Chaotic belongs to TCDigital.
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Edge
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"What have you learned, Ulmar?"
I am awake. Chaor's voice is sounding from my helmet, from the spying ear. It's the first voice I've heard from Michael's end for some time, longer than I had been anticipating. I grab my helmet by a horn, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed, and raise the helmet to my face and stare at it.
"Much, despite your refusal to allow me to perform any vivisection."
And that scratching voice belongs to Ulmar. I feel the metal of my helmet protest in my grip at Ulmar's words, and I force myself to relax.
Ulmar's speech continues. "To put my discoveries into much-needed perspective, I need to first tell you about the qualities of the average Human, though the few subjects I have been allowed to experiment on is far too insufficient a sample size. I must insist that I be allowed access to more Human prisoners in order to gain a more precise understanding of their species. Think of how I could revolutionize our understanding of-"
"Get to the point, Ulmar," Chaor's voice interrupts icily.
"The point, right." There's a sound of ruffling papers. "The ages of the various prisoners range from five to eighty, according to the Human standard of time measurement. Further questioning reveals that the standard of time they use is called a 'year', a period of three hundred sixty-five days, just over two solans in length. That means that the range of ages extends from ten to one hundred sixty solans."
"And this matters... how?" As expected, Chaor sounds bored with Ulmar's technical explanations.
"I said I was explaining!" Ulmar snaps. "Now, turning our attention to our unconscious friend here." There's a light sound of a slap, and my helmet protests my grip again. "After examining the male Human population available to me and making observations on their bodies' changes as they age, I was able to determine the age of the primary person of interest. It would have been easier to simply ask him, you know."
"He remains asleep for a reason," Chaor growls. "Continue."
Ulmar grunts, then the sounds of more shuffling paper precede his next words. "Using radiographic imaging to determine bone density, elasticity tests on the epidermis, visual examination of dental wear, volume measurement of ejaculate after manual stimulation, and a gamete count under microscopic examination of said ejaculate, I have determined that this Human is in the vicinity of fifty to sixty solans of age."
I don't know what half of those words mean. It seems Chaor is as confounded as I am. "Why does his age matter?"
More papers shuffling. "Because of this, Chaor!" A long pause. "These are the results of this Human's psychological anima scan! Do you see?"
The long pause tells me that Chaor sees about as much in that paper as I do, and, lacking a spying eye, I see nothing.
Ulmar sighs in disgust. "Very well. Here." More shuffling of papers. "These of the psychological anima scans of the other prisoners, arranged by age. See the upward trend in complexity and range here in visual and auditory memory, with a notable deceleration as the age of the subject passes around one hundred solans?"
"Speak plainly, Ulmar."
There's a strangled cry of exasperation from the scientist. "The psychological anima of a creature grows in complexity and range as it ages because it experiences and remembers ongoing events, a process that slows as the creature stop experiencing entirely new events. This allows an estimate of the mental age of a creature. For a Human, which appears to spend a third of its day asleep, you would expect this number to be around two-thirds of its actual age. Now, take a look at the first set of data. Even you should be able to do the math."
Chaor growls at the insult, but that growl is cut suspiciously short. "This makes no sense. According to this, this Human is..."
"Is several thousand solans old," Ulmar finishes. "Quite a difference from the fifty or sixty solan-old creature you see on the table, yes?"
My fingers feel numb against my helmet. Delving into Michael's psyche is a perilous act. If Ulmar isn't careful, he risks shattering the minds of himself and his king. What is worse, he has performed nearly everything he needs to reach the damning conclusion.
Chaor's voice sounds shaken. "What would cause this?"
"Who knows?" Ulmar sounds gleeful. "And that is only a low estimate! If we take into account that experiences similar enough to a previous one cause lesser changes, it is entirely possible that the actual number is in the tens of thousands!"
More silence, broken only by the sound of Michael's breathing and heartbeat. Then, Chaor speaks. "We must know more. Disconnect the Human from these... things and-"
"No touching!" Ulmar snaps. "Removing a catheter from the urethra must be done with a delicate touch to avoid harm! Same goes for the feeding tube! Out! Out!"
I hear nothing else of value. Enlightening, and terrifying. Memories of being who learned Michael's secret in the past bubble up unbidden. Phelphor's crippling fear, Aa'une's complete descent into insanity. More creatures completely changed by the truth laid bare before them. I lower my helmet and gaze at the far wall, lost in the memory of my own discovery of the nature of existence.
...I'm not alone. Wrapped in a thin blanket and curled up in the corner of the attic is a Human. The same Human I had seen on my way into this village. His eyes are wide as he stares at me. No, not at me. The fear in his eyes might be directed at me, but his gaze is on my helmet.
"Who the hell are they talking about?"
It would be a mercy to kill him, right here, right now. It would be easy, a snap of the neck or a finger plunged between the eyes. Let this Human spend the rest of this lifetime in peaceful death, not knowing the truth, and awaken a clean slate come next lifetime, ignorant and safe. He would never see it coming, wouldn't feel pain as I put an end to his current mortality.
I had not even acted on that thought when another thought comes to me. A thought of Michael, an image of his face. Disappointed. Disapproving.
You have killed for less, the thought echoes in my mind at Michael's phantasm. The blood on your hands is thicker than even mine.
Michael's image closes its eyes, bows its head, and slowly shakes it side to side. Never for this, his silent rebuttal. Never for something like this.
The Human, whose only sin I know is that of hearing too much, continues to stare, this time at me. "Do you know?"
The intent to kill leaves my body. My mouth moves on its own, speaking my thoughts without my bidding. "A god. They speak of a god."
The Human's eyebrows pinch together, and he squints at me a little. "Sorry?"
I shake my head. "I have said all that I will." I am exhausted. It must still be late. "We will speak in the morning," I say as I lie back down.
The Human does not respond. He simply stares at me a while longer, then rolls over and pulls his meager blanket around his body.
A pang of pity shoots through my heart at the pitiful display. "Come." I pat the mattress beside me. "You must be cold."
The Human turns to gives me a look. Confusion, fear. He slowly rises to his feet, then steps closer, even slower. He gingerly puts a hand on the mattress in front of me and, still watching me, climbs on.
I wrap an arm around the Human, who gives out a restrained cry of surprise. I pull him close to me, his chest against my stomach, his face against my chest. I curl up around him and let the warmth of my body envelope him.
The Human is rigid and shaking for several long moments. Finally, he relaxes, tosses and turns about until he's facing away with his back against my front, and pulls my arm tighter around himself. His breathing slows into a steady rhythm, and soon I am certain he is asleep.
Damn it, Human. I'm already on a mission to rescue someone. Now it seems I must rescue you as well.
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Chaotic belongs to TCDigital.