn’t been that way up… so…
It was a conundrum. She leaned back against the bed and crossed her legs, turning the nut over in her hands. Had Baroth buried it?
“Did you put it upside down?” she asked him. He looked momentarily confused.
“No, I…” His expression cleared. “Oh, I see. No, I didn’t. It was the right way up.”
Interesting. So… an upside down tiny tree in a pot. Although, why so tiny? Was that the point? Should it be bigger? Maybe it was a child. A child tree. Would it grow bigger? Maybe. But why was it upside down? Well… the arms had held it into the brown. It hadn’t come out when she’d pulled it until she’d freed the arms. That was like foundations. They built foundations on buildings because if not, they’d blow away and fall over. Was that what the arms were for? But why? The nut had been under the brown with them, it couldn’t have blown away.
Unless… if it grew bigger… maybe the arms did, too… in which case, when it grew as big as an adult tree and was above the brown, the arms would keep it upright, and stop it from falling over. Presumably, the arms on the top of the tree grew later, once it wasn’t a child anymore. Was she right?
“It grows bigger,” she told Baroth. “And then the arms stay in the ground and hold it up, like foundations. It’s a child at the moment.”
Baroth’s smile had never been wider. “Yes! That’s right!”
She felt flushed with the excitement of it. A child tree! And she’d worked it out, by herself.
“They’re called roots,” Baroth said, crouching in front of her and pointing to the arms. “They also suck water and food from the soil to feed the tree.”
A4368A glanced at the brown. “Soil?” she asked. “It looks wrong.”
“This is proper soil, rather than building dirt,” Baroth explained. “This is what plants grow in.”
“Will it be a big tree?” she asked hopefully.
“Yes, if you take care of it, water it every day. Do you want you?”
“Yes!” She thought for a moment. “Can I have water too?”
Baroth laughed. “Of course you can,” he said.
Happily, A4368A replaced the soil and the nut in the pot, as exactly as she could. It looked right once she’d finished, and a questioning look at Baroth received a reassuring nod, so she left it and stood up again. She liked standing. It felt good. It made Baroth less gigantic, although he still stood a head and a half taller than her, and was certainly wider however she positioned herself. She reinstalled the pot on the shelf, and looked at her hands. They were still brown from the soil.
Baroth directed her to the wash unit in the corner, and she smiled. She understood these. She had fixed many in her time. She placed her hands in the energy field, and smiled at the tingling as her hands returned to their normal colour. Then… there was something else that she wanted to do…
Ah, yes. The mirrors. She walked up to them, and ran her hands over them carefully, feeling the cool smoothness of the vitruvium. Slowly, she moved down the length of them until she reached the end; then she turned and moved back, stopping in the middle of the glass wall. She held her palms still and flat against them, and after a while pressed her ear to them as well. Yes; the vibrations were there. Quiet and indistinct, but there.
She wondered.
Tuesday, 15 May 2007
Symbiosis - Conversion part 2
2543 (12-1st-6) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
“Hello, worker. How are you feeling?”
A4368A rolled her head toward the voice with a monumental effort, ignoring the pain in her neck. Baroth was walking towards the bed, one arm carrying some sort of pot. Carefully, he set it on a shelf on the wall beside her at head height before sitting down, trying to position his weight delicately in the chair. She watched him, too tired to really answer.
Baroth leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
“Inge tells me that your muscles have stopped going into spasm. You must be pleased,” he prodded gently.
She merely looked at him. Exhaustion weighed her down, making her eyelids heavy and her tongue feel thick. Baroth seemed to want her to say something; she wished he didn’t. After a moment, he seemed to realise as much, and smiled sadly.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
She willed her tongue to move, forced her vocal chords to make sound.
“Yes,” she slurred.
“Part of the withdrawal, I’m afraid,” he said, looking down. “I’ll go. Let you get some rest.”
Baroth stood to leave, and A4368A felt her heart lurch, speeding up abruptly.
“No!” she managed, and he turned back, eyebrows raised. “Can’t sleep. I …”
Her vocal chords seemed to stick, and her voice faltered. Baroth nodded at her thoughtfully.
“Okay,” he said, moving to something in the wall. A4368A couldn’t see what he was doing, but after a moment he came back towards her with a plasteel cylinder, with a hollow rod poking out of the top.
“This may help your mouth,” he said, “if you want to try it. Do you know what drinking is? Can you remember?”
She thought for a moment.
“Yes?” she suggested.
“This is water,” Baroth said. “It might feel a bit strange to try drinking it, because your stomach hasn’t contained anything for years. Do you want to try it?”
She thought. “Water?” she asked.
He smiled. “Do you remember us talking about wanting things, last time? Do you want to try this water?”
Ah. She considered that. Something tipped her desire.
“I…want to …try it…”
Baroth’s smile stretched into a grin.
“Well done,” he said softly, gently inserting the rod into her mouth. “You seem to be exhibiting a healthy amount of curiosity. Try to suck it, can you – yes! That’s it.”
A4368A squealed slightly as the alien sensation filled her mouth, pulling at the wrist straps momentarily. The water ran over her taste-buds, ungluing her tongue and leaving an oddly fresh feeling. It tasted of purity, somehow, and nagged at her mind, giving her an obfuscated memory of wind, and… Water in the sky, falling… rain? She felt high, elevated, full of light…
The memory slipped away as she reached for it, so she focused on the water in her mouth again. Cautiously, she swallowed. It slid down her throat, and she concentrated on the feeling of it, fascinated, following the coldness until it stopped in her stomach. Baroth watched her. She glanced at him, her fatigue briefly forgotten by this strange new experience.
“Cold,” she informed him. He laughed. She stared at him.
“Sorry,” Baroth murmured. “It’s a reaction by my body to show that I’m happy. I look forward to you being happy.”
Happy? Falling water, that curious sense of elevation. Had her body reacted so? She wondered.
“Did you think anymore?” Baroth asked her gently, rather ironically interrupting that thought. “After I saw you last?”
“I…” Was she thinking now? She was thinking now. “Yes. Now.”
Baroth smiled, and stroked her forehead.
“I know,” he said. “And very well, too.” Pride suffused her. Was she happy now? “What I mean is, did you think about emotions any more, like I asked? Or your name?”
She thought, trying to remember. There had been great pain, and she had been cold, and then the pain had slowly gone away, but before that she had…wanted things. She had felt something.
“I felt something,” A4368A informed him. “When I was hurting. I wanted it to stop, but it wouldn’t… And then I wanted to get up and – move. And damage things,” she finished. “I didn’t understand.”
Baroth looked thoughtful for a moment.
“Anger,” he said. “You were angry. Inge said you might be, it’s part of the withdrawal apparently.”
“Anger,” she said quietly. It had made her want to damage things. And fear had made her want to leave. And – what had Baroth called it? – curiosity had made her want to know his name, and what the water tasted like –
“Water,” she said. Baroth obliged.
– and had that been happiness? She’d wanted to – what? She couldn’t remember. And then Baroth told her that she was good at thinking, and then she was proud…and maybe happy, a bit…so she’d wanted to please him again, to make him happy. And she wasn’t happy when he wasn’t there, because she wanted him back.
“What’s…not happy?” A4368A asked.
“Sad,” Baroth answered, watching her closely.
“Emotions are when I want things!” she concluded with a flourish. “Except happy, maybe. I don’t really know.”
Baroth stared at her for a minute, his mouth open.
“That’s exactly what I’d hoped you’d say,” he said finally. “Yes. Perfect! I mean, not entirely, and not when this discussion reaches a higher level, but in the meantime: perfect!”
A4368A beamed.
“You’re happy now, by the way,” Baroth told her. “You’re smiling.”
Ah. That was happy. It felt good. She liked it.
“Okay,” Baroth said, running his hand through his hair. “Let’s think. Do you – can you understand liking something?”
A4368A thought.
“No,” she said.
“Right. The water. Did you enjoy it? Do you want any more?”
“I want more,” she agreed. “It was good.”
“In other words, you liked it,” Baroth explained. “And when you were hurting, you didn’t like that.”
She thought about that. It certainly made logical sense. The water was good. The pain was bad.
“Good and bad?” she asked. “If it’s good…then, I like it? But if it’s bad…I don’t…”
“Exactly!” Baroth was almost bouncing in his seat, ignoring the chair’s screams of protest. “If you think it’s good, then you like it. Can you think of things you like?”
“Water.”
He chuckled. “I should have been prepared for that. Anything else?”
“I like happy. I think I am now. I like it.”
“Excellent! Anything else?”
She thought hard. She had felt as though things were good, what were they? There hadn’t been anything else, not like the water –
“Water,” she added. Baroth obliged.
- but there had been things, because she’d wondered if they’d made her happy, hadn’t she?
“When you said I was good at thinking,” she said. “And – when you came here. I…didn’t like being just with me.”
“Alone,” Baroth said, nodding. “Excellent. You’ve done extremely well today, worker. Have you remembered your name yet, by the way?”
“No.” She looked away. “I don’t want to.”
“Only your name. Nothing else.”
“I’m scared to.”
Baroth blinked. “And why’s that?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.” He sighed and stood up, putting the water on the shelf next to the odd pot. “I’ll have to leave now, I’m afraid, but –”
“I don’t like these,” A4368A said, pulling at the straps around her wrists. “Can they go?”
“In one more round of medication, yes,” Baroth answered, glancing at the water for some reason. “They’re just there until you’re physically better again. We don’t want you hurting yourself. Soon,” he added, as she pulled plaintively at them again. “Anyway. I want to know your name, worker. Remember your name for me.”
“Hello, worker. How are you feeling?”
A4368A rolled her head toward the voice with a monumental effort, ignoring the pain in her neck. Baroth was walking towards the bed, one arm carrying some sort of pot. Carefully, he set it on a shelf on the wall beside her at head height before sitting down, trying to position his weight delicately in the chair. She watched him, too tired to really answer.
Baroth leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
“Inge tells me that your muscles have stopped going into spasm. You must be pleased,” he prodded gently.
She merely looked at him. Exhaustion weighed her down, making her eyelids heavy and her tongue feel thick. Baroth seemed to want her to say something; she wished he didn’t. After a moment, he seemed to realise as much, and smiled sadly.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
She willed her tongue to move, forced her vocal chords to make sound.
“Yes,” she slurred.
“Part of the withdrawal, I’m afraid,” he said, looking down. “I’ll go. Let you get some rest.”
Baroth stood to leave, and A4368A felt her heart lurch, speeding up abruptly.
“No!” she managed, and he turned back, eyebrows raised. “Can’t sleep. I …”
Her vocal chords seemed to stick, and her voice faltered. Baroth nodded at her thoughtfully.
“Okay,” he said, moving to something in the wall. A4368A couldn’t see what he was doing, but after a moment he came back towards her with a plasteel cylinder, with a hollow rod poking out of the top.
“This may help your mouth,” he said, “if you want to try it. Do you know what drinking is? Can you remember?”
She thought for a moment.
“Yes?” she suggested.
“This is water,” Baroth said. “It might feel a bit strange to try drinking it, because your stomach hasn’t contained anything for years. Do you want to try it?”
She thought. “Water?” she asked.
He smiled. “Do you remember us talking about wanting things, last time? Do you want to try this water?”
Ah. She considered that. Something tipped her desire.
“I…want to …try it…”
Baroth’s smile stretched into a grin.
“Well done,” he said softly, gently inserting the rod into her mouth. “You seem to be exhibiting a healthy amount of curiosity. Try to suck it, can you – yes! That’s it.”
A4368A squealed slightly as the alien sensation filled her mouth, pulling at the wrist straps momentarily. The water ran over her taste-buds, ungluing her tongue and leaving an oddly fresh feeling. It tasted of purity, somehow, and nagged at her mind, giving her an obfuscated memory of wind, and… Water in the sky, falling… rain? She felt high, elevated, full of light…
The memory slipped away as she reached for it, so she focused on the water in her mouth again. Cautiously, she swallowed. It slid down her throat, and she concentrated on the feeling of it, fascinated, following the coldness until it stopped in her stomach. Baroth watched her. She glanced at him, her fatigue briefly forgotten by this strange new experience.
“Cold,” she informed him. He laughed. She stared at him.
“Sorry,” Baroth murmured. “It’s a reaction by my body to show that I’m happy. I look forward to you being happy.”
Happy? Falling water, that curious sense of elevation. Had her body reacted so? She wondered.
“Did you think anymore?” Baroth asked her gently, rather ironically interrupting that thought. “After I saw you last?”
“I…” Was she thinking now? She was thinking now. “Yes. Now.”
Baroth smiled, and stroked her forehead.
“I know,” he said. “And very well, too.” Pride suffused her. Was she happy now? “What I mean is, did you think about emotions any more, like I asked? Or your name?”
She thought, trying to remember. There had been great pain, and she had been cold, and then the pain had slowly gone away, but before that she had…wanted things. She had felt something.
“I felt something,” A4368A informed him. “When I was hurting. I wanted it to stop, but it wouldn’t… And then I wanted to get up and – move. And damage things,” she finished. “I didn’t understand.”
Baroth looked thoughtful for a moment.
“Anger,” he said. “You were angry. Inge said you might be, it’s part of the withdrawal apparently.”
“Anger,” she said quietly. It had made her want to damage things. And fear had made her want to leave. And – what had Baroth called it? – curiosity had made her want to know his name, and what the water tasted like –
“Water,” she said. Baroth obliged.
– and had that been happiness? She’d wanted to – what? She couldn’t remember. And then Baroth told her that she was good at thinking, and then she was proud…and maybe happy, a bit…so she’d wanted to please him again, to make him happy. And she wasn’t happy when he wasn’t there, because she wanted him back.
“What’s…not happy?” A4368A asked.
“Sad,” Baroth answered, watching her closely.
“Emotions are when I want things!” she concluded with a flourish. “Except happy, maybe. I don’t really know.”
Baroth stared at her for a minute, his mouth open.
“That’s exactly what I’d hoped you’d say,” he said finally. “Yes. Perfect! I mean, not entirely, and not when this discussion reaches a higher level, but in the meantime: perfect!”
A4368A beamed.
“You’re happy now, by the way,” Baroth told her. “You’re smiling.”
Ah. That was happy. It felt good. She liked it.
“Okay,” Baroth said, running his hand through his hair. “Let’s think. Do you – can you understand liking something?”
A4368A thought.
“No,” she said.
“Right. The water. Did you enjoy it? Do you want any more?”
“I want more,” she agreed. “It was good.”
“In other words, you liked it,” Baroth explained. “And when you were hurting, you didn’t like that.”
She thought about that. It certainly made logical sense. The water was good. The pain was bad.
“Good and bad?” she asked. “If it’s good…then, I like it? But if it’s bad…I don’t…”
“Exactly!” Baroth was almost bouncing in his seat, ignoring the chair’s screams of protest. “If you think it’s good, then you like it. Can you think of things you like?”
“Water.”
He chuckled. “I should have been prepared for that. Anything else?”
“I like happy. I think I am now. I like it.”
“Excellent! Anything else?”
She thought hard. She had felt as though things were good, what were they? There hadn’t been anything else, not like the water –
“Water,” she added. Baroth obliged.
- but there had been things, because she’d wondered if they’d made her happy, hadn’t she?
“When you said I was good at thinking,” she said. “And – when you came here. I…didn’t like being just with me.”
“Alone,” Baroth said, nodding. “Excellent. You’ve done extremely well today, worker. Have you remembered your name yet, by the way?”
“No.” She looked away. “I don’t want to.”
“Only your name. Nothing else.”
“I’m scared to.”
Baroth blinked. “And why’s that?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.” He sighed and stood up, putting the water on the shelf next to the odd pot. “I’ll have to leave now, I’m afraid, but –”
“I don’t like these,” A4368A said, pulling at the straps around her wrists. “Can they go?”
“In one more round of medication, yes,” Baroth answered, glancing at the water for some reason. “They’re just there until you’re physically better again. We don’t want you hurting yourself. Soon,” he added, as she pulled plaintively at them again. “Anyway. I want to know your name, worker. Remember your name for me.”
Sunday, 13 May 2007
Symbiosis - Conversion part 1
2543 (9-1st-6) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
Pain racked her body again, and A4386A cried out, pulling against the restraints that strapped her to the bed. She felt dizzy and nauseous in equal parts; her stomach churned, and made her mind race. Was she dying? Was this what death felt like? She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to be here anymore, in this cold white room that hurt her eyes, and showed her only herself in the mirrors if she looked the wrong way, pale and shaking and drenched in sweat, eyes wide and wild. She wanted to...feel…better again. She wanted the clenched feeling in her stomach and the burning feeling around her heart to go away. She wanted to return to work.
But most of all, A4386A wanted to stop thinking. Especially as she didn’t understand what she was thinking, and that confused her more. She wanted it all to go away. She didn’t want to die.
“It’s fear,” a deep voice said gently beside her. “That’s what you’re feeling. You’re afraid.”
A4386A twisted her head to the side and saw the enormous man sitting there, looking at her. Her mind felt muddled, and she found that she wanted more information.
“Who - ?”
“My name is Baroth,” the giant said, his voice low and rumbling. “I’m here to help you.” Oddly, A4386A found herself comforted by that.
A desire for knowledge filled her again.
“Fear?” she croaked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. He nodded, and tenderly brushed her forehead with the back of one massive hand. “It hurts,” she managed.
“Yes, it does that.”
“I don’t…” she trailed off, and then cried out as another wave of pain hit her, heaving on the straps. They didn’t break. “I don’t want it anymore!” she said desperately. “I want to go back to work! I want it to go away!”
“You want?” Baroth asked. He seemed to ponder it as he laid a cold gel pack across her forehead, soothing the pain inside. “Do you want anything else?”
“What? I – work, I want to work…”
“No, no,” Baroth murmured, and reached out and held her hand. “I know that. This is going to be hard, worker, but I need you to try and think, okay?”
Confusion filled her. He wanted her to think? But she couldn’t, she was a worker. The need to explain filled her.
“But – I can’t. I – ”
“Yes you can, worker. You are right now, you just don’t understand it.” Baroth squeezed her hand as her body rebelled again, every nerve on fire, and she screamed. He paused for a second to ensure she had fully subsided before continuing.
“You asked me who I was,” he said gently. “Did you want to know the answer?”
“Y-yes…”
“Okay,” he murmured. “So, you want to go to work, and you wanted to know my name. What else do you want?”
A4386A thought. Want? What else did she want? She wanted to go back to work. She didn’t want to be here any more, in this room and strapped to this bed. She didn’t want to hurt any more. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t understand.
“It hurts,” she whispered again. Baroth squeezed her hand.
“Do you want the pain to go away?” he asked.
“Yes!”
“Good! What else?”
“I don’t know!”
He sighed, and ran his free hand through his hair. “Alright,” he said. “What don’t you want? Can you tell me that?”
“I don’t want to die,” A4386A whispered.
“No,” Baroth said wearily. “No, nor do I.”
“I want to know why,” A4386A managed, her teeth gritted. “I want – I want to know why I hurt. And why…and what’s happening to me. And why I’m scared. And I want to speak. Only I don’t know why.”
Baroth stared at her, and she trembled. He seemed unsure of what to say for a moment.
“You’re changing,” he said at last. “You’re slowly starting to experience emotions again, but unfortunately you’re starting with the full pantheon of negative emotions. You won’t hurt for long,” he added, placing his free hand on the gel pack on her forehead, “and you’ll be happy soon. I’m going to make sure of that.”
“Why am I changing?” she asked.
“Because you’re needed,” he said simply. It confused her, and thinking about it too hard made her feel nauseous, so she stopped. “We need you. Can you remember your name?”
“A4386A,” she answered.
“No, your name. From before you became a worker.”
“No!” She felt an odd sensation around her heart, and her breathing became shorter. “I don’t want it! I don’t want to remember.”
“Ah.” Baroth squeezed her hand tightly. “Okay. I will have to go now, but I’ll come back soon. Do you want me to come back?”
“I don’t want you to leave,” she whimpered.
“I’m sorry,” he said, standing up to his full considerable height. “But I’ll tell you what – I’ll come back sooner if you can do something for me.”
“What?” she asked desperately.
“Practise thinking for me,” he said. “About things you want, and things you don’t want. And try and work out the differences between the things you’re feeling. Will you do that?”
She nodded fervently, and Baroth smiled at her. Carefully, he pulled his hand free from her grip, and made his way to the door. At the doorway he turned back.
“Oh – and try to remember your name. Nothing else,” he said as she began to protest. “Just your name.” And then he left, leaving her to Think.
Pain racked her body again, and A4386A cried out, pulling against the restraints that strapped her to the bed. She felt dizzy and nauseous in equal parts; her stomach churned, and made her mind race. Was she dying? Was this what death felt like? She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to be here anymore, in this cold white room that hurt her eyes, and showed her only herself in the mirrors if she looked the wrong way, pale and shaking and drenched in sweat, eyes wide and wild. She wanted to...feel…better again. She wanted the clenched feeling in her stomach and the burning feeling around her heart to go away. She wanted to return to work.
But most of all, A4386A wanted to stop thinking. Especially as she didn’t understand what she was thinking, and that confused her more. She wanted it all to go away. She didn’t want to die.
“It’s fear,” a deep voice said gently beside her. “That’s what you’re feeling. You’re afraid.”
A4386A twisted her head to the side and saw the enormous man sitting there, looking at her. Her mind felt muddled, and she found that she wanted more information.
“Who - ?”
“My name is Baroth,” the giant said, his voice low and rumbling. “I’m here to help you.” Oddly, A4386A found herself comforted by that.
A desire for knowledge filled her again.
“Fear?” she croaked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. He nodded, and tenderly brushed her forehead with the back of one massive hand. “It hurts,” she managed.
“Yes, it does that.”
“I don’t…” she trailed off, and then cried out as another wave of pain hit her, heaving on the straps. They didn’t break. “I don’t want it anymore!” she said desperately. “I want to go back to work! I want it to go away!”
“You want?” Baroth asked. He seemed to ponder it as he laid a cold gel pack across her forehead, soothing the pain inside. “Do you want anything else?”
“What? I – work, I want to work…”
“No, no,” Baroth murmured, and reached out and held her hand. “I know that. This is going to be hard, worker, but I need you to try and think, okay?”
Confusion filled her. He wanted her to think? But she couldn’t, she was a worker. The need to explain filled her.
“But – I can’t. I – ”
“Yes you can, worker. You are right now, you just don’t understand it.” Baroth squeezed her hand as her body rebelled again, every nerve on fire, and she screamed. He paused for a second to ensure she had fully subsided before continuing.
“You asked me who I was,” he said gently. “Did you want to know the answer?”
“Y-yes…”
“Okay,” he murmured. “So, you want to go to work, and you wanted to know my name. What else do you want?”
A4386A thought. Want? What else did she want? She wanted to go back to work. She didn’t want to be here any more, in this room and strapped to this bed. She didn’t want to hurt any more. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t understand.
“It hurts,” she whispered again. Baroth squeezed her hand.
“Do you want the pain to go away?” he asked.
“Yes!”
“Good! What else?”
“I don’t know!”
He sighed, and ran his free hand through his hair. “Alright,” he said. “What don’t you want? Can you tell me that?”
“I don’t want to die,” A4386A whispered.
“No,” Baroth said wearily. “No, nor do I.”
“I want to know why,” A4386A managed, her teeth gritted. “I want – I want to know why I hurt. And why…and what’s happening to me. And why I’m scared. And I want to speak. Only I don’t know why.”
Baroth stared at her, and she trembled. He seemed unsure of what to say for a moment.
“You’re changing,” he said at last. “You’re slowly starting to experience emotions again, but unfortunately you’re starting with the full pantheon of negative emotions. You won’t hurt for long,” he added, placing his free hand on the gel pack on her forehead, “and you’ll be happy soon. I’m going to make sure of that.”
“Why am I changing?” she asked.
“Because you’re needed,” he said simply. It confused her, and thinking about it too hard made her feel nauseous, so she stopped. “We need you. Can you remember your name?”
“A4386A,” she answered.
“No, your name. From before you became a worker.”
“No!” She felt an odd sensation around her heart, and her breathing became shorter. “I don’t want it! I don’t want to remember.”
“Ah.” Baroth squeezed her hand tightly. “Okay. I will have to go now, but I’ll come back soon. Do you want me to come back?”
“I don’t want you to leave,” she whimpered.
“I’m sorry,” he said, standing up to his full considerable height. “But I’ll tell you what – I’ll come back sooner if you can do something for me.”
“What?” she asked desperately.
“Practise thinking for me,” he said. “About things you want, and things you don’t want. And try and work out the differences between the things you’re feeling. Will you do that?”
She nodded fervently, and Baroth smiled at her. Carefully, he pulled his hand free from her grip, and made his way to the door. At the doorway he turned back.
“Oh – and try to remember your name. Nothing else,” he said as she began to protest. “Just your name.” And then he left, leaving her to Think.
Symbiosis - The Worker
2543 (25-4th-5) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
“Supervisior?”
The woman turned around and stretched her mouth upwards at A4386A.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I believe I am malfunctioning,” A4386A reported. “My muscles appear to be going into spasm, and I fell unconscious twice this morning. Yet my health monitor reports me to be healthy.” She considered this. “It may also be malfunctioning,” she concluded.
The supervisor nodded.
“That is unusual,” she agreed. “What is your name, worker?”
“A4386A.”
“No, worker, your name.”
“I…don’t understand,” A4386A answered, confused.
The supervisor looked at her for a moment. “Very well A4386A,” she said. “You will go to the Sector 32a medlab now, and report to medtech Inge.”
“Understood,” A4386A responded, and left.
It was a medlab she hadn’t been to before, so she had to follow the signs. It was below-ground, it seemed, however; after the first two flights of stairs she had to stop and rest as her body shuddered with exertion, leaving her breathless and light-headed. Eventually she found the neatly marked door at the end of a narrow, empty corridor, dimly illuminated and poorly heated, although she welcomed the cool air. It would need fixing, she thought. Later. Unsteadily, she pressed the lock-pad and the door clanked open. As she stepped inside it closed behind her, and she faintly heard it lock.
A4386A’s first thought was that she’d made a mistake in her navigation. The room she now stood in was large and bare, and contained only one bed at one end and one chair in the middle. One wall was mirrored; the others were clinically white, with no distinguishing features. A speaker grill was nestled into one corner of the ceiling. No one was around.
She considered the situation. Presumably, this was the wrong room, but she was sure she had followed the signs correctly. A mistake in the signs, perhaps? Although that was very unlikely, she thought. She wondered at it, shivering, and then wondered at the fact that she was wondering. Had she done that before? Was that a question?
She felt faint again, and was just sinking to the floor when another door opened at the other end of the room, and a tall medtech Symbiote stepped inside. He stretched out his arms towards her, his fingers long and triple-jointed, and he laid his hands on her shoulders.
“Good afternoon,” he stated calmly. A4386A believed him. “I am medtech Inge. What is your name?”
“A4386A,” she answered. “I am malfunctioning.”
“Yes,” the medtech sighed. “So I see. I am sorry.”
“Sorry?” she asked, confused. He looked at her hard.
“Confusion already. Interesting,” Inge muttered, apparently to himself. He glanced at the bed. “Well, make yourself comfortable,” he said, motioning her towards it. “This is going to be a difficult few weeks.”
“Supervisior?”
The woman turned around and stretched her mouth upwards at A4386A.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I believe I am malfunctioning,” A4386A reported. “My muscles appear to be going into spasm, and I fell unconscious twice this morning. Yet my health monitor reports me to be healthy.” She considered this. “It may also be malfunctioning,” she concluded.
The supervisor nodded.
“That is unusual,” she agreed. “What is your name, worker?”
“A4386A.”
“No, worker, your name.”
“I…don’t understand,” A4386A answered, confused.
The supervisor looked at her for a moment. “Very well A4386A,” she said. “You will go to the Sector 32a medlab now, and report to medtech Inge.”
“Understood,” A4386A responded, and left.
It was a medlab she hadn’t been to before, so she had to follow the signs. It was below-ground, it seemed, however; after the first two flights of stairs she had to stop and rest as her body shuddered with exertion, leaving her breathless and light-headed. Eventually she found the neatly marked door at the end of a narrow, empty corridor, dimly illuminated and poorly heated, although she welcomed the cool air. It would need fixing, she thought. Later. Unsteadily, she pressed the lock-pad and the door clanked open. As she stepped inside it closed behind her, and she faintly heard it lock.
A4386A’s first thought was that she’d made a mistake in her navigation. The room she now stood in was large and bare, and contained only one bed at one end and one chair in the middle. One wall was mirrored; the others were clinically white, with no distinguishing features. A speaker grill was nestled into one corner of the ceiling. No one was around.
She considered the situation. Presumably, this was the wrong room, but she was sure she had followed the signs correctly. A mistake in the signs, perhaps? Although that was very unlikely, she thought. She wondered at it, shivering, and then wondered at the fact that she was wondering. Had she done that before? Was that a question?
She felt faint again, and was just sinking to the floor when another door opened at the other end of the room, and a tall medtech Symbiote stepped inside. He stretched out his arms towards her, his fingers long and triple-jointed, and he laid his hands on her shoulders.
“Good afternoon,” he stated calmly. A4386A believed him. “I am medtech Inge. What is your name?”
“A4386A,” she answered. “I am malfunctioning.”
“Yes,” the medtech sighed. “So I see. I am sorry.”
“Sorry?” she asked, confused. He looked at her hard.
“Confusion already. Interesting,” Inge muttered, apparently to himself. He glanced at the bed. “Well, make yourself comfortable,” he said, motioning her towards it. “This is going to be a difficult few weeks.”
Symbiosis - 2
2543 (17-4th-5) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
“…and then he says, ‘the problem with you, honey, is that you think anyone with a chipped nail needs demoting,’ and I said, ‘well, goes with the job, you know?’ Of course, the problem with him is that he’s jealous of the job, I mean, the man works in Worker Feed Storage, you know? I mean, someone has to do it and all, but really, it’s hardly Elite is it, you know? And I’m not saying everyone should be demoted, I’m just saying that there should be another level between Elite and worker…”
Over the years, Calin had managed to develop a highly sophisticated system of only imagining killing Lall, instead of actually doing it. It was taxing, but deeply rewarding, and she had even managed to find a way of working at the same time.
“…and then he says I’m being Elitist! I’m like, yeah I’m Elitist you retard, do you see me fixing pipes? And then he calls me stupid! You know? Me! When he thinks that ‘flammable’ and ‘inflammable’ are the same thing! And he wears green shoes! I mean…”
Calin imagined demonstrating Lall’s inflammability.
“…so now we apparently need this big Talk or something, but I don’t want to miss the show at the Fennorim embassy tonight, so I told him – ”
“You should go now, then,” Calin interrupted. “I can cover for you, it’s no problem.”
“Really?” Lall turned around from her monitor, smiling dopily. “Excellent! Oh, Calin, you’re such a good friend! Now we just need to find you a mate…”
Calin liked her imagination.
Lall bounced out of the office. Calin waited for half a minute, then carefully closed the door and thumbed the lock shut.
“Time for some real work,” she muttered. The holo-com link beside her flickered into life. “Hi, Adan. Am I clear to go in?”
“Yes,” Adan’s holographic image responded. “I can guarantee you half an hour tonight. Extra news from Inge though, that might help you – he thinks she’s quite young.”
“How young is young?” Calin asked rolling her eyes. “That’s quite the margin.”
“Twenties? Thirties? Practically a child, poor thing.” Adan’s image looked downcast, and in spite of herself Calin felt for him.
“We’ll get her out, Adan,” she murmured awkwardly. Sympathy wasn’t natural for her. His hologram smiled briefly at her, and flickered out. Sighing, Calin hooked the Records Database back up with her implant, and added the age cap.
Cases flickered across her mind’s eye as the implant searched for every parameter she had given it. It had been hard work at first, but by now she had finally learned to ignore the section for each case that contained the reasons for demotion. Instead, Calin was left staring at numbers and faces, most names now deleted; ages and wasted ability ratings. Her implant clicked and whirred quietly in her ear, wiling away the possibilities. Wearily, Calin rubbed her eyes. Was there still a point to this, she wondered? At first she’d been more worried about the prospect of rehabilitating this girl, but after almost two years of searching for that one single needle in the vast haystack of Prima Centurai’s workers, Calin was beginning to despair of ever actually finding her in the meantime. And all the reports coming in…
Time was running out.
The implant beeped suddenly, making her jump. Thirty case summaries were neatly lined up on the screen before her, all within the specifications. She stared at them.
“That suddenly?” Calin demanded. She almost felt cheated that there was no fanfare. Quickly, she downloaded them directly into her implant, disconnected from the database and re-opened the holo-com link.
“Calin?” Adan seemed surprised. “Is everything okay?”
“Call a meeting,” she answered. “Do it now. I have the short list.”
“You – what? Seriously?”
“No, I just thought I’d open this risky and illegal channel to play a practical joke of the wittiest proportions on you,” Calin snapped. “Call the meeting! Now!”
Adan’s image vanished, and Calin stood abruptly. Finding the saviour of the Lesser Races, eh? she thought. She headed for the bar.
“…and then he says, ‘the problem with you, honey, is that you think anyone with a chipped nail needs demoting,’ and I said, ‘well, goes with the job, you know?’ Of course, the problem with him is that he’s jealous of the job, I mean, the man works in Worker Feed Storage, you know? I mean, someone has to do it and all, but really, it’s hardly Elite is it, you know? And I’m not saying everyone should be demoted, I’m just saying that there should be another level between Elite and worker…”
Over the years, Calin had managed to develop a highly sophisticated system of only imagining killing Lall, instead of actually doing it. It was taxing, but deeply rewarding, and she had even managed to find a way of working at the same time.
“…and then he says I’m being Elitist! I’m like, yeah I’m Elitist you retard, do you see me fixing pipes? And then he calls me stupid! You know? Me! When he thinks that ‘flammable’ and ‘inflammable’ are the same thing! And he wears green shoes! I mean…”
Calin imagined demonstrating Lall’s inflammability.
“…so now we apparently need this big Talk or something, but I don’t want to miss the show at the Fennorim embassy tonight, so I told him – ”
“You should go now, then,” Calin interrupted. “I can cover for you, it’s no problem.”
“Really?” Lall turned around from her monitor, smiling dopily. “Excellent! Oh, Calin, you’re such a good friend! Now we just need to find you a mate…”
Calin liked her imagination.
Lall bounced out of the office. Calin waited for half a minute, then carefully closed the door and thumbed the lock shut.
“Time for some real work,” she muttered. The holo-com link beside her flickered into life. “Hi, Adan. Am I clear to go in?”
“Yes,” Adan’s holographic image responded. “I can guarantee you half an hour tonight. Extra news from Inge though, that might help you – he thinks she’s quite young.”
“How young is young?” Calin asked rolling her eyes. “That’s quite the margin.”
“Twenties? Thirties? Practically a child, poor thing.” Adan’s image looked downcast, and in spite of herself Calin felt for him.
“We’ll get her out, Adan,” she murmured awkwardly. Sympathy wasn’t natural for her. His hologram smiled briefly at her, and flickered out. Sighing, Calin hooked the Records Database back up with her implant, and added the age cap.
Cases flickered across her mind’s eye as the implant searched for every parameter she had given it. It had been hard work at first, but by now she had finally learned to ignore the section for each case that contained the reasons for demotion. Instead, Calin was left staring at numbers and faces, most names now deleted; ages and wasted ability ratings. Her implant clicked and whirred quietly in her ear, wiling away the possibilities. Wearily, Calin rubbed her eyes. Was there still a point to this, she wondered? At first she’d been more worried about the prospect of rehabilitating this girl, but after almost two years of searching for that one single needle in the vast haystack of Prima Centurai’s workers, Calin was beginning to despair of ever actually finding her in the meantime. And all the reports coming in…
Time was running out.
The implant beeped suddenly, making her jump. Thirty case summaries were neatly lined up on the screen before her, all within the specifications. She stared at them.
“That suddenly?” Calin demanded. She almost felt cheated that there was no fanfare. Quickly, she downloaded them directly into her implant, disconnected from the database and re-opened the holo-com link.
“Calin?” Adan seemed surprised. “Is everything okay?”
“Call a meeting,” she answered. “Do it now. I have the short list.”
“You – what? Seriously?”
“No, I just thought I’d open this risky and illegal channel to play a practical joke of the wittiest proportions on you,” Calin snapped. “Call the meeting! Now!”
Adan’s image vanished, and Calin stood abruptly. Finding the saviour of the Lesser Races, eh? she thought. She headed for the bar.
Saturday, 12 May 2007
Symbiosis - 1
2541 New Calendar - Prima Centurai
There was a silence in the small room, broken only by the occasional shuffle of twelve people trying very hard not to look at each other. The walls ran with condensation unpleasantly, leaving the air stale and damp-seeming. The single illuminative panel in the ceiling flickered slightly. One man, a nervous-seeming forty year old with the pampered look of someone who had eaten well their whole life coughed loudly and abruptly, making several others jump.
He twisted his hands awkwardly, realising that with all eyes now on him he would have to be the first to talk.
“Er…” he offered, clearing his throat properly. “And this…information…you say it came from…?”
“The Dreamer, yes,” a tall, smooth sounding medtech responded calmly, his elongated hands folded neatly in his lap. He looked distinguished. “I scarcely need to impress upon you all the importance it therefore carries.”
A girl stirred beside him. “How exactly can we…’free’ a worker, anyway?” she asked quietly. She looked at a large, thick-set man opposite her. “Baroth? Do you have any idea?”
‘Baroth’ ran a massive hand through his shaggy hair wearily. “No,” he said. “No I don’t. Believe me, the process of actually – ha, ‘trapping’ them, I suppose – is thorough. Very thorough,” he added, looking around at them all. “Reversing the process has never even been attempted. It may not be possible.”
“And certainly cruel,” the nervous well-fed man muttered.
“Adan,” the girl snorted; but he ignored her and pressed on.
“Think about it. ‘The damaged one,’ Inge said, so in all likelihood she’s been demoted. So she’s probably got a major trauma in her life that right now she’s unaffected by. If we free her…” He trailed off, looking at the assembled people. None caught his eye.
“There’s more at stake than moralising about the ethics of this,” Baroth said eventually. There were general murmurs of assent.
“It may not be so bad a trauma anyway,” the girl said quietly. Her usually breezy air of confidence had been replaced by something suspiciously akin to shame. They all looked at her. “We don’t only demote cases of severe emotional damage. We demote almost all cases of any damage. It’s not something that’s well known outside of the Forum, but…well…” She smiled bitterly. “Out of sight, out of mind. No more angst. No more imperfection.”
“Calin, you didn’t mention this before…” Baroth began accusingly, folding his bear-like arms. She shrugged.
“You’ve still not told us exactly what you do in the demotion process,” Calin retorted. “We all have things we don’t want to share.”
“Okay.” Someone else leaned forward, a Fennorim Symbiote, and placed his webbed hands on the table. “Time we started sharing, then, and time we started focusing. We may not have time to do either soon. What exactly happens to these workers?”
Baroth sighed. “To all intents and purposes, we remove their capacity for emotion and identity. They can’t feel anger, injustice, grief, emotional pain or panic at all, and their ability to fear is severely limited. They can’t feel any extreme of happiness, but they do experience contentment and a limited amount of pride. All biological desires are either eliminated or catered for as necessary. All they want to do is work for their society. As long as they do, they are content.”
“Why leave fear?” the nervous man asked. “And pride? In any capacity?”
“Because without fear they wouldn’t understand the consequences of not working,” Inge the medtech broke in, his voice oily. “And the pride is so that they can be content and do the best job they can. A person can’t actually function without any emotions at all.”
“How is this process achieved?” the Fennorim interrupted. “Is it a chemical process?”
“Partly,” Baroth answered. “We use various substances in the workers’ feeds to inhibit the release of different chemicals and hormones by their brains. But we also use psychological conditioning when they’re first converted to help them shut down their own minds. It can seem a very attractive prospect to feel no pain. Most accept it willingly. And famously of course, we don’t allow them to dream either. Again, it’s a partly chemically controlled procedure, but most of the work is done by the Dreamer.”
“So it’s not quite as simple as taking them off the drugs, then,” Calin sighed.
“We may not even be able to,” Inge said quietly. “As Baroth pointed out earlier, this has never been done before. The chemicals used may be highly habit forming. Withdrawal can be very dangerous. Their effects may also be permanent in some way.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. “No,” Adan said. “It has to be possible.”
“Adan,” Inge sighed, “I’m just being realistic here.”
“No, Adan’s right,” Calin said. “The Dreamer told you to do this, Inge. It must be possible.”
There was another murmur around the assembled beings. It was an encouraging point.
“Yes,” Baroth said decisively. “You’re right. This will be hard, but it is possible.”
“How will we find her?” Calin asked. “There are what, six or seven hundred million workers here? Any ideas?”
“’She can think,’” Baroth said. “Those were the Dreamer’s words according to Inge. She also described her as damaged. So let’s assume that Adan is right, and she’s a Demotee. Calin, you and I need to look for any worker psychographs that suggested unusually high intelligence, analytical skill and emotional capacity. Level 9 or 10 intellects, female only. We’ll start with the last ten years and see what we can find. Inge, is there any way for you to get more out of the Dreamer?”
“It’s unlikely,” Inge said flatly. “She only has brief moments of anything approaching lucidity. I’ll be on the lookout, of course, and I could try suggesting likely names to her if you find any, but I wouldn’t bank on any more help from her.”
“Adan, we need you to keep covering our tracks as much as possible,” Baroth continued. “The last thing we need is for the Forum to learn of this. Everyone else, keep monitoring the political situation. If the Benoi truly stop attending the Symbiosis, we’re facing into a Pandora’s Box of trouble.”
“I meet with them next week,” the Fennorim interjected. “It’s possible I may have us an ally there.”
“Let’s hope so,” Calin muttered. “We’re all screwed without them.”
“What happens when we find her?” Adan asked. “Do we have a plan for that yet?”
“We’ll ease her off the narcotics first,” Inge answered calmly. “That’ll help to limit the possibility of withdrawal, and its effects. The psychological aspect I’ll have to leave entirely in your hands, Baroth. It’s outside my field of expertise.”
“We’ll leave her working while we do it,” Baroth said. “To take her out of the system we’ll need somewhere to keep her, and the less we draw attention to ourselves the better. Adan, you’ll have to assign one of us as her section supervisor so that when any changes start to occur we can remove her.”
He sighed heavily, and leaned back in his chair. It creaked beneath his massive frame. “Does anyone have anything else to add?”
“Just one thing for Groma,” Adan said, glancing at the Fennorim. “The Mincol supplies of vitruvium are already down to half, but that’s obviously classified. I thought you might need to know it as an ambassador though.”
The Symbiote dipped his scaled head. “Thank you.”
“Already half?” Calin asked, startled. “I thought they would be fine for at least two years yet?”
“That was our optimistic estimate,” Adan answered glumly. “This was the pessimistic one. It’s unfortunately also been the accurate one.”
“Alright,” Baroth said, standing awkwardly beneath the low ceiling. “Meeting adjourned. Let’s find ourselves a worker, children.”
There was a silence in the small room, broken only by the occasional shuffle of twelve people trying very hard not to look at each other. The walls ran with condensation unpleasantly, leaving the air stale and damp-seeming. The single illuminative panel in the ceiling flickered slightly. One man, a nervous-seeming forty year old with the pampered look of someone who had eaten well their whole life coughed loudly and abruptly, making several others jump.
He twisted his hands awkwardly, realising that with all eyes now on him he would have to be the first to talk.
“Er…” he offered, clearing his throat properly. “And this…information…you say it came from…?”
“The Dreamer, yes,” a tall, smooth sounding medtech responded calmly, his elongated hands folded neatly in his lap. He looked distinguished. “I scarcely need to impress upon you all the importance it therefore carries.”
A girl stirred beside him. “How exactly can we…’free’ a worker, anyway?” she asked quietly. She looked at a large, thick-set man opposite her. “Baroth? Do you have any idea?”
‘Baroth’ ran a massive hand through his shaggy hair wearily. “No,” he said. “No I don’t. Believe me, the process of actually – ha, ‘trapping’ them, I suppose – is thorough. Very thorough,” he added, looking around at them all. “Reversing the process has never even been attempted. It may not be possible.”
“And certainly cruel,” the nervous well-fed man muttered.
“Adan,” the girl snorted; but he ignored her and pressed on.
“Think about it. ‘The damaged one,’ Inge said, so in all likelihood she’s been demoted. So she’s probably got a major trauma in her life that right now she’s unaffected by. If we free her…” He trailed off, looking at the assembled people. None caught his eye.
“There’s more at stake than moralising about the ethics of this,” Baroth said eventually. There were general murmurs of assent.
“It may not be so bad a trauma anyway,” the girl said quietly. Her usually breezy air of confidence had been replaced by something suspiciously akin to shame. They all looked at her. “We don’t only demote cases of severe emotional damage. We demote almost all cases of any damage. It’s not something that’s well known outside of the Forum, but…well…” She smiled bitterly. “Out of sight, out of mind. No more angst. No more imperfection.”
“Calin, you didn’t mention this before…” Baroth began accusingly, folding his bear-like arms. She shrugged.
“You’ve still not told us exactly what you do in the demotion process,” Calin retorted. “We all have things we don’t want to share.”
“Okay.” Someone else leaned forward, a Fennorim Symbiote, and placed his webbed hands on the table. “Time we started sharing, then, and time we started focusing. We may not have time to do either soon. What exactly happens to these workers?”
Baroth sighed. “To all intents and purposes, we remove their capacity for emotion and identity. They can’t feel anger, injustice, grief, emotional pain or panic at all, and their ability to fear is severely limited. They can’t feel any extreme of happiness, but they do experience contentment and a limited amount of pride. All biological desires are either eliminated or catered for as necessary. All they want to do is work for their society. As long as they do, they are content.”
“Why leave fear?” the nervous man asked. “And pride? In any capacity?”
“Because without fear they wouldn’t understand the consequences of not working,” Inge the medtech broke in, his voice oily. “And the pride is so that they can be content and do the best job they can. A person can’t actually function without any emotions at all.”
“How is this process achieved?” the Fennorim interrupted. “Is it a chemical process?”
“Partly,” Baroth answered. “We use various substances in the workers’ feeds to inhibit the release of different chemicals and hormones by their brains. But we also use psychological conditioning when they’re first converted to help them shut down their own minds. It can seem a very attractive prospect to feel no pain. Most accept it willingly. And famously of course, we don’t allow them to dream either. Again, it’s a partly chemically controlled procedure, but most of the work is done by the Dreamer.”
“So it’s not quite as simple as taking them off the drugs, then,” Calin sighed.
“We may not even be able to,” Inge said quietly. “As Baroth pointed out earlier, this has never been done before. The chemicals used may be highly habit forming. Withdrawal can be very dangerous. Their effects may also be permanent in some way.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. “No,” Adan said. “It has to be possible.”
“Adan,” Inge sighed, “I’m just being realistic here.”
“No, Adan’s right,” Calin said. “The Dreamer told you to do this, Inge. It must be possible.”
There was another murmur around the assembled beings. It was an encouraging point.
“Yes,” Baroth said decisively. “You’re right. This will be hard, but it is possible.”
“How will we find her?” Calin asked. “There are what, six or seven hundred million workers here? Any ideas?”
“’She can think,’” Baroth said. “Those were the Dreamer’s words according to Inge. She also described her as damaged. So let’s assume that Adan is right, and she’s a Demotee. Calin, you and I need to look for any worker psychographs that suggested unusually high intelligence, analytical skill and emotional capacity. Level 9 or 10 intellects, female only. We’ll start with the last ten years and see what we can find. Inge, is there any way for you to get more out of the Dreamer?”
“It’s unlikely,” Inge said flatly. “She only has brief moments of anything approaching lucidity. I’ll be on the lookout, of course, and I could try suggesting likely names to her if you find any, but I wouldn’t bank on any more help from her.”
“Adan, we need you to keep covering our tracks as much as possible,” Baroth continued. “The last thing we need is for the Forum to learn of this. Everyone else, keep monitoring the political situation. If the Benoi truly stop attending the Symbiosis, we’re facing into a Pandora’s Box of trouble.”
“I meet with them next week,” the Fennorim interjected. “It’s possible I may have us an ally there.”
“Let’s hope so,” Calin muttered. “We’re all screwed without them.”
“What happens when we find her?” Adan asked. “Do we have a plan for that yet?”
“We’ll ease her off the narcotics first,” Inge answered calmly. “That’ll help to limit the possibility of withdrawal, and its effects. The psychological aspect I’ll have to leave entirely in your hands, Baroth. It’s outside my field of expertise.”
“We’ll leave her working while we do it,” Baroth said. “To take her out of the system we’ll need somewhere to keep her, and the less we draw attention to ourselves the better. Adan, you’ll have to assign one of us as her section supervisor so that when any changes start to occur we can remove her.”
He sighed heavily, and leaned back in his chair. It creaked beneath his massive frame. “Does anyone have anything else to add?”
“Just one thing for Groma,” Adan said, glancing at the Fennorim. “The Mincol supplies of vitruvium are already down to half, but that’s obviously classified. I thought you might need to know it as an ambassador though.”
The Symbiote dipped his scaled head. “Thank you.”
“Already half?” Calin asked, startled. “I thought they would be fine for at least two years yet?”
“That was our optimistic estimate,” Adan answered glumly. “This was the pessimistic one. It’s unfortunately also been the accurate one.”
“Alright,” Baroth said, standing awkwardly beneath the low ceiling. “Meeting adjourned. Let’s find ourselves a worker, children.”
Thursday, 10 May 2007
Symbiosis - Prologue
“There will be war!”
The Dreamer lay wreathed in medical tubing, a fixed rictus of horror frozen onto her face, trapped somewhere between reality and her own subconscious mind. Her body was contorted on the slab, shuddering and sweating at the visions she saw; the medtechs raced to her side with muscle relaxants and sedatives to silence her. She convulsed as the first wave of the medication hit her system and reached out wildly with the desperate, grasping fingers of a child, clutching at the sleeves and hands of the faceless scientists beside her. She caught one, and her face rolled blindly toward him, staring straight through him.
“It fails,” she whispered, as they prised at her fingers one by one. “Already it fails. The fusions are too narrow. They will come…”
Her hand was torn away, and the sedative pressed her mind. Vainly she struggled against it, but without much hope. She never won. She was never heard.
“War,” she whispered. A tear escaped one heavy eyelid and slid unnoticed to the slab. The scientists left.
Except one.
Under the pretence of checking her vitals, he leaned over her face.
“What must we do?” he whispered. “Can we avoid it?”
The Dreamer’s eyes flickered open one last time, and she almost managed to actually look at the man above her.
“Find the worker: the damaged one. She can think…she must be freed…”
Her eyes glazed over.
“She must fuse…”
And she was gone, trapped beneath the oppressive weight of the dreams of a planet. The scientist straightened. He had what he needed. He left the room, and left the girl to six hundred million people’s nightmares.
The Dreamer lay wreathed in medical tubing, a fixed rictus of horror frozen onto her face, trapped somewhere between reality and her own subconscious mind. Her body was contorted on the slab, shuddering and sweating at the visions she saw; the medtechs raced to her side with muscle relaxants and sedatives to silence her. She convulsed as the first wave of the medication hit her system and reached out wildly with the desperate, grasping fingers of a child, clutching at the sleeves and hands of the faceless scientists beside her. She caught one, and her face rolled blindly toward him, staring straight through him.
“It fails,” she whispered, as they prised at her fingers one by one. “Already it fails. The fusions are too narrow. They will come…”
Her hand was torn away, and the sedative pressed her mind. Vainly she struggled against it, but without much hope. She never won. She was never heard.
“War,” she whispered. A tear escaped one heavy eyelid and slid unnoticed to the slab. The scientists left.
Except one.
Under the pretence of checking her vitals, he leaned over her face.
“What must we do?” he whispered. “Can we avoid it?”
The Dreamer’s eyes flickered open one last time, and she almost managed to actually look at the man above her.
“Find the worker: the damaged one. She can think…she must be freed…”
Her eyes glazed over.
“She must fuse…”
And she was gone, trapped beneath the oppressive weight of the dreams of a planet. The scientist straightened. He had what he needed. He left the room, and left the girl to six hundred million people’s nightmares.
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