“I mean, that saves us the effort of having to kill the poor thing, I suppose.” Stories examined the pool of gelatinous liquid that was now wobbling on the metal floor of the cage, a few stray rivulets oozing through the gaps.
“So. What’s your excuse this time, miss know-it-all? That’s oh-for-three, now.”
“Oh, and by the way - your bars are useless if there’s a chance that your subjects melt into a sludge. You could get Technology to replace the walls with some see-through metal alloy. Just a thought.”
“I don’t understand.”
Order buried her head in her hands. Adaptability was a good play. The ability he possessed was a perfect fit - in her mind, at least - for their purposes. The wuss hadn’t ever tried it out before (he believed it would be like announcing his presence to those after his life), but Life did confirm it with him at his inception. The ability to boost a mortal’s evolution speed – where the chains of time could be momentarily unshackled to allow the lifeform to access an accelerated rate of adaptability. Metaphorically speaking, that is – there wasn’t any manipulation of time during the process. The mortal being simply leapfrogged over millennia of trial-and-error to get to a state which was optimal for thriving in their current climate.
Her idea, therefore, was that if that ability could be transmitted over groups of mortals at a time using the methodology that Stories had discovered, the problem would be solved: all of those pesky short-lived would be given the tools they needed to overcome the obstacles in their path.
Live on a planet that has no water? You’d adapt to not require it. Your planet is filled with predators that surpass you in both cunning and strength? You’d be able to match them and fend them off. Rainfall that expressed itself as deadly spears of acid? Hard carapace of basic composition that nullifies the killer droplets.
So why was it that the dwarf had exploded? Or to be more specific, why had he liquefied? Could the composition of the fluid hold an explanation to what happened? She’d make a note to collect a sample before they left.
For now, all Order wanted to do was scream into her hands until she went hoarse.
“…is that puddle of goo following you?” Order jolted upwards at the moron’s words. What?
She snapped to the cage. Sure enough, the slime that had been a puddle just a moment prior was now standing up. In so far as a blob could stand, anyways. Like a wave of swamp-green that was suspended in mid-air.
Order took five steps to the left. The suspension shifted, like it was moving its body to keep in line with her.
“Is it alive?” Adaptability spoke out in wonder. “That’s kinda cool, actually.”
“Dwarf? Can you hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
The blob wobbled.
Now, was that a yes, or a no? It could be a simple unconscious reaction, a spasm by a long-dead dwarf, moving on instinct in its new form. Order placed a piece of lightstone in front of her, and two to the side.
“One for yes, two for no. Understood?”
The slime slithered out of the cage, placing itself squarely in front of the single lightstone. Ok, she thought. Rationality seems intact. He isn’t strangling us, in any case.
He should want to; but he isn’t.
“I want to try a few things out. Can you absorb that fragment of lightstone into your body?”
The liquid dwarf obliged, engulfing the shard into itself. She watched closely, looking for signs that the mineral was being broken down. After about a minute of observation, it was clear that nothing was going to happen.
“Thank you. Please eject it, and place it back at its original position.”
The piece of lightstone was carefully pulled out with a gelatinous tentacle and lowered to the ground, fully intact. With that, Order now had enough preliminary data to form a general conclusion about what had happened.
“It seems that my notes on the God of Adaptability needs to be… updated. His ability, which has otherwise never been formally used before in another setting, was to allow a mortal to adapt to its surroundings. Accelerated evolution to a point where your body can survive anything.”
The slime listened attentively.
“What I failed to consider, is that in some cases, an evolution looks more like a regression. A liquid body fulfils the criteria just as completely as a solid one; you can slip through small cracks – meaning that you’ll never be trapped in a situation where you’d starve to death. Stabbing, slashing or blunt attacks won’t cause you any pain, and the weapons would just harmlessly pass through you. You are able to retain your consciousness, yet you don’t have a visible cerebrum. I assume that you could suffocate any threats aiming for your life. And you are able to pick up rocks and store them within your body. I daresay you’ve been granted a constitution that specialises you for spelunking - exactly as you desired.”
The blob jiggled happily.
Order, on the other hand, wasn’t as elated as the slime dwarf.
“Which is good for you, but is otherwise useless for us. An absolute failure.”
“What d’ya mean? It understands what you’re saying, it’s nigh unkillable, it probably doesn’t even need to consume food to survive; I think the results speak for themselves! Full marks!”
“God of Stories and Creativity; please cease your jesting. It can’t speak. It doesn’t look like anything but a suspension of liquid. Beauty, while seemingly irrelevant to the lifespan of a mortal, is what separates a precious gem, from a worthless rock. This? This result is a worthless rock. It is not what the God of Life and Creation is aiming for.”
And that was all that needed to be said.
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“Grendle? He’s dead, probably. Thought he saw some meteorite land somewhere outside the farming area, and ran off before I could stop him. An Acquirer team went off in the direction he was running off in to confirm the meteorite sighting, but… nothing. Couldn’t even find his bones. The wild rocktin are probably rejoicing at the unexpected feast this time of year.” Terrin tore off a piece of rocktin and shovelled it into his mouth.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Grendle’s replacement had been curious about what had happened to his predecessor, and the older dwarf didn’t see anything wrong with telling the young’un about the cautionary tale of Grendle the Fool over lunch.
“But I hear that the Evaluators think he’s still out there! There haven’t been surface Acquirers for weeks since his disappearance, but every three days, at the same time, a fist sized jewel, polished to a mirror shine, was left just next to the rocktin pens!” The junior piped up, brimming with childish glee.
Terrin frowned. The boy obviously thought that it was a viable strategy to forsake your people and go subsist off the sparse resources in the wilderness.
Best to nip this in the bud - or he’d soon have another unfortunate death on his hands.
“Bah! That’s just a myth. Or more likely, a prank by one of the younger Acquirers. A perfectly polished gem, just lying out in the open like that? He’s a Farmer, not a Polisher or a Refiner! Besides, there’s no way he could still be alive; what would he eat? Where would he sleep? Shut up and eat your rocktin.”
The junior, deflated, returned to his lunch, playing with the hunk of meat with a wooden fork. Terrin chewed his mouthful as well, feeling the juices seep into his cheeks. He couldn’t help but think about the rumour now that his understudy had brought it up.
Terrin didn’t hate Grendle; sure, he had his head in the clouds most of the time, but he was… refreshing in his pursuit of his dreams. Untainted by resignation, even after being placed in the loser team. It was comforting to imagine the boy surviving somewhere out there, taming the wild rocktin and chewing on fronds of lichen. But one had to face facts eventually.
He was definitely dead.
Right?
==========================================
Grendle the Slime was living the dream.
His new body was perfect for cave-diving. He’d learnt that if he focused hard enough on an object he was smothering, the composition of his body would miraculously shift to melt through what he wished to break down. Grendle didn’t need a pickaxe to create a tunnel; he was the pickaxe. On top of that, he’d noticed after a day or two that this action of excavation through digestion was literally, actually digestion; his body was somehow extracting nutrients from the microscopic bits of minerals that were left behind, converting it to energy, solving any food concerns he might have had.
He didn’t need to breathe, and could effortlessly pass through pockets of natural gas that would have suffocated any other Acquirer in his shoes. Best of all, he was a one-man gem collecting and processing machine! Any jewel deposit could be dislodged from its position with the melting capabilities of his slime body, and the remaining hunks of stone still clinging to his prize would dissolve off with a short soaking in his core. All it took was his paltry dwarven existence in exchange – a small price to pay for what he now was.
Sure, he could never come into contact with another dwarf as long as he lived (which from the God’s estimates were somewhere around five times the average dwarven lifespan); not unless he wanted to reduce his former people to masses of wobbling liquid like he now was. The God of Order and Knowledge was thorough enough with her warnings. After they’d tried to incinerate him, of course. Grendle saw it more as a compromise rather than the benevolence of a God, since his slime form could split and slither away into miniscule gaps in the ground as uncountable droplets of fluid, which all held a copy of his consciousness.
However, the self-imposed isolation wasn’t a big deal to him – he was content with leaving his spoils where the dwarves could find them. It wasn’t like a Farmer-turned-Acquirer would have been noticed by other dwarves anyways – he’d soon fade into the background as just another face. But as a mysterious jewel contributor, on the other hand, he’d live on forever in the minds of those that passed on the rumour of his existence.
Grendle was finally an Acquirer; just as he wanted.
==========================================
“Alright, that’s three down, fifty thousand Gods to go. Who’s next, boss?”
The two were now back at Order’s log cabin, deciding on the next course of action after the spectacular failure of Order’s third attempt. She didn’t quite feel like going down all the way to the Library; it now stood as a reminder that for all her supposed intellectual trappings, her selections were all complete disappointments.
“No one.”
“Huh? Whaddaya mean, no one? You said that this whole thing is a lengthy process of trial and error, right? Stop sulking, get back on the saddle, and go pick out a few more candidates!”
Order glared at the lesser God, who was understandably perplexed by her sudden change in demeanour. As if she didn’t know that. As if she didn’t understand that there were bound to be Gods that wouldn’t match the criteria.
“It means that I’m done. Let me explain this in a way that would make sense to you. Take the problem that we’re currently attempting to answer, as an empty well. This hypothetical well requires around forty thousand bucketfuls to fill to its brim. With the God of Life and Creation’s method as it stands, it attempts to fill it – by himself, at that – with a teaspoon a day. Nonetheless, it isn’t out of the question to complete the task with his methods. But at the rate he’s going - assuming the water within doesn’t evaporate while he’s preparing the next teaspoon – it would take an absurdly long period of time to achieve his goal. My method, on the other hand, substitutes the teaspoon for a cup.”
“Don’t you see? They’re equally futile.” Order got up from her seat, letting the chair scrape and screech unpleasantly against the wooden ground, and trudged towards the door.
“I’m throwing in the towel. The problem can’t be solved. Let’s go tell the God of Life and Creation that we’re giving up.”