Then
“There’s no way that’s ‘peak human’,” Remy said.
“I’ve got to agree,” Cal said.
“Comics peak human was always low level superhuman anyways,” Eron said.
The three brothers were seated at the kitchen table watching Nila entertain the kids with some, frankly, ridiculous feats of balance and acrobatics.
Tessa and Veronica cheered as Nila jumped up onto the six-foot tall brick wall from a standstill. She ran across the wall’s length until she was lined up with the trampoline in the middle of the backyard. She turned her back to it and jumped backwards, tucked into a perfect back flip and cleared the safety net, which enclosed the trampoline. One more bounce on trampoline and she flipped up and out of their view to land somewhere on the roof.
“That’s some bullshit, right there,” Eron said. “She could totally win every gold medal in gymnastics.”
“The weird thing is she was never that athletically coordinated. I’d go so far to say that she was the exact opposite,” Cal said.
Eron looked like he was deep in thought. “How much is she benching now?”
“She’s repping 585, ten times.”
“I don’t know how Olympic weightlifting works, but that sounds like she’d win those medals too.” Eron shook his head. “Speed?”
“10.12 in the 100 meters.”
“At least she can’t win the Olympics in that,” Eron said.
“She can do like twelve of those back-to-back before she even starts getting tired,” Cal said.
“More like movie Captain America than comic book Captain America,” Remy said.
“Hence, my choice of superhero name.”
“Not happening, Eron,” Cal said.
“But it’s so perfect.”
“So, what’s the general plan?” Remy turned to Eron.
“Eh, nothing set in stone. I’m just going to stick close to the five. Kill monsters, fight bad guys. Maybe help any people I come across if it doesn’t take too long.”
“I did some calculations. With your super jumping you can get down there in a couple of hours if you didn’t stop,” Remy said.
Eron shrugged. “I guess so, but I’m pretty sure there’ll be interruptions. Leaving aside the monsters, I’ll be passing through some heavily populated areas. That’ll probably slow me down.”
“Yeah,” Cal agreed. “There’s no way of knowing what you might find. There might be bad guys with dangerous powers. We’ve been lucky so far that we’re the only ones in the area in that regard. It’s better to be cautious.”
Remy nodded. “Big fish, small pond.”
“Maybe… but I’m thinking I should get there quick. Haven’t talked to the family in a few months,” Eron said.
Cal shook his head. “I’m worried too, but not that worried, you know?”
“They’re probably okay,” Remy said. “Mom’s got force fields, Dad’s a brick and Rayna controls gravity. It’s a great combo.”
“Man… why did we, as a family, get so lucky?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to take it and run,” Cal said.
“Right, but what if there’s a downside to it? Like the greater the power the higher the cost,” Eron said.
“I’ve thought about that too,” Remy said. “But I keep going back to the fact that it’s out of our control. We got the powers that we got, we didn’t have a choice, so the only thing we can do is use them to protect our family and others.”
“Well, seeing as how we won’t be seeing you for a while,” Cal got up from the table and went to his pack against the nearby wall, “how bout some drinks,” he fished out a bottle of Laphroaig, his favorite. “Single malt scotch. Grabbed it from my apartment the other day when I was checking out those reports of weird things in the river.”
“You know there are liquor stores in town that don’t necessitate crossing the river,” Remy said as he grabbed some clean glasses from his kitchen cupboards.
“I checked, didn’t have it.” Cal gave everyone a generous pour. He held up his glass. “So, I guess good luck!”
“Yeah, I’ll try not to die or you know, not accidentally do something that unleashes a great and terrible horror upon the land,” Eron said.
“C’mon,” Remy groaned, “why did you have to go there?”
Eron’s cackling laughter accompanied the clinking of their glasses.
“Nah, just kidding. I’m sure it’ll be a boring trip. Worst things will probably be monsters like that wyvern and I can handle those,” Eron grinned. “Solar Paragon, remember, all that sun I’ll be getting can only be a good thing. What can go wrong?”
----------------------------------------
Now
“Designation: Honor’s instructions indicate that you are to be in charge of the special candidates in the event that he was incapacitated,” Interrogator Ebbing Tides 2337 said.
“I do not understand,” Caretaker said.
“The next group of candidates are scheduled to arrive tomorrow. Designation: Honor will not be able to discharge his responsibilities. Per his instructions, you will take his place.”
“Are you not Honor’s assistant?”
“No, I am not. I have been tasked by Prime Custodian 3 to work adjacent to Designation: Honor to handle the administrative duties in the operation of this project and facility.”
Caretaker thought they detected a slight twitch to one of the interrogator’s eyes. The interrogator’s manner angered Caretaker. They refused to look at them. They merely kept their eyes staring forward. It was the standard way proper Threnosh interacted with defectives, if they were forced to. Most Threnosh didn’t have to even look at defectives, who were kept isolated from normal Threnosh society.
Thinking of the word brought forth a flash of heat that Caretaker felt travel up from their stomach to their chest. They had gotten used to Honor treating them with respect. They mastered their anger. It wouldn’t serve them to display it in front of the interrogator.
If the interrogator informed the prime then Caretaker ran the risk of losing their place in the project. That was something they didn’t want. They had finally found a purpose and they would do anything to keep it.
“Very well,” Caretaker said.
They then turned away from Interrogator Ebbing Tides 2337 and resumed their practice.
Caretaker felt strange moving through a series of strikes with the bladed weapon that Honor had the fabricator make for them. While in their other hand they held a large metal disk meant for defense. Sword and board, Honor had called it at first, which he had then amended to sword and shield. The latter terminology they understood better.
It was frustrating to go through the moves without an actual opponent. Instead, Honor had told them to visualize an opponent. Caretaker kept trying, but they were finding it nearly impossible.
They concentrated on delivering the slashes and stabs the way that Honor had showed them. They kept the shield close to their power armored body to ward off imagined enemy attacks.
Caretaker stopped mid move and allowed a frown to crease their brow.
Honor was a poor teacher, by his own admission he was a novice in his own right. Perhaps that was the source of Caretaker’s frustration? Perhaps Honor’s suggestion to find ancient texts detailing the Threnosh’s more barbaric ancestors’ methods of combat and somehow combine them with the training simulation programs was necessary? It was a vague idea that Honor tended to throw out without thought or concern. It was the antithesis to the Threnosh way in which actions taken were tied to the near-perfect probability of success.
The thought brought Caretaker short. It was something that they would need to discuss further with Honor. If the opportunity arose.
They reset their stance and tried to repeat the same move. Block an attack with the shield and follow it up with a descending slash of the sword.
They went through the move mechanically. It didn’t flow, whatever that meant. Caretaker didn’t quite fully comprehend what Honor had said. Something about each move being performed in sequence without a pause, no matter how slight, in between.
“What purpose does this shield serve, when my trueskin already protects me?”
A mantisor’s scything forelimb flashed through Caretaker’s thoughts. It would’ve cut right through their trueskin like it did to Primal’s and Shira’s. If it did that then the shield would’ve been useless.
Unless… Caretaker concentrated until they could picture a mantisor rushing at them with a scythe-like forelimb cutting from high to low across their body.
In one outcome without the shield the forelimb cleaved straight through their trueskin.
In another Caretaker’s predictive algorithm guided them into stepping forward and meeting it with the shield. They pushed, deflected the scythe-like forelimb to one side. The shield’s curved surface prevented the forelimb from finding purchase as it skipped off. They continued the motion of their body with the sword in their other hand coming around with a sweeping slash that decapitated the mantisor.
“Interesting,” Caretaker murmured.
They returned to their practice with renewed effort. Killing the enemy from a distance was still the preferred method of fighting. Especially with how invasive organisms, as a whole, lacked long-range offensive capabilities. However, there was merit to melee combat depending on the situation.
Still, Caretaker reminded themselves that they didn’t have a trueskin that repaired itself and the Threnosh inside like Shira’s. They would be foolish to try to fight the way their teammate did.
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Freedom was a strange thing. Naturally one that had never known it, never knew what they had missed. No, that wasn’t correct. It was what had been denied to them.
Frequency walked slowly through the forest surrounding the facility. The sounds of nature all around them filled their chest cavity with something that they couldn’t describe. What they did know was that they liked it and they never wanted to have anything else within them.
Their trueskin was what made this possible. The Threnosh regional leader that had charge over them had denied Frequency access to the trueskin. Defectives had no value to the greater collective of the Threnosh. Thus they had deemed that there was no value in Frequency utilizing it.
To think that they would never have known what it was to hear without their trueskin.
Something had gone wrong in Frequency’s creche pod. They emerged without the ability to hear. Their biological auditory system simply didn’t work. Of course such things happened, though extremely rare. A minuscule percentage of a percent. They were immediately transferred to a place with the rest of their kind. Subjected to a sort of benign neglect. Sufficient food and shelter. Taught the basic things expected of all Threnosh. Yet, forever exiled from that very same society.
None of that mattered now. Honor was true to his word. If they passed the test they were free to do what they wished when not on a task. Even then they received the direct rewards of any Tasks the spires gave to them. No other Threnosh could control that. Not anymore.
And so Frequency chose to spend their free time wandering the forest. They let the sounds of animals wash over them. The calls and chitters of birds and rodents as they flapped through the trees and scampered through the brush. The crunch of leaves and twigs underneath their boots.
Frequency stopped suddenly. They listened as a bird called out. A moment later another bird replied. A mental command to their trueskin had it record the two birds as they went back and forth for several minutes.
A moment of inspiration. Frequency used their trueskin to copy the first bird’s vocalizations, which they then began broadcasting from one of the speaker-like devices recessed into their armored shoulder.
It took some time adjusting the pitch and volume until Frequency knew that it was the exact copy. How they knew? They couldn’t explain. If pressed all they could say was that it sounded right.
They played the bird call as they continued their walk through the forest.
Ten minutes later they shut it off. After the third bird dived at them with aggression they realized that the sound wasn’t a friendly one, at least to other birds.
The discovery prompted them to begin recording every sound that the forest provided. They recalled what Honor had said about their role in the team. Their experiences since that first fight had given them a better grasp of what he meant and what their trueskin was capable of.
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“I am Frequency,” they called out in a conversational tone. “I AM FREQUENCY!” They shouted as loud as they could.
The words sounded odd in their ears. Their voice was still off. They didn’t sound like the others. Their words, their pronunciation was garbled.
Frequency let loose a sigh. Their eyes widened and they looked around them. Then they realized that they were alone. There were no minders around to chastise and admonish them for defective behaviors.
“I am free,” they said softly.
The words were just a little bit clearer than before. Frequency felt that same pleasant feeling inside their chest.
“I am not defective. As Honor says, I am different. The world is greater than I have been told. I have purpose and I am not beholden to those that deem me of no value.”
Frequency walked through the forest. They listened to all the sounds around them. Savoring each one like a thirsty man savors each drop of water. They talked about nothing and everything just to hear the sound of their voice. It didn’t matter if it was garbled it was the best sounds they had ever heard and they were improving, slowly, but steadily.
Caretaker spent their free time trying to fill-in Honor’s role with the new arrivals. Primal fought. Kynnro studied everything in the archives concerning Honor. Shira was recovering.
Frequency wondered if the others had found the same feeling in their beings. They supposed that they would all be different and they thought that fitting.
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Primal tromped through the blackened ground. Bits of charred wood and puffs of ash flew up with each thudding step their trueskin made.
The diminutive Threnosh, even when compared to the standard Thrensoh, was uncomfortably warm inside the control chamber in the torso. The damage done by the mantisor boss was catastrophic and they hadn’t been able to obtain a heavy transport to take them all the way to the spire. Hence the lack of perfect repairs.
The engineer and fabricator seemed to think that they had done a perfect job in simply getting Primal’s trueskin operational to minimum combat standard.
Primal grit their teeth. It struck them as odd that heavy transport was authorized to take them to and from Spawn Zone 315349 on a daily basis, yet Interrogator Ebbing Tides 2337 continuously claimed that transport to the spire was unavailable.
There would be no trip to the spire without Honor. That was clear. The thought made Primal grumble. Honor said they would have freedom if they defeated the mantisor boss. Yet, they didn’t truly have it. They were still in a cage, just a lot larger now. Prime Custodian 3 was just as much a jailer as their former leader.
As much as the thought bothered Primal. They realized that Honor was the only path to true freedom.
The small group of mantisors that came charging from out of nowhere surprised Primal.
They chastised themselves for becoming distracted. The damage and less than ideal repairs to their trueskin had left it with a severely limited sensor system. They had visual, audio and communications, but nothing else. It wasn’t a big concern. The fire destroyed anything that the organisms could’ve used to camouflage their presence. If they paid attention they could see them coming.
Primal swung their bow at the lead mantisor. They caught it mid leap. The indestructible metal folded the monsters in two. It crashed to the ground a good distance away. From the way its lower half wasn’t moving, Primal knew that they had broken its back.
They swung the bow in short arcs to keep the mantisors at bay.
One jumped and Primal punched out with their left fist. At least that’s what they tried to do. They had forgotten in the moment that their trueskin’s arm was back at the base. The engineer and fabricator had been unable to reattach it and make it functional.
The mantisor landed on Primal’s chest and stabbed down with both scythe-like claws. The armor, original and patchwork, held. The claws threw sparks into the air as they skidded off.
Primal grunted. These standard variants were significantly weaker than the mantisor boss. They flopped to the ground and crushed the mantisor underneath a heavy, unyielding weight.
The other mantisors jumped on Primal’s prone back, so they did the natural move and rolled over. More mantisors were crushed.
Primal rose to their feet with a whine of protest from the interior machinery of their trueskin. They surveyed the battlefield and promptly stomped the life out of the mantisors that still lived.
They went for the head as Honor had advised.
Caretaker had thought Primal foolish for seeking battle without a fully functioning weapon system. They had no guns, no grenade launcher. All they had was their bow, a quiver of arrows and their trueskin’s immense strength.
It was enough for Primal. They could not stay at the facility and wait day after day without being inside their trueskin. It was all that mattered to them. If the most amount of time they could spend within was in battle. Then they would seek it.
Whether these mantisors were ones that they had missed or had been in the mountains or the spawn zone had already begun spawning new ones days after the team had defeated the boss, Primal didn’t care. They were grateful that they could spend their days in battle, while they waited.
In this, Caretaker’s words didn’t matter. Primal’s Trueskin was created to fight, thus they were also meant to fight.
Primal grudgingly gave a thought of thanks to Honor for providing a path to this purpose.
----------------------------------------
Shira paced the length of their small recuperation chamber in the facility’s medical section. Three meters long and half again as wide. There was a bed and a space to wash and relieve themselves. Such things were relics from before the trueskins came in the arrival of the spires over ten years ago.
Shira wasn’t born until three years after the spires appeared. If they weren’t a defective then this would’ve likely been the first time that they’d laid eyes on the narrow, upright cylinder set into the wall. As it stood, they knew how it use it. That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that they were being kept away from their trueskin under the recommendation from the virtual intelligence that governed the medical protocols.
Thus Shira was confined to this chamber, without their trueskin and without an exoskeleton.
Normally a Threnosh without the aid of an exoskeleton would tire quickly from simply moving around. Their bodies were just that frail and fragile. They wouldn’t have been inconvenienced by being trapped in the small room. They simply wouldn’t have the energy and strength to do more than rest in bed, eat and maintain the bare minimum of their bodily functions.
Shira frowned. They didn’t realize how much they had come to rely on their trueskin to take care of much of those things.
The thought of their trueskin brought a snort of frustration out of their nose holes.
They were clearly well enough to be let free. The V.I. had not encountered anything like them. It based its treatment procedures on standard Threnosh.
Shira was clearly different. They knew this fact. For one thing they felt good and strong. Pacing back and forth nonstop, did not steal the breath from their lungs. It did not bring pain to their tiny muscles.
Shira stopped short when they caught their reflection on the shiny surface of the wall. It was distorted, but they could clearly see that their body was different. Their muscles looked bigger, more defined. Before they were able to truly utilize their trueskin, they had the same stick-like figure of the normal Threnosh.
Honor pushed them to fight in order to upgrade their trueskins. Was their trueskin doing the same to them in return?
Shira thought the answer must be the affirmative. There was no other explanation. They were changing along with their trueskin.
They ran a tongue across their teeth. They were careful because their canine teeth had grown pointed and sharp. Another change.
An alarm chimed and Shira went over to the nutrient dispenser. They took the small cylinder with the liquid meant to fill their nutritional needs for the day. They gulped it down at once.
It did nothing to fill the growing hunger in their stomach.
Again the V.I. showed its lack of knowledge.
Shira realized that a stronger body required more nutrients. They thought of informing the V.I., but decided against it. They had a dim view on the standard Threnosh leadership. If they reported the changes they were undergoing then it was likely that the Collective would seek to study them. This would take them away from their trueskin and the only purpose that mattered to them.
It would’ve been different if Honor was there. Shira was certain that he would not stand in their way of getting stronger. But Honor wasn’t in charge and who knew if he would be in the future.
Shira was in the medical chamber in a healing tank of their own when Honor was brought in.
They shook the image from their thoughts. So much blood, yet it didn’t sicken them. It only reminded them of the growing hunger in their stomach.
Shira laid a hand on their midsection.
The mantisor boss had stabbed a hole straight through their trueskin and through their body. The catastrophic damage to their internal organs should’ve been instant death. That’s what they expected when their vision had gone black. Yet somehow they had lived.
They didn’t remember what happened after. Their next memory was waking inside the healing tank. The hole in their stomach had been healed. The pain was a distant thing.
Shira reached for their PID.
Three days inside the recuperation chamber was enough. They were restless and hungry. They burned with the desire for their trueskin’s safe, comforting embrace.
The V.I. might state that they weren’t ready to be freed, but Shira couldn’t wait any longer.
They had observed Caretaker intently listening to and watching everything Honor said and did. Only Kynnro paid closer attention.
Honor wouldn’t have kept Shira imprisoned. Caretaker would do as Honor did.
Shira sent a simple message.
“Free me,” they whispered in a voice that was almost a hiss.
----------------------------------------
“I request access to any recordings that contains Designation: Honor’s presence,” Kynnro said.
Interrogator Ethereal Loaming 5623 stared blankly at Kynnro for exactly three seconds. They then quickly waved away the many holographic projections that were scattered through out their small administration space. “Purpose?”
Kynnro’s eyes blinked rapidly. A sharp contrast to the slow, spaced out blinks of the interrogator.
The two Threnosh stood still as they stared at each other. Kynnro was in the cruder exoskeleton of Threnosh make, which forced them to tilt their head back to look the interrogator in the eyes.
“I seek further study,” Kynnro finally said, “as instructed by Designation: Honor,” they added hastily.
Interrogator Ethereal Loaming 5623 flipped the panel on their left gauntlet. Their eyes moved from left to right rapidly as their fingers tapped and swiped on the screen. “Information in the greater archives is restricted,” they said as they returned their gaze to Kynnro.
“Yes, but Designation: Honor’s instructions were for further study. How am I to comply if I cannot access the archives?”
The way Kynnro leaned forward and blinked rapidly with wide eyes was beginning to unnerve the interrogator.
“Your access is restricted.”
“Can you grant access?”
“I cannot. Only the lead administrator of this facility can forward the request to Prime Custodian 3.”
“But Designation: Honor is incapacitated,” Kynnro pressed.
Interrogator Ethereal Loaming 5623 found themselves leaning back from the defective. They tried not to look at the growths growing around Kynnro’s ear holes. Instead of the rounded flatness around the normal Threnosh’s ear holes. The defective had structures that resembled Designation: Honor’s. The interrogator recalled the human calling them earlobes. Unlike the human’s ears, the defective’s tapered to a point along the top and back.
“Enough,” the interrogator straightened abruptly. “I am uncertain, but standard procedure dictates that Designation: Honor must be the one to request archive access for you from Prime Custodian 3. However, since much of what this project is doing has deviated from standard procedure then I cannot provide a definitive answer to your query. Designation: Honor does as he pleases. He even placed a def— the one called Caretaker in command of the new special candidates.”
Kynnro spun on their heel and left the interrogator’s work station. The door slid shut before they felt a strange sensation at both corners of their mouth. It was as if they were being pulled up. They prodded at their cheeks.
“What is this? Honor would know,” they whispered to themselves.
Kynnro spent the next two days idly wandering the facility. They were curious about their new teammates, but Caretaker kept them busy in the practice chamber and they didn’t yet feel like donning their trueskin to join in the training. Shira was confined to the recuperating chamber and Primal was out. Not that they would’ve bothered the two. The former was frightening and the latter was unpleasant. Kynnro would’ve bothered Frequency, but they had spent much of their time exploring the wilds outside of the facility.
Their circuit through the facility took them to see Honor. Well, specifically the door to the chamber he was in.
It was on their second pass of the fourth day that they suddenly realized something important that they had forgotten.
It concerned a message from Honor sent to their PID in the early days of the project. Kynnro recalled it mentioning something about login credentials to the archives. As it happened often with Honor’s words they didn’t quite understand the exact meaning. They had to rely on context to grasp what he was trying to convey.
Kynnro distinctly remembered the archives were mentioned and the rest seemed to imply access of some sort.
They raced down the day-lit corridors. Their exoskeleton’s motors whined it protest at the strain. As they reached their quarters, Kynnro had to stop and fight to regain their breath. Their body ached mightily.
The exoskeleton was a poor substitute for their trueskin. It was only meant to allow them to move around at a reasonable pace.
Kynnro’s hands shook as they reached for their PID. They quickly located Honor’s message.
They followed the instructions and found themselves facing a holographic projection of a long list of files.
The names were odd. They didn’t follow standard Threnosh conventions. It took Kynnro a moment to realize what it meant. Honor had named the files, which indicated that he had meant for them to be viewed.
There was file labeled Interrogation Sessions. That was self-explanatory. Kynnro would return to that later.
Another file called Earth Stuff piqued their interest. They selected it, which opened up another projection with another long list. They decided on one at random. Something about ice cream.
The holographic recording played immediately. It was like Kynnro was there in the same room. Honor was trapped in a strange device with only his head free. The two interrogators stood facing him.
“You claim that your Earth world can provide the Threnosh with value,” Interrogator Ethereal Loaming 5623 began.
“Provide an example,” Interrogator Ebbing Tides 2337 finished.
“Well…” Honor said. “Do you have ice cream?”
The description Honor launched into was rambling and confusing. Kynnro didn’t quite get it, but they thought that they would like to try this thing that Honor had attempted to describe.
Kynnro spent the next few days going through every recording. They only stopped for necessary nutrition and cleanliness requirements. They thrilled at the recordings of Honor’s escape from this very same facility. They were horrified by the outworld invader that had called itself, Zalthyss.
What they enjoyed the most were the recordings in which Honor described things from his world. The Earth sounded so different from their own. It was full of unpredictability and freedom. Where purpose was made from one’s own choosing, not predetermined from the creche.
Kynnro wondered what it would be like to do as Honor had done and step into another world.
----------------------------------------
This took him back. Stuck in a box, unable to move, with only his telepathy saving him from pure boredom.
First world problems, Cal thought, sigh.
No complaining, you’re alive and this super awesome not-bacta solution grew back your skin in less than a week.
Cal wandered the facility and it’s surroundings with his mind. What he found made him happy.
He saw that Frequency found actual joy in simply walking through the forest and listening to it. They even picked up a new potentially useful application of their power armor’s control of sound waves.
Shira was having a more difficult time, but even then they were coming to understand more of what they were capable of. The way the power armor was effecting changes on their biology was a little concerning, but they were alive. They had no business surviving a hole through their stomach. For now Cal would take them being alive. Any possible problems would have to be handled if they came up. Although, sharp teeth and a slight amount of bloodlust in exchange for a stronger constitution seemed like a fair trade.
Primal was often well beyond Cal’s reach, but from what he could tell the tiniest Threnosh was getting in some good work. It took guts to go solo hunting with a damaged, one-armed power armor.
Kynnro made him smile. They were the first to use the access he gave all of them to the entire archive. It was a tough sell, but he had convinced Prime Custodian 3 of the potential value. And what does Kynnro do with it. They binge-watched the Earth Stuff folder. Cal could only sigh.
Caretaker was proving themselves a potential leader to take his place. Cal wasn’t planning on being tied to the project forever. He wanted to go home as soon as he could. That necessitated finding another to eventually take his place. A Threnosh, but one that wasn’t like the standard Threnosh. One that was able and willing to take risks. It was the type of attitude that the spires rewarded.