It took two days for Sarah to learn how to make all the sounds she couldn’t previously hear, though she was aware her pronunciation of the words containing those sounds still left much to be desired, at least based on the gales of giggles her attempts at communication often induced in the two children. She couldn’t tell if [Polyglot] made more physical changes to facilitate her abilities or if it was just a matter of needing time to learn something so utterly new.
She also wasn’t sure what to think about the changes that [Polyglot] – and the System in general – had been making to her body. It was all well and good here in virtual reality, where everything was ones and zeros regardless, but what about when she was returned to her physical body? Would these changes carry over? And if so, how would that actually happen?
She remembered all the “magic” options she’d seen when she went through the Skills menu before the Tutorial. Everything on there had been something that she thought could probably be accomplished – theoretically, at least – with some sort of advanced technology or bioengineering; like the [Minor Invisibility Spell] Skill that sounded remarkably like the natural abilities of a chameleon.
She was no scientist herself but Sarah had read a lot of science fiction, written by people a good bit smarter than herself. She figured that if even half the stuff people had imagined was actually possible, it would cover every single one of the System’s “magical” Skills and spells, and then some. So she felt pretty safe in the conclusion that the System, and all the things it did, was based in technology or science of some kind.
That still left the most important question: what would it feel like? Would it be like the Tutorial, where she went to sleep each night and woke the next morning a little bit different from the day before? Or would she feel the changes happening?
Would it hurt? And when it was all done, when she had a Class, and high levels, and Skills and Attributes to match…would she still be human? Would she still recognize herself beneath all the changes? Would her family recognize her, when she eventually found them? Would she recognize them?
Sarah lost the better part of a morning to worrying about System changes, which – considering the length of her new days – was quite a lot of moping. Finally she shook herself out of her funk and returned to learning the last few sounds that her newly enhanced hearing had revealed to her.
When she finally mastered the last one (okay, maybe not “mastered” but at least achieved at a moderately competent…um…okay, be honest here...a minimally competent level), a deep rumble in the back of her throat that she could feel as much as hear, she received a System message that made her pump her fist in triumph.
Congratulations! You have learned the Skill [Language: Bird People* (Uncommon)].
(Rank raised from Basic to Uncommon due to your catalyzing Skill, [Polyglot], and the high degree of effort you expended to obtain this new Skill.)
[Language: Bird People* (Uncommon)] is Level 1.
Sarah immediately found herself distracted from her triumph by those two words: “Bird People.” What a singularly unimaginative and offensive name! It was the first time she’d received a System message that directly referenced her new friends’ people and she was rather shocked at the appellation it chose.
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It was true that the System's naming conventions had so far lacked a certain element of originality, but this different. Calling that animal she’d killed in the forest a [Horned Fox] was one thing; it might not have been the animal’s proper name but it was a fairly accurate descriptor, and – more importantly – the [Horned Fox] was an animal, a creature, a dumb beast. It didn’t care what she, the System, or anyone else called it, so long as they didn’t call it dinner.
Her new friends on the other hand were thinking, feeling, sentient beings…people, or really realistic simulations of such at least.
She knew for a fact that they had a name for themselves, their own version of “human.” She didn’t fully understand that name, for it contained concepts she had yet to grasp, but she did know it was nothing so trite as “bird people.”
That was like…like…like calling humans “ape people” or “monkey people.” It was wrong! It was…
Sarah’s indignation on behalf of her new friends, which had flared up in an instant, vanished just as quickly, as her new Skill took effect. Knowledge cascaded through her mind in what felt like the mental equivalent of stepping into the shower and feeling the flow of hot water cascade down her body. It was both relaxing and invigorating.
After a long moment, the feeling faded and Sarah opened her eyes, blinking hard as she finished assimilating the new understanding she’d been granted, while at the same time entertaining the nostalgic thought that she really missed hot showers; bathing in a wooden tub might be effective for cleansing one’s body, but it was distinctly lacking in the “enjoyment of experience” factor.
“Wow, what a rush!” she said as the last traces of new knowledge settled into place. She giggled. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”
“Are you well, Miss Sarah?”
With a start, Sarah remembered that she was standing in the barn with the two children, and had been in the midst of a combined session of language lessons and cooing over cute newborn [Beefalo] calves. She also realized that the young boy’s words just now had been far easier to understand than a few minutes prior. She flashed him a grin.
“Yes, I’m well, um…gah! Why are your names so hard to pronounce? I just got a Skill for your language and I still can’t pronounce your names!”
Sarah’s shouts of frustration kicked off a storm of surprised giggles from the children, for reasons she didn’t fully understand…a cultural thing, she figured. Unfortunately, the wave of noise swiftly had the startled [Beefalo] shifting uneasily in their calving pens.
“Oops,” Sarah said quietly as soon as she noticed the disturbance they’d caused. She attempted to shush the children and they, being proper farm kids, immediately recognized the problem and attempted to muffle their mirth.
Unfortunately – as anyone who’s ever been caught in a giggle gale can attest – the winds of laughter do not swiftly blow themselves out. Additionally, the children’s laughter was infectious. Sarah had no idea why her initial outburst had been so funny to them but now she found herself smirking at the faces they made as they tried to hush each other. This, of course, led the children to gasp out, between partially smothered giggles, accusations that Sarah was responsible for their continued laughter. The accusations were so outrageous – and Sarah’s playfully affronted expression apparently so silly – that the laughter redoubled, and this time Sarah was caught in the storm.
Finally, all three of them reached the simultaneous conclusion that the only way to end the laughter was to let it run its course and it would be best to do so somewhere other than the barn. And so, three figures, two very small, one larger, and all of them cackling uncontrollably, burst from the barn and raced to distance themselves from any potentially skittish livestock before flopping down on the soft green grass of the lawn.
In a nearby pasture, the farmer paused in his labours and smiled fondly at the distant figures of his children and guest. The younglings hadn’t laughed this much since before their mother passed, and he was grateful to the strange alien woman for helping his children regain their joy. Sometimes he thought they were laughing simply for the sake of laughing, rather than in response to anything she said or did, though her attempts to speak his people’s language did produce some very amusing errors. Whatever else the arrival of humans and this virtual world might mean for everyone, this particular human had been a boon for his small family. He wondered if any of the real humans would be like her.