When Valephor looked back up to Professor Madrona, he immediately knew he'd made a mistake. She said nothing, her gaze level, then turned from him and started walking in the direction he'd pointed out. He hesitated for a split-second, a jolt of concern spiking through him, but instinct overrode uncertainty, his legs moving after her with little delay.
'Oh- oh dear. What did I do this time?' He fretted, wringing his hands as he shadowed the Neti.
'Perhaps I could have simplified my explanation further?' he wondered.
'Or was it the fact I stopped to check for code cylinders? Ah, yes, time sensitive mission. I'm being a hindrance. Oooh, damn you Arco! Your advice always sucks!'
The Professor abruptly halted, stopping just within the hallway. He was following a bit too close and very nearly ran into her, taking a step back to give her some room.
"
We address the nearest group of children first."
The woman turned and bent down, her face inches from his own. Her vibrant teal eyes bored into him, fathomless and ancient. The action added a touch of intimacy that had his heart pounding. He knew, intellectually that there was no romantic intention, but good heavens did this woman not know what she was doing to him? It was her fault really, for being so tall!
"
The culling of this family is strategic, and it needn't be wasteful."
She impressed, the statement so extraneous as to verge on frivolous, yet she said it with the same gravity as some profound truth of the world. It was so unexpected that all he could do was scrunch his brow and wonder: who in their right mind would waste good biomass?
Before he could ask that question, the Neti took his hand, pressing the hilt of a dagger into his palm and curling his fingers around it.
'GREATGOOGLYMOOGLYSHE'STOUCHINGMEEEEEE!!!! OhhhhHerWoodIsSoSmooooooth!!!!'
"
Take this," she commanded, and his grip locked like vice.
'I will protect it with my life Professor Madrona! And never wash this hand again.'
The woman didn't elaborate further, and this time he didn't hesitate as he followed her, flicking the blade at the ground to rid it of excess blood and clamping his mouth shut to keep from chattering. He was usually pretty good about not speaking unless spoken to, but these were not usual circumstances. He still didn't understand exactly what the Sith wanted from him, or his place in their hierarchy, or how best to be of use to them, or about a dozen other things. And as much as he enjoyed Professor Madrona's company, she could be just as inscrutable as the rest of them at times.
So he slinked through the shadows, following her closely behind as she navigated the unfamiliar halls with startling ease. They passed into a much nicer part of the estate, stopping just outside the room that contained the life signature he'd sensed before. Professor Madrona withdrew another of her 'Sithspawn'- this time a vibrant flower with a singe eye in the center- and sent it in under a closed door.
'These Sithspawn really are quite versatile,' Valephor mused internally.
'I wonder...'
The apostate extended his life sense to the creature, focusing on its biology, and the blood drained from his face. He jerked forwards, his instinct to obey hierarchy and need to keep silent at war with his shaper training as he fought the urge to kill the abomination, fling it away from them, and tackle the Professor to the ground.
'WHAT THE KRIFFING HELLS IS SHE THINKING?!' He demanded internally, unable to comprehend how a woman as intelligent and practical as the Professor could have such a profound disregard for her personal safety that she would hold a
discordant biot in her hands- especially one at
that level of dismetaphysiosis. How it could even maintain coherance was beyond him, the fact it was sitting there in in her hands like an obediant pet was... a... miracle...
'No...' He thought, eyes widening as the horrific thought that the 'Sithspawn' they so casually refered to were actually biots
intentionally driven to dismetaphysiosis thundered through his mind.
'That's... that's preposterous! It's without poster! Completely and utterly absurd! That thing's going to unravel any second now!'
But it didn't. Given instruction, the creature autonomously moved under its own power, crawling away and slipping underneath the closed door keeping them out of the room. Moving as if it weren't a living violation of everything Valephor understood to be true about gene-shaping.
'How? HOW?!'
Life had to have balance. It was a simple fact. The Force could be used to shape life, but there were rules. Hard limits that, should one disregard, would result in catestrophe. It wasn't just about the level of distortion, but the manner in which it was preformed. Creating a biot was a long, painstaking process, requiring a delicate touch and immense focus. One always had to be aware of the balance inherent to life they were shaping, as even a single mistake could turn it from a tool into a weapon. When done properly, the result was graceful, elegant, efficient, and most of all
stable.
They were also
decidedly unintelligent. The greater a biot's intelligence, the more they resisted the process of shaping, meaning there was less room for one to push before it became unbalanced. Let alone a sapient, a creature even as capable of independent operation as the ones Professor Madrona had displayed so far would have been the work of generations, and even the slightest loss of balance would result in a hyper evolved abomination that hated life with a rabid and intollerable passion.
That
thing, however, was nothing
but unbalanced. A lifeform warped into a form entirely unsuited to it by sheer force of will. Like a piece of radioactive scrap metal beaten into the form of a crude blugeon. It was the sort of thing a young shaper might do due to a mixture of ignorance and stubornness. If one had presented him with such a thing, he would have been as terrified of holding what was akin to a living bomb as he was impressed that it hadn't blown up and killed them all yet.
Watching Professor Madrona treat these things with such utter casualness left him
concerned. Deeply, deeply concerned. He knew she was a capable individual, but it was just so dangerous! It was like watching someone juggle flaming vibroswords! Everything he knew about life-shaping told him such a thing was
profoundly unsafe! There was a non-trivial part of him that wanted to grab her and demand she explain herself if only to give
himself the piece of mind that things things weren't going to develop sudden mutations and turn on them.
Yet there was no doubt in his mind that if she were using them like this then they
must have been stable. Even if she were a complete moron (which was about as likely as Varin suddenly sprouting wings and breathing lightning, the woman was clearly a genius) it would not take her long to become intimately familiar with the consequences of carrying around unstable biots. And these were clearly creatures she'd used before.
Which left only one possibility: that the Sith had developed a form of biomancy that
depended on disharmony. Which was a bit like saying a species had decided to design starships propelled by atomic bombs. Utterly, completely, and irrevocably insane...
But undeniably fascinating!
-We find any that are Force sensitive and leave them alive, all else are forfeit. My pets will caretake their remains for later use.-
Valephor let out a squeak.
'WHAT? SHE HAS TELEPATHY TOO?! HAS SHE BEEN READING MY THOUGHTS THIS ENTIRE TIME?!' Horror overtook him, far greater than the fear of death he'd felt when he'd analyzed the Sithspawn.
'BUT MY THOUGHTS ARE FULL OF SIN!'
He looked at her in stark terror, only for the woman to not so much as glance in his direction as she handed him a breath mask. He took it mechanically, wordlessly putting it on. The clear screen did nothing to conceal his pitiful expression, the plastex magnifying and distorting his features like a funhouse mirror.
'Forgive this one, for its impure and lascivious thoughts! It will punish itself adequately when it returns to the academy!'
He tensed as he prepared for her derision, but nothing came. The Neti simply ignoring him.
'H-hello? Professor Madrona?'
...
'Hello?'
...
Still nothing.
...
Was it possible she couldn't
read thoughts, but only project them?
Tentatively, Valephor projected various images in his mind of increasing offense to test his theory. Violence and horrors of all kind, culiminating in a particularly graphic depiction of her Sithspawn pets being peeled apart, followed by a rather provacative display of someone using spit and a dirty cloth to clean beakers and test tubes.
'Hmmm, there must be something else...' He wracked his mind for an answer, only to freeze when the memory of her gift returned. But this time, instead of giving him a dagger, she laced her fingers through his...
Langhesi were already about as red as sapients could be, but if the burning in his cheeks was any indication, he was setting some kind of record. Sill, the good professor didn't so much as flinch, so he presumed his hypothesis correct. It was a fairly lewd image after all. Quite inappropriate. Especially considering their difference in status. He imagined she would be quite insulted to realize he was imaginging something as degenerate as handholding.
Well, at least now he knew she didn't know what he was thinking. Unless she knew he thought she knew what he was thinking, and just wanted him to think she didn't know that she knew what he thought. But if that were the case, then why would she let him know that it was theoretically possible for her to know what he thought? He supposed that it could be that she wanted him to think that she knew what he thought, only to trick him into
thinking it was a trick, thus ensuring he would never doubt that she didn't know what he thought. But in reality, she would not only know what he thought, she would also know he was convinced she didn't know that. Of course, if that were the case, then she'd still know he knew that she actually did know what he thought, because she would still know what he thought, and he was thinking that right now. Either way, it still didn't make any sense, because there was no reason to let him know he was playing a game of "I know you know I know" in the first place, much less let him get to the point of "I know you know I know that you tried to trick me into thinking that you didn't trick me into thinking that you didn't know what I thought". Therefore, there was no reason to think she knew what he thought at all.
...
Unless she knew he would think that-
Just then, a drunk stumbled down the hallway. By the time he'd turned his head, the drunk was dead, the hulking botanical Sithspawn consuming it on the spot. His eyes flicked to the creature nervously, refusing to examine it in depth; too scared of what he would find. It was one thing to know that it was discordant, it was an entirely different thing to know precisely
how discordant. He'd rather not spend the rest of the mission terrified it was going to literally explode and shower him in phytological gore.
The door opened with a click, revealing a well-appointed dining room like any other, save for the unconscious sapients litering the floor. It took him a moment to connect the dots, but the realization that she had, in fact, used the filtration system against the targets just as he'd planned caused pride to flare within him, both for himself and the professor. Of course she would have thought of such a thing well in advance.
... Unless she knew what he thought and only wanted him to think that she had thought of it first-
No. No down that path lay madness.
More impressive though, was how she had somehow dosed a room full of people of various ages, gender, and weights with a knockout gas without killing any of them. Generally speaking, anesthetics had to be administered in precise quantities tailored to the individual. He'd have to ask her how she accomplished that.
"
It seems we have a likely suspect for Force sensitivity," the Professor stated, her gaze fixed on a red-headed human child fighting to stay awake. "
Acolyte, confirm."
Obediently, the apostate rushed in after her, the door hissing shut behind him. He strode over to the boy, whose bright blue eyes widened in alarm at his presence, his chest rising and falling as he hyperventilated. "
It's okay young one," Valephor assured, his already slightly distorted voice further muffled by his mask as he knelt down beside him. "
Rejoice, for you have been chosen."
For some reason, the boy panicked harder. "M-muhmah," he muttered, shaking his head lightly from side to side as he fought to stay awake. "Muhmah, hehlp."
"
Shhhh," Valephor shushed the child, placing his hand on his forehead, but careful not to injure him with his long, black claws. "
Calm yourself. Your mother can't help you. Just relax and accept your new life. Trust me, its much easier that way."
Once more, this did not seem to calm the boy down, instead provoking more panic. But as a side affect of his deep breathing, he inhaled more and more gas, which quickly sent him unconscious.
"
Five thousand, seven hundred," the apostate informed. "
Force Sensitive, but not very. Also has an upper percentile LRP5 polymorphism."
Valephor's lips drew into a bitter line as he mulled over the boy's reaction. What was so scary about him anyway? Well, he
was wearing a black robe with the hood down. And Langhesi weren't an entirely common species. And he
was here to abduct him. And he was weilding a knife covered in blood-
Okay maybe he
was pretty scary at the moment.
The red-skinned humanoid stood, turning back to his professor and finding himself surrounded by discordant Sithspawn.
'Oh dear,' he thought.
'Oh good gracious. Oh dearie me. Please don't explode and kill us!'
To distract himself, Valephor whirled on the other forms and began the process of slitting throats. Not wanting to sully the Professor's gift, he used the blade of his tail. Conveniently, this meant he didn't have to lean down either, the result being a casual strole as he left behind corpse after corpse in his wake.
"
Oh, and before I forget, there are four more potentials another fifty meters that way," he informed, pointing in the direction of the signatures. He kept his voice low, not that he sensed anyone that near enough to hear him, but getting careless would be bad practice. "
After that, one more on the path we're on, and then two with the murky signature I informed you of before. With the similarity of the last two, I would surmise they are twins, and while I cannot count midi-chlorians from this range, they do have an... invigorated life force synonymous with those who have a strong or otherwise unique connection to the Force."
As before, they were getting closer to said murky signature, and he surmised that something was drawing Professor Madrona there. Whether she had a specific destination in mind and the signature was simply near it, or she was being drawn there he couldn't say. They continued to get further from the faint signature, but if its current course was any indication, that trend was going to reverse soon, though he couldn't say by how much. They seemed unlikely to encounter it unless something changed, or the Professor specifically went for it.
Regardless of her choice, Valephor was ready to follow and provide whatever meager assistance he could offer.
"Oh, and ah, something I've been wondering. Earlier you mentioned that the culling 'need not be wasteful', which is truth verging upon tautology, but the context carries a troubling implication," he admitted. "
You are not implying that standard practice is to conduct these attacks and leave behind perfectly good biomass like a bunch of primitive savages... right? I only ask because the crew of the Delight refused to so much as check, but I assumed that was because they were a bunch of lazy, small-minded pirates with no appreciation for knowledge." He scrunched his nose. "
Well, I think their religion might have forbidden it as well. They certainly went on enough about burial rights and 'defiling the dead'- you know, despite being mass-murderers. It was... annoying."
It was more than annoying. It was something that had upset him to no end. It was just a bunch of cells. Not like the dead needed them. He could understand if they had been friends or family, sentimentality was often illogical, but the crew had no connection to the ones they slaughtered. And if they cared so much, then why kill them in the first place? It seemed so arbitrary to him, as these things often did.
He knew now wasn't the time for such a lesson, but perhaps this was something the Professor could enlighten him on in-depth later.
Mercy
|
Lysander von Ascania
