Unlike Zazathur or Apollo, I never lost consciousness. Every second of Jim’s briefing, every millimeter of intergalactic space we covered, I was aware of. He’d sold our consciousness three times, a strange possibility that involved quantumly disentangling our neurons from their electrical impulses. A crude but proven Azhurai technique.
I frown at that thought. Unsure how I know the origin, and concerned about the proven way of unscrambling chimeras.
We are one such being, in truth, all humans with ESP are classified as chimeras and I admit to myself I’m not sure what the term means. What about others like me? The empaths and telekinetics. Will Jim be splitting all of them as well? I reach for my waistband, where the FNX rests.
But my hands are pinned in place.
I blink.
No longer am I in body. Crystals surround me, large floating things that begin to resonate as I behold them. Like thought activated wind-chimes tingling for their master.
But… I’m a college kid. No one calls me master-
I am not Apollo Finley.
Not anymore.
We are one of the nameless caste. I sense the paradox of naming a race nameless. It’s illogical, like Odysseus calling himself no one and just like him, I am not alone in this cave. That smallest of thoughts twists something within my mind, we are not -nameless-, the name of the race was erased from my mind. Actively removed by psionic forces beyond comprehension.
“Good, you are awake.” Says a voice.
“WHO AR-” I begin, stopping myself as the words thunder through the world.
Crystals shudder, violently counter-resonating to tame my scream. The figure slumps stepping into view. As a -nameless- he is millions of years old. Older than humanity itself, and possibly older than the dust that formed Earth. None of that keeps me from scowling, still struggling to grasp why I can’t think of our race’s name. Cognitively I know the word, but there is a sort of wall between my conscious brain and that word.
“I see. My son is well and truly dead then.” Says the figure.
Hands go to his face, which is when I see exactly what a nameless is. More plant than animal, with no mouth or nose and precious few pieces of armor. Or fingers. We only have three on each hand. One central finger that is longer and thicker than the other and inline with our forearms, with two off axis digits, almost like two oppositional opposed thumbs. One where you would expect it and another where a pinky ought to be. Claws tip each digit, evolved for savaging interlopers. Why a plant evolved claws is a question I’ll never be able to answer, but we’ve got them. Unlike mouths, ears, or noses. Looking at the -nameless- face I’m left to wonder how we breath or drink. Which is when I notice the eyes. Dozens of them.
A memory from this body educates me in the same way muscle memory educates our movements. You generally don’t remember which muscles you have to flex to drop a turd, but once you pinch off the first loaf your body remembers the correct order. Six clusters of eyes and eyestalks open across my ‘head’, opening to observe the world around me. I’m pinned in a magnetic prison, an energy field invisible to the human visible spectrum, but clear as daylight to my ultraviolet receptors. Infrared eyes observe the heat differentials in the room, stretching on their eyestalks to scan the room in a 360 degree view. The figure before me isn’t -nameless- he is Exec Kaalra, Arbiter of the Orion-spur. AKA the spiral arm of the Milky way galaxy that Earth exists within.
If he decided the moniker of ‘God’ with a capital G was more fitting, then it would be within his power to enforce the change. I swallow. Blinking instead.
Right, I have no mouth…
So, like a genius I try to calm myself with a breath, and blink my subdermal eyes instead. If you’ve ever wondered how a pit viper blinks its pits, wonder no more! Cause it felt like flapping earlobes over my ear holes. Beyond awkward.
Kaalra stands, meeting my eyes with four of his own. They’re almond shaped, set within a round ‘head’ with eyebrow ridges and ocular prominences. Humanoid in appearance though I know he has molded his face to seem more humanoid than alien. As any skilled ambassador would.
Memories scratch at the wall within my id. Pounding against stone in warning. Who I am, what body I’m in, all is lost in a cacophony of Kaalra’s eyes.
“The transfer has failed. You are not my son.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
He turns to leave, subdermal eyes opening along the back of his head. They do not perceive clearly, but I’m not exactly going anywhere.
“SO-” I try to speak, shouting.
Cmon, think, this is just like training. Empty your mind and lift the feather. I think. A wiggling memory pierces the wall worming through it to slap me with technical info about my own ‘voice’. Experience tempers my eagerness and for the first time since walking in on Bazzhole and Whorely, I relax. Who would have thought alien abductions were preferable to being cheated on. Well, cuckolded, except, I was the cucker… Does that make me the cuckmaster? Maistro of cucking? Or just a dildo? If Baz is still alive, I should really shoot him in the face.
“So, that’s it? You’re just going to leave me in stasis.” I whisper.
My voice isn’t audible in the human sense. If one were a fly on the wall they would not perceive any motion between the two figures. Not until the sounds vibrated directly into their brain on psionic waves.
Kallra freezes in the doorway. Claws lingering a millimeter away from the activation crystals. Eyes open across his skull -I know it’s more of a flower’s bulb than any calcium based lattice, but I understand the intent.
“You are an ape. Think very carefully as to your next words.” Said Kaalra.
“Thinking is overrated. I’m not your son, but you’ve adopted me so we’re stuck with each other. Or have you evolved your way out of filial responsibility?”
The quip was a mistake. One that shows me exactly why people avoid the -nameless-. Normally, you don’t think about little things like the atomic weight of oxygen, not until every molecule of it ceases to move. Desublimating from gas directly into solid oxygen. Pressure in the room drops to zero. A lethal pressure for humans, as zero is total vacuum. Sea Level on earth is roughly 15 psi, while the pinnacle of Mount Everest tickles 5 psi and is well known for suffocating climbers.
Except I’m not human. Nor do I breath via lungs. Holding my breath is possible for far longer than any human could conceive. Desublimating gaseous oxygen into solid oxygen is impressive and should stun my monkey brain into shutting the hell up and not provoking Kaalra any further. But no one has ever accused me of being the sharpest tool. I prepare to speak and realize every molecule of my body is locked down. Held more tightly than Earth in Atlas’ sweaty palms.
“You dare-” Whispers Kaalra, each syllable jackhammering our crystalized space. “You dare speak with his voice. One more word and I will extract you.” He said.
If I were still human, his threat alone would have killed me. Broken every bone in my body and literally crushed the piss and shit out of me. Although which hole I excreted from would be a mystery because my body would be crushed into dimensions smaller than a needle’s point.
A thousand thoughts and memories run through my mind, the summation of my life, abduction from earth, college, the betrayal of every person I've ever cared about, and my impending death on Syrak-9. Part of me is relieved, dying in a war has to hurt, at least Kaalra will make it snappy and quick-
-Deep within my id, five voices cry out as one.
No.
II can’t move, can’t breath, can’t speak. My intrinsic human abilities are gone. So I turn to the one ability that isn’t human. My name is Panoptes. He wished to die and abandoned this body willingly, though memories remain, as do meditations. Together our minds settle into one. Envisioning a feather made of pure oxygen bricks I dust the air between us, .2 grams of oxygen isn’t much but i’m hoping it’ll catch this alien’s eye. What I failed to account for is this body’s own psionic abilities. An electrical storm of ice and lightning erupts between us vaporizing oxygen back into gas. Fire rolls across the room, consuming oxygen. Kaalra is engulfed in flames, as is my stasis tube. Waves of heat roll over us both. I strain against his pull, trying to avoid burning to death.
Solid steel, or crystals stronger than steel, hold me in place. Another psionic duster shatters the restraints and I’m free. Fire licks my skin, pleasantly warming my hide.
I’m not human.
The thought settles into my mind.
Humans do not shower in flames.
I am no longer Apollo Finley.
Kaalra looks at me, disgust in his eyes but there is something else there. Relief maybe? Psychic tendrils set the room to order, banishing flames and trapped oxygen in a second. The room looks perfect, as if we hadn’t just walked through a pure oxygen fire seconds before. Soot covers my skin while Kaalra is spotless. He must possess a personal shield generator or psychically keep the soot from landing.
My claws rub together, brushing away loose soot to find my skin unblemished. I just survived an inferno without so much as a sunburn.
“Such weak powers. Bah, my son has fused stars. You are nothing. Not even the traitors who altered your world will take such a failure in. Damn shame. Oh Panoptes, wish that you would accept our duty, not die vainly in the prayer of vainglory.” Said Kaalra.
His speech was odd, as if translated by a middle school student. Incomplete and jilting.
A second psionic impulse bursts from him, ordering the ship into the gate above Syrak-9. Engines ignite with the ship somehow duplicating itself; one physical manifestation will remain above Syrak-9 and the other transits the orbital gateway appearing above a planet I recognize as earth. I do not see beyond this stasis room, but I know the ship is moving and our position relative to the local stars.
“None of this is remotely possible-” I begin.
Propelled to the cusp of lightspeed then far beyond as we transition through the gate. Deep within my id a star chart updates, a primordial sense that tells me we have portalled back to earth.
I’m home.
As an alien son aboard a hostile warship.
“Please, leave earth alone.” I whisper.
“Make me.” Answers Exec Kaalra, “If you think an ape like you is capable of leaving stasis.” Says Kaalra, sealing the door between us.