The Wild Ba’Neesh Chapter Fifty-Five ©2019 Fay Thompson All Rights Reserved

After Mick stood for a few minutes next to Brad, Sofia tugged at his claw. Mick looked down to find her staring up at him. “You ready, Fuck Mick?” She asked.

He shook his head, noting his neck muscles were returned to sore suggesting his Vrill bliss and pain killers were wearing off. “Call me Mick, Sofia.” He said firmly, even though his words came out a mixture of English and Neesh to his own ears.

She tugged again, without answering him, leading him past the dead Ba’Neesh to walk unsteadily forward. He could tell that alone she could have danced and spun and ran circles around him. She didn’t, her grip on his claw remained firm.

He took a quick glance down his body to be sure his private bits were hidden. He could feel that his jones was tucked up inside his groin, like he’d seen with some animals and his other bits had pulled upward too. Still there but hidden. It felt less awkward to check with his own eyes. What he saw of himself was rapidly growing fur, no longer the downy fluff of what seemed moments ago, hidden then under clothing.

He debated if he should find clothing. His mind rejected the idea as an artifact of human skin, no longer his concern. He straightened, realizing his back, though still tender, was no longer so heavy or strained although his balance had shifted toward the front of his talon pads as if he were permanently leaning forward. He rotated his head hearing more popping sounds as Sofia tugged him into the crowd of youngers who formed around him with curious eyes. He was aware he was trailing the guardian Soek, seven of them, Hans remained behind. He noted that his former boots were on Otto’s feet and the Soek’s gait was less pained. His thoughts continued to flit from detail to detail as Sofia began to chatter at him, introducing other youngers, talking about the various shades of light in the rays of sunlight, how the dirt on the ground held living bugs. She didn’t seem to need any input from him but he noted that her words activated discussion among the other youngers.

It was like their mouths had been trapped, silenced and now they were making up for it. He focused on not falling, on being led. He felt a sense of familiarity toward Sofia that grew with each step. He’d known her before, been waiting for her. He hadn’t known that. He fumbled with the odd thought, the recognition across time. She was Sofia. She would lead all of these youngers, was already leading. Sofia at five. He needed to store this exact memory as special. Sofia at five.

His joints continued to pop as they realigned under his forward movement. Behind him the cluster of Mael, Elias, Karl, Brad, Aenor, Jeffrey and the Ba’Neesh watched. Iiyiko, as was her wont, had vanished without warning.

“What is she telling him?” Mael asked. He knew. He could hear Sofia as there were now five drones following the strange figure that was Mick-in-alter surrounded by a flowing sea of Ba’Neesh youngers from five and older, all walking with him and talking in Neesh mixed with German sprinkled with English words. Anya kept whispering to him some of the meaning, the description of chattering leaves on the nearby trees, how grass felt under hoof, why the sky was a blue color, where the clouds came from, would they leave soon.

“She’s lubricating his joints.” Jeffrey said, “Note how his walking is improving with each step and how his head is surveying everything, as if seeing the world through Sofia’s eyes. He’s listening. I would guess we should all now listen to Sofia.” In fact, he noted, they were all listening to Sofia who continued to chatter requiring no input from Mick at all.

“Two of those drones are nationals on International broadcast.” Brad said, directing everyone’s attention upward. “The world is watching this and according to the media stats, they are tightly focused on every possible outlet channel. Mick and a younger on walk-about because clearly that was what it was.”

“Are you saying the drones can’t fly through the Turtle?” Mael asked, his curiosity whetted.

“It appears not, not even ours.” Brad nodded. “Apparently the Turtle registers some uncertainty about the intentions of mechanicals. A suggestion it is aware that the handlers of drones can be shifted turning a friendly into an enemy.”

“But,” Mael mulled over the larger question this posed, “Wouldn’t these Soek be equally questionable? No one has directed compulsion at them for most of the day, or have they?” He could see the uncertainty and even fear in the facial expressions of many of the Soek that the drone feeds were picking up on while Mick passed near to them.

“They youngers are practicing an ‘assist Mick’ on them and have been since leaving the facility.” Brad said. “How affective they are and have been remains fascinating.” He was finding the behaviors of the Turtle incredibly interesting. He could feel it. It was not an it, it was a someone. Who was it? Someone’s were individuals or perhaps collectives. A reasoning Turtle. It seemed the longer the sigil existed manifest, the stronger its identity grew. Had this been what happened in the Math Department at Citadel? He was certain that sigil had become stronger and more individual over time. He was equally certain the sigils were not identical.

“Mael?” Brad turned on his friend, “You have worn two Turtles, and sat for years under The Sigil. Are each as different as I now suspect?”

Both Mael and Anya turned to Brad as each of them were wearing one of the Turtle Shell Defensive sigils on their heads.

“Mine is a soft presence, young, vigilant, watchful.” Anya said first, her tone curious. It was as if the cap she wore were an unexamined surprise, now exposed by the massive presence all of them recognized above them.

“I was young when I worked that,” Mael said thoughtfully. “Mine is older, it feels…” He hesitated. “It feels like a Beloved, like when the hemisphere passed through the field of Channels in Citadel that day, like someone attached to the hemisphere. My turtle is female. I think she is Ba’Neesh in Beloved state. Why didn’t I notice that before? When I grew, she matured her awareness as well. She is vital and strong. I didn’t know I carried a link until this moment. I had simply accepted the physicality of the turtle shell without really questioning the nature of it.”

“Like Edda?” Jeffrey asked, they were all watching the shifting movement of the thing that clung to Mick’s back, as if it were changing, flexing, testing itself while he walked.

“Less powerful than Edda.” Mael frowned. “I think I picked up trace or a link. There is a whole Beloved somewhere that I’m wearing a link to. Why didn’t I know this? Why haven’t I sought her out?

“To do what?” Brad asked.

“I don’t know. It seems important though. She’s on my head and no doubt informing my brain, my Vrill, my choices.” Mael was a bit disturbed by this realization.

“Like the bone Mick wears for Iiyiko?” Elias offered. He was feeling jealousy of these links so many of the Soek now had in the form of a bone to a Beloved, given by the Ba’Neesh to selected Soek. Where was his?

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“Yes.” Mael said, nodding, his facial expression clearing a bit. “Only mine is permanently attached, like she is riding me, a free ride.” He looked over to where Karl stood, absent of Freya on his shoulders. It was curious, he now expected to see Freya on Karl’s shoulders as a matter of course. It was as if the two of them had an agreement, a partnership.

He looked past Karl to where Freya sat next to Steffi’s dead body. She was talking to Steffi in Neesh. How odd. He looked toward the other dead Ba’Neesh to find each of their body parts attended by a Citadel Ba’Neesh and all of them seemed to be talking to the body parts. Clearly they were attending their dead. He looked up, the massive sigil turtle felt stronger and less thinned out, as if resting over so many Soekinesis were feeding it. Time and Vrill. What were they all summoning with these turtles? Who were they summoning if not Channels?

Mick and Sofia had made a large circle and were heading back toward the Citadel group when word passed that the first of the distant transports had landed, the youngers were coming.

Mick and Sofia turned outward toward the landing area well beyond the sigil border. Ba’Neesh led Army Soek through the sigil to form a hedged tunnel that reached from the landing area to the sigil. The youngers, clearly visible on the drone footage on Brad’s system, came out of the aircraft running, yelling, pointing and heading toward the tunnel.

Mael noted that Mick and Sofia stood exactly at the end of that tunnel. Planned? It hadn’t felt intellectually planned to him, yet, there the pair stood. A pair. A fifteen-year-old altering Soek and a five-year-old Ba’Neesh, holding hands and facing the incoming youngers. Brad said this first load was from Oxine and like with the Fels release, the first through the tunnel were near Sofia’s age, running as if their legs couldn’t stretch fast enough. They skidded to a clattering halt before Mick.

Everyone watched as each younger looked up at him and announced their name and age, then they sprinted off to dive into the Fels youngers, to be absorbed.

“They are telling Mick they have arrived.” Brad finally got it. This wasn’t a prank like Mick had said, this was something else.

The older Ba’Neesh, trailing the younger ones, some carrying infants walked instead of running, into the Turtle. Each of them looked up to stare a long moment at the invisible Turtle before walking forward. Every single Ba’Neesh was introduced, the older’s speaking for those too young to speak themselves.

Sofia continued chattering to Mick, a running dialogue as this flow passed around the island that was Mick, Sofia and his guards. She told him that certain Ba’Neesh were carrying, that others were for the crèche, as she said. Mick didn’t answer, he was absorbing every face, every name, every age.

“He’s remembering them.” Elias said, somewhat awed. “No one can be expected to know so many names and ages and if Sofia is right, so many dispositions. But, Mick is receiving.”

There wasn’t anything ceremonial about this arrival or the next half dozen that followed. The youngers simply ran, as if knowing the path. On the perimeter, the guarding Ba’Neesh teams walked outward to expand the Turtle further, to receive more and more. Eventually, all of the Tule Soc Ba’Neesh stood together under one sigil. They were loud and mobile.

Mick and Sofia continued to wait. The tunnel of Army Soek didn’t budge.

“Mick’s foster parents are on that next aircraft.” Brad said to Mael. So is Thorne, Jordy and a cadre of DireSec operatives.

“He knew.” Mael observed.

“He knows.” Brad corrected. It was odd seeing Mick standing in one place with the chatty Sofia. His friend kept moving his arms, shoulders, neck and Brad could imagine joints popping as the boy’s alter continued. He guessed at the pain.

Before the aircraft could disgorge its full load, which included a group of important national people and military as well, a lone figure trotted out of a small floater to glare at the Soek tunnel before racing down it as if all the fires of hell were on his trail. He slid to a halt before Mick.

“Mick?” Rojer scowled at the bizarre figure standing next to a younger. “What the fuck happened to you?” He asked. He knew, somewhat. Or at least he had listened to intel and seen some footage but that hadn’t prepared him for the sight of Mick up close, nothing could have done that.

“Rojer.” Mick said. “This is Sofia. You should offer respect.”

Rojer’s glare intensified. Sofia was not an adult Ba’Neesh. He knew the rules, a Soek only did the nose-scraping thing to adult Ba’Neesh. He opened his mouth to refuse when Sofia said, “Die Stimme?” It was both analysis and demand. Rojer tried to comprehend what she was compelling out of him, a younger. He hesitated. A voice from a Soek behind Mick said, “the Voice?”. Clearly a translation.

Then Rojer heard the distinct sound of movement behind him. His father arriving with a shit ton of muckity mucks. Better to get this respect shit over before his father saw him and was embarrassed for or by him.

Rojer flung himself down. “I’m here to serve you, Sofia.” He threw the words up sarcastically.

“Liar.” She answered, brightly. “You are here to serve Mick, Rojer Kirsan, not your true name, not a true Soek.” Her words were in German. Otto coughed up a translation to the confusion on Rojer’s face.

Rojer lurched back to his feet. “Not my damn fault, Sofia. I didn’t ask to be born.” He nearly yelled at her.

“Did too.” She yelled back. “You late, as always.”

Rojer heard the translation and frowned. What did she know about him? She knew something. He inhaled. He desperately wanted to know how he had come to exist. He knew the mechanics of what had happened but no one, not even his father, could explain what went wrong. Not really. She knew something. He lost some of his attitude.

“Mick?” He asked.

“Over here Rojer.” Mick picked out each word, recognizing his voice was much worse that even minutes before. “You must be my voice you rat bastard.” It was a strange invitation.

Rojer processed the rat bastard. He was kind of. He knew himself to be nearly unapologetically flawed. He sidled over to stand next to Mick. “Your voice sucks.” He said aloud.

“Yeah. I believe you will be learning Neesh, Rojer.” Mick answered, “You won’t like it, the language involves non-linear leaps since you cannot hear the Ba components. You are handicapped, likely another Ba’Neesh punishment of you. Retribution? Your observation skills must improve rapidly. I don’t have a lot of time left with normal language.”

Rojer glared around at the masses of Ba’Neesh who all seemed to be staring at him, most with snide amusement on their faces. Punishment? Retribution? What had he done and when? That was the question. What did Mick mean, exactly?

Then the entourage, or at least those able to pass through the sigil’s invisible perimeter began to arrive. Turns out three quarters of the nationals and military were deemed unfit and prevented, turned back to much heated argument. There was no mechanism for debate. You couldn’t really talk to a sigil unless you were Soek, none of these were.

Thorne counted himself lucky to be allowed past. He felt a burn, as if the sigil were warning him. It was scary. He led the Minister forward, trailing the two humans that were Mick’s foster parents. Prior to arrival there had been agreements and most of those left outside the perimeter had been present more as jailers than as guests, to maintain control over the parents except they made the mistake of allowing the illusion of the parent’s freedom by having the parents go first. They were now left behind, surrounded by a green Army sprinkled with monsters. They backed away slowly, retreating toward the uncertain safety of their aircraft.

Mick was focused on his foster parents, more precisely, on his mother. She looked terrible. Anxious or maybe even terrified of the surrounding creatures. His father on the other hand had his facial expression under control, as usual.

His mother reached him and didn’t recognize him. But, it was clear she was meant to stop by the surrounding enclosing bodies, now quieting to watch and listen.

She looked over at him, breathing funny.

“Mom?” Mick forced the word into English.

She stared and then burst into tears, shaking her head.

Mick turned to Rojer who leaned in to listen. He told Rojer what to say.

“Welcome.” Rojer’s beautiful voice spoke. “Mick offers his greetings and is thankful of your safe arrival. Be not disturbed by his appearance or the oddness of his voice. He is well. You are safe here.” Rojer looked over at his own father, now coming up behind the parents. His father’s expression was irritated. Rojer lifted his chin, he was the Voice.

(Ahh, Sofia. She is delicious. There are characters whose stories arc across the several books in this series, she is one, can you tell? ::grins:: Rojer, of course, is also one, the sneaky rat bastard. I like when things come together.)