Tom let the most recent memories of his young body bleed into him. It was a chaotic jumble, and the assault made him feel nauseous, but he persisted. The discrepancies between his older self and the behaviours that the four-year-old Ta was supposed to be exhibiting were too great. There were so many examples of that: speech patterns, the frequency with which he touched others, even the little Ta’s tendency to give into hunger. These were all activities that needed to be reprogrammed. Then there was the specific knowledge he had to keep track of, such as memories of whom he liked and whom he hated. All the details rushed through his consciousness: where he slept, where he hid, spots he’d better avoid. He sampled the memories quickly - not to absorb them, but instead attempted to catalogue them.
He had to be aware of what his main mind didn’t know so that he could query his memories at critical times to avoid blunders. Even this lightning-quick search had found numerous high-risk moments - like the fact that there were foods that little Ta never ate. When he went to the buffet tables at mealtimes, he would need to relive those memories to ensure he didn’t select something that would give his status away. There were dozens of other examples - people little Ta would never talk to, or his habit of sticking hard to the left with his hand always touching the frame and, if possible, the hinges when passing through the doors.
Carefully, Tom catalogued all the identified idiosyncrasies for future use when a situation next demanded it.
Even if he got everything right, he knew he would fail to mimic all the tells. If anyone took enough time to observe him in detail, his subterfuge would be revealed. While there were some things that he could fix, like his speech patterns, there were others that he had no chance of changing. He had warrior instincts, and that was not something that he could put aside. Little Ta would need to develop in that direction. There would be a change. It was unavoidable, and Tom would just have to strive to hide the impact as much as possible.
Tom forced himself to focus on the present.
The three of them were playing invisiblies. It was a game where they would hide in the fortress and secretly observe the others. Bir was there, the blond girl with her striking artificial emerald green eye - along with Pa, the largest of their extended cohort.
It was the three of them. Inseparable, as always. An introvert, extrovert, and Tom who filled in the middle of the spectrum, at least around others. Internally, inside their group, things were almost the other way around.
All three of them were breathing heavily from the impromptu battle, and Pa was staring at him curiously. For a moment, he let his conscious control of everything slip. It was time to let the instincts of Little Ta come out to play.
“Pa didn’t have to elbow so hard.” Little Ta complained while rubbing his chest. To Tom, it was slightly sore, but not anywhere near enough for him to have commented on. But for a weak four-year-old… yeah, to his younger self it had been a big hit.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“I couldn’t breathe.” Pa glared at Bir. “She sat on me.”
Bir was in a good mood.
“I won fight. Pa is being a baby and Ta’s weak” She stuck out her tongue at both of them and then she pulled up the corner flap, as though the conversation was not important. The flap had a very distinctive crease caused by the regular use that allowed it to fold over easily and thus give them a good view of the room beyond it.
They were a few meters above floor level.
Surprise ran through him. The slight give he had felt under him, and the general groaning of spears became a lot more ominous.
The fort was more extensive than he had imagined. They were high. It was as though they were looking out from the third floor of a building. They could see the top of everyone’s heads. Their location, like Tom had surmised, was constructed like a standard school gymnasium, and thus consisted of a single massive room. There were rows of tables heaped with food on one side. Nearby, a machine was spewing out glowing bubbles. A small group was actively playing with them while everyone else watched the bubbles cautiously. They even changed positions to avoid any that drifted near them. A purple one, a significant distance from the rest floated into the path of an eight-year-old. He had just collected his lunch and was focused on not spilling his precariously stacked plate. He didn’t see the bubble coming at him on a collision course.
“Uh-oh,” Bir said, watching the same thing he was.
It struck the kid mid-thigh and then puffed out of existence.
Nothing happened for a moment, but Tom saw the boy’s eyes widen. His mouth formed an oh of surprise. He yelped, clutched at the impact site with both hands and his food went flying. Perfect sausages, potato chips and a meat pie rained down onto the wooden floor.
Tom winced at the waste.
No one else in the room reacted. Some glanced over to check on the sudden commotion, but mostly it was greeted by indifference. It was like it was a common occurrence and not worth raising even an eyebrow. A small golem trundled over to clean up. The poor child had collapsed to the floor and was clutching the impact point like it had shattered the femur. He was now bawling his eyes out as he lay there, rocking his upper body from side to side. Tom wanted to rush over and try to comfort him, but his memories told him this was nothing unusual. The bubbles were usually a fun game that occasionally resulted in brief but painful consequences.
A bystander getting hit was rarer, but with the party food supplied and the resulting inattention, it was not that much of a surprise.
“Purple hurts the worst.” Bir said wisely beside him. “When it got me my hurt for a day.” Then she poked her mouth. “Feeled it in my teeth.”
“Really your teeth?” Tom asked.
She nodded seriously:
“Purple’s really bad. You feel pain all through. Arm,” she touched his elbow and then traced her finger up the arm and circled his chest area. “And teeth really bad.” She tapped his lips to demonstrate.
“Yes it’s potent,” Tom agreed. His own memories shared the three times he himself had been struck by one of those bubbles. Yeah, he could kind of see her point. They caused a small amount of pain, pain that lingered for an hour. Nothing like a real broken bone or heavy hit, but little Ta had certainly collapsed dramatically as a result. His younger self, Tom thought, had poor pain tolerance.
The boy below had stopped screaming, but was still whimpering on the floor. Maybe his younger self hadn’t been that bad, he thought, as he revised his estimates of children in general.