“This shouldn’t be. We’ve followed protocol, her re-training is complete, why hasn’t this SCI score come down? If anything, it’s steadily risen.”
“Relax. Simulating the future is an imprecise science. Plus, the time immediately following re-training is usually the most volatile. Remember Henry? His numbers never really settled and he’s been here for what? 1,200 years? Gentle as a lamb the whole time. You really think he’s gonna escape back to Earth and behead the Pope now?”
“I know I know, it’s not about the numbers. ‘Stopping one to save two billion is right, stopping one to save two is equally right.’ It’s just reassuring to get confirmation that we are doing what’s right, especially when we pick them up so young and innocent.”
“Hey now, you’re not going all Minority Report on me, are you?”
“Minority Report? Is that another one of those ridiculous video games you love so much? With the amount of violence portrayed in those things, I sometimes wonder if we should have just let Fyodor launch those nukes.”
“Nah, it’s a movie, also violent of course. We are talking about Earthlings after all. I’m sure you’d hate it.”
“Probably. Though I suppose if every planet evolved as peacefully as Lennor we’d be out of work.”
“And there would be no use for your precious SCI numbers! How would we ever know that we’re doing the right thing?”
“Ugh, sarcasm. You need a vacation. How about getting some real culture instead of obsessing over Earth? Have you felt the latest vibrando compilation from Es’kar? It’s transcendentally beautiful what humanoids can accomplish once they’ve evolved past all that intra-species competition.”
“You know well enough that it’s all a necessary part of the process. Why not enjoy the unique creations of the planet to which you’ve been assigned?”
“I’m well-versed in the arts and entertainment Earthlings have produced. It’s just so...primitive.”
“Oh come on, who doesn’t love a story of someone overcoming all odds to triumph over evil? Earthlings have created some of the best versions of those in the galaxy!”
“When an entire species tells the same exact story over and over again for millennia, something good is bound to be produced. What’s that saying about a room full of monkeys with typing machines?”
“Not sure. Sounds like something a Rigellian would say.”
“Well an Earthling couldn’t have come up with something so clever, that much is certain.”
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It had been months since Sheila arrived at the facility, probably. Or maybe prison was a better word for it. Or space station. Sheila didn’t really know where she was. Or when. But she knew that she wasn’t in her old world. Here, everything was different. The ambiance was minimal and practical, yet sophisticated. There were no lights to be seen anywhere. Her room was lit of course, allowing her to see just fine, but there were no lamps, no bulbs, no distinguishable sources of light. It was as if the air itself glowed. The walls also hinted that this place was alien, or very technologically advanced. Probably both. The wall was decorated with scenes of beautiful landscapes portrayed through a cross between what looked like a window and a painting but with no discernible lines of delineation between the “wall” and the “window” which only left Sheila with a feeling of confusion when she tried to contemplate what exactly she was looking at or through. The scenes through the “windows” would change regularly too, although Sheila could never quite recall what the previous scene looked like, only that the current one was new and even more serene and beautiful than the last.
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Whenever Sheila tried to reconstruct how she got here in her mind, she remembered being home playing with her brother and his friends, or at least trying to play with them. They were teasing her for being a chicken because she was too frightened to jump off the roof of the shed, which was the only way the boys would allow her to join them.
“Prove you’re brave enough and then you can come to the skate park with us,” they told her.
Sheila didn’t even want to go to the skate park but she’d always had a strong need for acceptance. To have a group of her own friends who all liked doing what Sheila liked to do, that was her ultimate dream. Maybe if she could show her brother’s friends that she was fun and cool she could have that. However, as was inevitably the case with those she sought approval from, be it her classmates or her brother’s friends or her mother, she was never quite good enough. And even when she knew how to be good enough, she was either too scared or too incompetent to be good enough.
With their ridicule ringing in her ears as her brother and his friends rode their bikes away, Sheila sought refuge in her mind by imagining her ultimate fantasy. She imagined, as she often would, that she could simply press a button and make them do whatever she wanted, force them to turn around and come back and be her friend. If only she could be the one who everyone loved, if only she could be the one to decide who was worthy of her time and attention, if only she could make the mean ones pay.
And that was as far as she could remember. The next thing she knew she was here, in this room of hers that she hadn’t left since she arrived, although it was so warmly appealing that she never felt the urge to leave it.
Her memory of home, of her previous life where she never quite fit in, felt so long ago. Sheila did fit in here, she received plenty of love and attention now, albeit from strangely tall and slender people who were always wearing body suits and masks. And perhaps it wasn’t quite love that they gave Sheila, but it was as close to it as she’d ever known.
These masked men and women seemed to really care about her well-being, in fact they seemed to be constantly with her, asking her questions, giving her tests, teaching her all sorts of information and skills. Frightened as she was when she first arrived, Sheila quickly grew to enjoy her new life, one day she simply decided to make the best of her current situation and from that point on she was content.
Her daily routine was consistent but never boring. For instance, the teaching sessions here were thoroughly engaging, a sharp contrast from being in class back home where she couldn’t help but daydream constantly. With these masked teachers, if she began to lose interest in the current topic she could simply ask to do what she felt like doing and the teachers were always accommodating. It was somewhat surprising to Sheila to realize that she actually very much liked to learn as long as she was being taught things that were of interest to her.
Nearly every lesson was focused on Sheila’s feelings. “How would you feel if your brother walked through the door right now?” The teachers would often ask at the beginning of the day. Whatever response Sheila gave would in turn lead to a lesson about a particular philosophy or technique that could be used to reframe whichever emotion she was feeling as a simple thought, not something that could control her actions in any way. And Sheila insatiably devoured this knowledge. Finally she realized, if she could only control her response to a negative situation, there was no need to control the situation itself, or the people who caused her to feel bad. A transformation occurred within her. Sheila felt like a new person, she felt confident, like she could do anything she set her mind to. She couldn’t wait to get back home and show everyone her new self.
The door to Sheila’s room silently slid open and in walked 2 masked teachers, as they had done many times since Sheila arrived.
“We’re going to be introducing some new activities for you to engage in Sheila, is that something you’d be interested in?”, asked a particularly motherly masked teacher.
“There’s nothing more I’d rather do! How exciting to try something new!” replied Sheila as a glimmer of a confusing thought passed through her consciousness leaving a fleeting sense of dread that quickly resolved again into excited anticipation for the new activity. The mental fortitude training she’d received over the past several months helped her recognize dread as an unhelpful negative emotion and to let it pass without dwelling on it or letting it control her actions.
“Sheila, I’d like to introduce you to Henry,” said the motherly masked teacher.