Chapter 55: Renovations, p.3

At times like these, Slitter was free to do what he did best — rampage. He wasn't a smart mer, he knew; he would prefer to leave the complex thinking to someone else. He didn't necessarily like taking orders, but thinking ahead, planning, that made him sleepy. Muscle training, reaction training, that was easier and, once done, didn't need constant attention unless it was to learn a new skill or skill variation.

The additional soul he was saddled with was one of those smart ones. That soul, even asleep and dreaming, that one kept thinking. Slitter couldn't completely shut him out. It was the price to keep on living. That one had brains aplenty, had seen things Slitter could never have imagined — glorious things, horrible things — but seen as a watcher, an observer. But I-R-L, or "in real life," as that one liked to put it, were often beyond him.

Like up close, bloody battle. He could plan and strategize, but doing those things while tasting sweat and blood, smelling the enemy, the stench as bodies split under the blade or burst under the mace, the mindless screaming of anger or anguish that drowns thought — the other one wasn't good at those.

That was fine. Slitter could handle all of that. It was stupidly easy in the latest Dwemer armor and wielding Hopesfire. The degenerate Falmer didn't stand a chance though they outnumbered him over twenty-to-one. Their poisoned bone weapons had no chance to penetrate his armor. And fast as they are, they couldn't outrun Hopesfire's lightning strikes.

He was here to kill these poor bastards. The big machines couldn't get into the tunnels the Falmer fled through. Spiders could, but the Falmer knew how to handle those. Instead of wasting time with tinkering with the 'bots, it was easier just to go himself.

Balvus, the dreamer, hadn't been able to contact anyone sane among them, so they were just meat for slaughter. Slitter had no regrets, no hesitation. He'd learned to feel pity, though. This was just putting them out of their misery as quickly as he could. The other liked to use sleep bombs to ease the passing, but the air filters in Nchuand-Zel were too efficient and cleared the smoke before effects could happen.

This felt like the last room in this area. Spiders could be sent in afterward to make sure. After slaying a pair of female wizard Falmer, he looked around for anything interesting to take back because this room had crafting tables. Good soul gems and rare ingredients were always worth something. He found some of those, and a swaddled Falmer babe lay in a bin at the foot of an alchemy setup. The lightest touch of his blade would burn out the fragile life.

But he hesitated. It was a mutant — it had eyes. Tiny slits instead of blank stretches of skin. He gently pried open an eyelid. The pupil shrank rapidly, leaving the eye silver, and the creature made a faint noise.

"Amgar, you there?"

"Amgar here."

"I'm done here. Found a baby with eyes. Dunno if it can see. Still stinks of its mother."

"What's its condition?"

"It's breathing."

"Ah, I am talking to Slitter, then. How long 'til you get back?"

"Three hours."

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

"It's a newborn. At this stage, its mind is no better than an animal's," said Balvus. "Lesser, even. An animal's mind is a morass of instinctual actions." He shifted the Falmer babe more comfortably on his lap and stuck a bottle in its mouth. Watered down goat milk with some nutritional additives.

"Is it blind?" asked Curtis.

"I can't tell. I don't know if I have the sensitivity to connect to its mind. I've no experience with children. I don't know when their eyes open."

"I know my nieces could open their eyes shortly after birth, but not for too long at first. Light sensitivity, of course. But I think it's a few weeks before they start to focus. Their vision is blurred until their brains get used to processing the new sensory input. That is, if the visual center of their brain is functioning correctly," said Curtis, drawing on hazy recollections of long-ago discussions with his sisters who had read child development books. "That kid's lucky to have lived this long. It's so tiny. Like a preemie."

"A what?"

"Premature birth. Born earlier than normal and not all systems ready to go. Have you had time to talk to any of the ladies?"

"Only over the phone with Kinehar. She said her children and grandchildren were born without complications. I'm afraid none of the other Snowmer have much experience with babes. The Dwemer are the same. Irdal has the most experience through her line of work in dealing with deaf children, but not babies." Amgar looked troubled. "My lord, this genetic mutation is significant. Will it be going to Lady Volkihar?"

It would probably be vivisected within the hour of receipt. "Only if it self-terminates because of genetic complications. We'll give it a chance to develop. See if there's anything there," Curtis said neutrally. "However, I will allow Lady Valerica to examine it." He reached down and caressed the babe's cheek. Technically, it was a "he," but detachment was needed so an object it would remain. "I suppose we'll need a wet nurse. Farm girl, maybe? Damn, where do I start looking?"

She would be learning secrets, so she would need to know to keep her mouth shut. This was too close to those psych experiments of his previous world where people tried to raise chimps in a "home" environment to see if nurturing could affect or overcome the animal nature. The danger was the innate wild nature of the immature chimp, and its greater strength would easily overwhelm its caretakers. And the caretakers, naturally, didn't have the strength or the knowledge to handle a chimp's baby tantrums. The sad ending would be the chimp, its most important socially developmental years warped, thrown back into a society of chimps it couldn't relate to, or in a solitary cage slated for experiments. He had thought "farm girl" because he was assuming there would be some necessary emotional detachment. The harsh reality of farms was to care for animals just enough to keep them healthy, but always knowing that animals would inevitably be sold for profit or slaughtered for food and/or material parts.

This Falmer babe, would it be intelligent, an animal, or something in between?

This brought him to White Bear Orphanage in Karthwasten. In the Skyrim game he'd played long ago, it was a speck of a mining town being threatened with a hostile takeover by the late Silver-Bloods. The player can choose to help or not. Either way, it was a source of free silver. In real life, the Dragonborn solved many more problems for them, got a partnership out of it, and gave the partnership to her husband.

A lot of things had happened since then. Now it was a proper town and wealthy enough to have imported large timber from Morthal to create an encompassing wall. It hosted an orphanage and had a market where trade caravans from Hammerfell and High Rock stopped on their way to Whiterun. Khajiit were even welcome inside. Visitors behaved themselves because outside, Forsworn patrolled, tribal members of Ainethach's Forsworn wife.

Could the Forsworn still be called that? They were no longer outlaws of Imperial or Nord authority, but patriots of their own land. It was a concept everyone was still trying to get used to.

"A wet nurse? Yes, I know several unwed mothers who could use the extra income. But your requirements are unusual," said Ainethach. "May I—"

"The babe in question is a newborn Falmer. I don't know if it's intelligent or tamable. If not, I may have to kill it. I'm trying to raise it because it's the first one I've come across born with eyes. I need someone who can nurture it and give it affection while aware that it is still a dangerous animal. And while she's taking care of it, she'll be living with me and my team. You understand we have certain professional secrets, plans, and objects that a lot of people want. Once they know she's with us, they'll try to question her, bribe her, maybe even snatch her if they can and threaten her to get our secrets."

"I understand. And in return, she and her child get a lot of gold for temporarily fostering the Falmer."

"She'll be set for life."

"I have an Altmer mother whose baby was stillborn. An ex-Dominion soldier captured by the Forsworn. Hagravens stripped her magic and kept her around for entertainment. Matriarch Minuet acquired her during a tribal merge and had no use for her, so she sent her to us. We have her working with the toddlers. She's competent, cold as ice to anyone but the children, and the children like her."

"Why hasn't she tried to return to the Dominion?"

"Her capture was a disgrace. And she came from the peasant class. Magic was her only exceptional quality, so she's useless to the Dominion now. And even if the Dominion would take her back, she won't go. You'll see why."

She had been pretty once. Now she had scars, her nose had been broken and badly reset, one ear was gone, and she was missing most of her teeth. The way she held herself and struggled to walk showed pelvic and/or hip damage.

She wasn't a pureblood. Curtis could tell there was Falmer in her ancestry by the shape of her ears and the shade of her skin. Another broken little bat pretending to be a Summerset eagle.

And for the first time, she smiled as she looked into the mutant babe's silver eyes. Silver like her own.

"Ireyna, remember what we talked about," said Curtis, feeling uneasy about her smile.

"He will live," she whispered. "He may not be the smart or handsome, but he will dream for both of us." She rocked the babe as she knelt on the thick cushion of the couch. Kneeling because it hurt less than sitting.

Balvus, who had been taking care of the child, looked at her curiously. "Good dreams, I hope," he offered.

"Yes. We will finish the dark walk and find the light together." She looked at him. "The Dark Walk is a tale told by my great grandfather. I had all but forgotten it until I came to Karthwasten and heard of the Goddess Artula, the mother who walks the darkness to give birth to new life that will emerge in the spring."

"Ah. Where I am from, we also worship the God Jhunal. He is the owl that flies the darkness beyond night to hunt truths hidden therein," said Balvus.

"Truths. Hah. I am not interested in truths. I just want to survive the walk and leave the darkness behind." She sniffled and hugged the baby tighter. The baby squeaked. "He's hungry. I need to feed him."

"Sure, sure. We'll leave you to it," said Curtis, grabbing Balvus on his way out. For now, she would be staying the small servant's room of the suite. Curtis didn't mind. These rooms had once been assigned to the Markarth Justiciar, and the late Justiciar had demanded the second largest suite as befitting a representative of the Dominion. Curtis used this place as an office and meeting room. The bed had been replaced with cots he or his Dwemer could crash on if they were too tired to go all the way down to their quarters in Nchuand-Zel.

"Am I imagining it, or is she giving off dreamer vibes?" Curtis asked Balvus.

"There may be potential," said Balvus. "However, given her past, I am hesitant to enter her dreams."

Yeah, he did look uncomfortable. Curtis didn't blame him. Balvus wasn't healer trained. Asking him, a ship pilot/navigator, a man, to deal with a woman's violent sexual trauma was unfair and potentially damaging to both parties. Curtis would rather the healer-priests back in the Vale, or even the Master of Illusions in Winterhold, Drevis Neloran, sleep in on this to protect both parties. Drevis didn't seem like the kind of guy Curtis would want wandering through his mind. But the mer had been trained in the temples of Morrowind to work with Blight-maddened victims. He'd actually been a great help to Curtis that first year as Curtis was trying to find his footing in the Skyrim reality and mental balance with Slitter.

"I won't ask you to do that. I'm more worried that if she has that ability, I don't want her nightmares leaking to affect the kid or any of us. Right now, I think she just needs to recover some strength. Maybe we can have Bothela at the Hag's Cure whip up some potions to help. Once she's fit for travel, we get her to Winterhold."

"Not The Vale?" asked Balvus.

"Yeah, I know Winterhold is a longer trip. But I got this feeling that Winterhold would be better. For one, Drevis, the Master Illusionist, has got a better personality than Salindil for this. He was trained to be a healing priest and work with violently insane Blight victims. If it weren't for the Nerevarine and Red Year, he'd be one of the healers in Vivec's temple. He's one of those 'tough-love' therapists. Or maybe it's just because he's Dunmer. Dunno. But I don't think Ireyna's going to heal under Salindil's gentler approach. If I'm wrong, Drevis is sensitive enough to know if he's not the one to help her. He's actually better than Colette when it comes to treating veterans suffering the after-effects of war trauma. Colette can heal their bodies, but the delusions, the dreams, the mind sickness is actually more in the Drevis's area of magic.

"And if the kid survives and gets a little older, he can be introduced to the other Falmer children in the project."

"I see. I think I see the future you're envisioning. If they are are dreamers, they may be able to relate more." Balvus bowed his head as he seemed to be thinking about something. When he raised his head, he said, "Washoe. Your memories have a documentaries you watched of a monkey learning sign language and another one teaching its children to sign."

"Yeah. Something like that. That'd be ideal, but, really, I'm just thinking what's best for those two right now. Recovery and rebuild."

"More rebuilding," sighed Balvus.

"It's all I'm good for," said Curtis, shrugging. "You guys have been in my dreams. You know that about me. I'm not smart enough to be an innovator. Re-use, re-cycle, renovate. That's all I've got going for me."

Related story(s): #45 The Proof Is Out There