New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

Apollonia was a citizen of the SU now, but that didn’t mean she had to follow Brooks orders like a soldier.

Right?

He’d ordered her to come see the shrink, and Logus had sent her the appointment time for the next day.  She’d wondered if there would be a guard to make her come, but the only thing outside her door when the time came was a drone.

It had guided her here in an annoyingly helpful way, even suggesting various breakfast options that could be waiting for her when she got to Logus’s office.

She’d turned them all down.  She didn’t want to do this on a full stomach.

Now she sat in a waiting room, and was hating it.  She hated all waiting rooms, but this one was different.  Most were just horribly unpleasant, but this one was so pleasant it seemed to almost mock her.

Everything was soft, comfortable, none of it seemed strictly utilitarian in the way she was used to.  Wherever she’d lived, whenever it had been, she’d been lucky to have empty boxes and duffels, and she’d longed for some of the comforts that she saw others have in their homes – mostly on serials, she realized.  She’d rarely seen the inside of anyone else’s home, she’d never been a person people had invited in.

But this stuff?  It was not just pleasant, it was superb.  Higher-quality than even the ‘luxury’ items she’d seen back home.  And here it was, in the shitty waiting room of a shitty head doctor.  No one even cared or thought twice about it when they came in.  Every single place on the ship, that she had seen so far, was like that.

What did it say about you when you went decades hoping for the kinds of things these people would have considered unfit for even a waiting room?

Even the calming pictures of skies on worlds she would never see seemed only to taunt her.

Look at what you never had, because your parents were idiots who got on a colony ship, they imparted to her.  She’d never even seen a terrestrial planet in person, let alone a bird.  She had seen a dog once, and it had smelled.  That weird, unpleasant odor hung in her memory, and she found herself wondering what other animals smelled like.

Fuck, she thought.  What a pathetic dream to have.

The wall across from her made a dull thud.  Or something on the other side had.

She heard a voice; it was so muffled as to nearly be inaudible, but she could tell it was a man screaming as loud as he could.

“They took my son!”

There was another voice, Logus’s, but she could hear just the very slightest hum.

Apollonia shifted uncomfortably in the too-nice chair.  Damn it, she knew who it was on the other side of that door.  She only knew his first name, Dav, and he’d been another outcast on New Vitriol.  Always wanting to leave, always blaming Nec Tede for killing his son.  It had been the cancer that did that, same with most other kids who actually managed to be born there.

Only reason he’d never been spaced was that he was so powerless.  People saw him, heard him, but no one ever stood with him.  All just wanted to pretend the thing that was slowly killing them all didn’t exist.

It was easier than facing reality sometimes.

Time passed, and she at least knew there was a good reason she was being kept waiting.  Dav had been a time bomb waiting to explode for years.  She’d always just hoped it wouldn’t be literal and take her with it.

The door finally opened.  Dav was standing there, a tall, gaunt man, hollowed out by bad health and loss.  He still looked angry, but also drained of all strength.

“We’ll talk again in a couple days, okay?” Dr. Logus said gently to the man.

The man nodded sharply, like someone having to give their all just to maintain a semblance of normality.  “Okay.”

Dav’s eyes were unfocused, but then he noticed her, and turned hostile.

“What’s she doing here?” he spat.

Apollonia resisted the urge to give him her mocking smile.  Seemed too low, even if the man had been like all the rest and hated her.

“Dav, Apollonia has been through a lot as well.  She is another person who needs help, not our judgment,” Logus said.  It sounded sincere, which surprised her.

The man spit at her.  It hit the floor somewhere between them, and she felt like she’d been stabbed in the heart.  But it was an old wound.

“She’s a witch and you should have given her to the Dark,” the man said.  He stomped out of the room.

An awkward silence took over for his presence.  At least for her; Logus seemed somehow serene.

“I apologize for that, on his behalf.  He will come around,” the man told her.  “Now please – come in.”

She sat there for a long moment before slowly getting up.  “I’m only here because the Captain made me come,” she said.

“He was concerned about you, Ms. Nor.  We all were, after your incident on Station 29.”

She hadn’t moved forward, and he looked slightly confused.  “Are you coming in?”

“No,” she said flatly.  “I came here, but I’m not going in.”

“Why is that?” the psychiatrist asked her.  It sounded like he was dissecting her already.

She didn’t reply, but crossed her arms.  It was more to reassure herself than to be standoffish.  She didn’t like how all of this was making her feel or seem.

The man met her eye, but didn’t seem hostile.  “Would you like to at least come sit down?” he asked.  “We can sit and stare for half an hour, if you like, and then you can go on your way and tell the Captain you did what he asked.”

She considered.  It seemed reasonable.

In all honesty, despite her mistrust of doctors like him, she didn’t have a good reason she didn’t want to talk to him.  Not one she could tell him, even if he – to be fair – deserved to know.

She just knew she couldn’t risk it.

They entered his office and she took a seat.  It was actually even more comfortable than the chair out in the waiting room.  Logus sat in his chair and looked to her, waiting for her to start.

“I can’t talk to you,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

Logus watched her in silence for several heartbeats.

“Would you talk to someone else?” he asked.

She said nothing, feeling horribly afraid that her behaviour was just like a petulant child.  But she couldn’t talk to him.  She shouldn’t say anything to him.

“Would you talk to Dr. Y?” Logus suggested.

Her surprise must have shown, and the man had a smile that was at once patient and caring.

She actually hated being this way to him.  But she nodded.

If anything, the man looked relieved.  “Very well, then.  I am sorry I cannot help you, Apollonia.  But I will make sure you get the help you need.”

Rising, the man left his office.  Apollonia wasn’t sure if she should even stay; surely he couldn’t actually go get Y right now.  He probably had things to do, right?

A door opened in the corner.  Until now, she hadn’t realized it was really a door out of the room – it seemed like it was just a closet.

Dr. Y entered, and as he did so she realized that it was simply a closet.  One just the size for him.

“Were you . . . standing in there this whole time?” she asked, shocked.

---

< Ep 3 Part 14 | Ep 3 Part 16 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

Brooks kept silent as he and Verena returned to her office.

He no longer felt dizzy; instead, he felt furious.

Holding his tongue until they were in private, he rounded on the doctor once the door closed.

“What the hell was that?  You didn’t warn us that it would be dangerous,” he snapped.

Verena did not look at him, but there was no sense of shame on her as she walked to her desk.  Calmly, she sat down and folded her hands.

“That was unexpected,” she said.  “I had no way to know that Denso would react as he did, Captain.  And I remind you that I am a superior officer and you will respect that.”

Brooks fought down his anger.

“Tell me everything about this case,” he said.

She merely watched him.

“A member of my crew has been injured – an ambassador.  He is under my care, and as such I am entitled to understand just what danger he has been subjected to,” Brooks said.

“You feel you are arguing from a position of strength, Captain, but you are not.  I have full discretion in the matter of who knows what,” Verena replied.  “However, I do still wish your counsel if you can calm yourself.  This matter is beyond individual lives.”

“Just how severe is this issue?  I’ve never seen anything like it in someone altered.  Not even at Terris.”

“I shall wait to continue on this topic, Captain.  I have summoned from your ship Dr. Y – I would like his opinion as well as your own.”

It was a reasonable step, and Brooks nodded.  Y had been a long-time researcher in this field, even worked personally with altered patients when he had been posted to The Chain.

Brooks took several deep breaths before coming towards her desk.  Pulling out the chair, he sat down.

The door to the office opened and Dr. Y entered.

“Dr. Urle, Captain,” he said by way of greeting and stood near the desk.

“I have shared with Dr. Y the video of what occurred in the isolation bay,” Verena told Brooks.  “We may now continue on this topic.  You asked how severe the issue is – potentially quite severe.  But I do not know just how much yet.  As you have witnessed, there are things occurring that we cannot account for.”

“Such as how a man could crack that glass,” Brooks commented.

“Well, yes,” Y said.  “I cannot possibly explain it.  I am reminded of an ancient human phrase; spooky action at a distance.  But I do not believe that this is a classical quantum effect.”

Brooks stared at Verena.  “When did Denso develop these eyes?” he asked.

“The first of the nascent eyes appeared six months ago,” Verena replied.  “At that time, they seemed to be a common form of tumor on altered patients; a sort of representation of normal human anatomy, but entirely non-functional.  Within two months we had eight eyes growing, and more fully formed with neural connections.  By month four, they were following moving objects, and tests suggested they were sending actual information to his brain.

“Around that same time, his body began to split open into the form you see today.  The skin on ninety percent of his body has been reabsorbed, and most of his organs then began to fail.”

She tapped her pad, and a thin screen arose from her desk.  “And on that topic, it is not simply the eyes or other growths that have been unusual.  Here is a scan of Denso’s brain from when he was first admitted to MS-29.”

A three-dimensional scan appeared, slowly rotating to show all sides.  Brooks was no expert on the human brain, but it looked very normal to him.  He looked to Dr. Y, who was intently studying it.

“I recall these images.  His mind at the time showed minor structural changes,” the AI commented.  “And certainly signs of the trauma to which Denso had been exposed.  But that is not unexpected after what occurred – it is a human brain under extreme duress.”

Verena nodded and changed the image.  “This is his brain from seven months ago.”

“Alterations have accelerated, but are still minor,” Y noted.

“And what do the scans show now?” Brooks asked.

Verena changed the view again.

And even Brooks could tell that something was wrong.

The image was still rotating, but it was not moving in a way that made sense.  As it rotated, the brain – almost unrecognizable as such – changed shapes in impossible ways.  It was not a simple three-dimensional object any longer, he realized.  This was simply a crude attempt at displaying-

“A higher-dimensional structure,” Y said.  His voice was very soft.  “Michal Denso only . . . appears to be like us.”

“It is as good a description as any,” Verena replied.  “And I would like to know what he is.  It is why I wished for your Cerebral Reader to join us.  After her incident, I hoped perhaps Ambassador Kell could tell us more.  But it seems that it is unwilling to tell us.”

“I’ll try to speak to Kell again,” Brooks said.  “But anything we can learn about Denso might be useful – I heard him ask to go home when he got upset – has he said anything else?  Anything that might be useful?”

“Very little,” Verena replied.  “But the speech about home is the most common.  It is not unusual for those who are in severe distress to wish for such a thing.”

“Do we know what he means precisely?” Dr. Y asked.  “Home, yes – but what does he consider home?  Clearly not this station, so does he mean his birth place in the Neo Solaria system?  Or perhaps the ship he served upon the longest, the Sunspot?”

Brooks found that the doctor’s question tickled something in his mind.  “That’s a good question.”

“Taking Michal Denso anywhere is not on the table,” Verena interjected.  “He is not fit to be moved.”

“Which raises another question,” Dr. Y said.  “Beyond the obvious changes, what is his physical condition?  From the various equipment you have informed me of, it seems that very little of Michal Denso’s body is functioning.”

“He is entirely dependent upon the equipment,” Verena said.  “Most of his organs are non-functional.  His heart continues to pump, though his blood has become thicker – and from our filters we can tell that he has more of it than a man his size should.”

“I imagine that’s because of his brain extending into . . . some sort of higher space?” Brooks asked.

“Yes,” Verena said, still looking at Dr. Y.

“These are dramatic changes.  Has his mass increased?” Y asked.

Verena nodded.  “Substantially.  In a standard gravity, he now weighs nearly a metric ton.”

“Wait – what?” Brooks asked, leaning forward.  “His mass has increased?”

“In the last six days – yes.  And the rate has increased since his incident with the Ambassador.  We do not know where this mass is coming from.”

The three fell silent.

“Dr. Urle,” Y finally ventured.  “Have you considered – ending life support?  In a situation this severe, I cannot see a hopeful outcome for the patient.  We choose life whenever we can, but in this case I simply have nothing of value to suggest.  But I wonder if Michal Denso would even thank us for prolonging his current state.”

Verena said nothing for a moment, and Brooks watched her carefully.  In the years he’d known her, when he was Executive Commander of the Kilimanjaro and she was Chief Medical Officer, she’d often laughed – she had been a person who he usually expected to have a smile.  Even in the face of medical tragedies, she had kept her positive outlook on life.

But her face was only impassive now.  It was like part of her was gone.

“We are under orders to keep Michal Denso alive,” she said.  “Ending his life is not an option.”

“Who has given these orders?” Dr. Y asked.  “I have never heard such orders from the medical bureau.  In a case such as this, keeping him alive is tantamount to torture.”

“I cannot say more on this matter,” Verena said steepling her fingers.  “I am seeking other solutions here.”

“I am afraid I have none currently,” Dr. Y replied.

“Nor do I,” Brooks said.  “We need to know more.  Verena, will you send me the files you have on this case?”

She considered his request.  “I will send you some more information,” she said cryptically.  “Now, both of you – dismissed.”

---

< Ep 3 Part 13 | Ep 3 Part 15 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

Inside the glass cell sat a thing that had once been a man.

The only part of him unaltered was his head.  It was entirely intact, even looked healthy.  Like at any moment he might open his eyes and awaken.

But his body was like nothing Brooks had ever seen.

The platform he rested upon was much broader than a patient would normally need, and over nearly all of its surface, spreading like weeds, was Michal Denso.

His body had opened like a flower, if the petals had then become tendrils of flesh that grew outward.  His ribs rose like stamen, and in the open cavity of his chest his organs could be seen.

His lungs still expanded.  His heart still beat.

On the mass of flesh that covered the table, though, new shapes had appeared.  Organs that Brooks could recognize existed on there, but so did other, shapeless masses.

And eyes.

So many eyes that Brooks could not count them all immediately, there had to be nearly a score.

He had seen many cases of alteration, nut he had never seen any ike this.

Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, but he felt a strange calmness settle in, as it always did.  Detached, he could analyze the situation better, come to better decisions.

He continued to study the man, wanting to take in everything, not miss a detail no matter how unpleasant.

Thin tubes were tucked into his mouth and nose, with numerous IV feeds into his body, some of them directly into his orgns.  Some kind of small monitor was held up over his chest cavity, and upon closer inspection Brooks saw tubes coming from it that were carrying blood into his body, suggesting that his kidneys or liver were not functioning properly.

A myriad assortment of machinery was under the floor, which was also clear, and down there Brooks saw techs in their heavy protective suits.

Verena spoke.  “Step away.”

Brooks was unsure if she meant him, but then he saw the techs below leave, disappearing out of sight.

“May I approach?” he asked the doctor.

She nodded, and Brooks moved forward, stopping in front of the chamber.  The man’s eyes did not open, and Brooks glanced to Verena, who was looking at a readout screen.

“Is he awake?” Brooks asked.

“No,” the doctor said, not moving her eyes from the screen.  “I believe he is asleep – he does this only rarely, but he had an incident earlier today, not long after you arrived.  It exhausted him, but most of the time he is simply . . .”

“Distracted,” Kell supplied.

The voice came from behind him, and Brooks turned.

The Shoggoth had not approached.  He was only halfway from the door, and seemed, for the first time, to be at a loss.

His face was still – blank, almost.  Like a human simulation that was not receiving input.  His chin was even tipped slightly downward.

“Ambassador?” the Captain asked.

“I am observing,” Kell replied. His mouth moved.  But he still did not look up.

Brooks turned back towards Verena, who was watching Kell.

“My god, Verena – how is he still alive?”

“Many of his body’s functions have shut down or are working improperly,” she said.  “We are supporting all that we can.  In most circumstances, we can simply replace damaged or defective organs or use implants to perform the task – but his body alters even replacement organs in a very short time, and rejects implants.”

She gestured to the glass containment.  “For obvious reasons, the room is a clean space.  So far we have had no issue with infections – I believe that microbes ght find his body an unsuitable place for habitation, but I will not take chances.”

Brooks shook his head.  “Why is he still alive?  Has he communicated a desire to keep living like this?”

“No,” Verena replied.  “I have . . . wondered this, myself.  But I have orders from above, Captain – orders to keep him alive, at all costs.”

Brooks could not know why anyone would want to keep a man alive like this, and it twisted his stomach even thinking about.  But now was not the time to question those orders; right now he needed to understand the situation itself.

“What is his name?” Brooks asked her, nodding slightly towards the man.

Verena regarded him as if he’d asked an odd question.

“Michal Denso,” she told him.  “He was an assistant Navigational Officer on the frigate Sunspot.  It was in Battlefleet A at Terris.”

Brooks took the words in soberly.  Battlefleet A had been the point of the spearhead of battle.  They had, by far, taken the worst effect of the Leviathan’s reality breaking effects.

Brooks’s ship had not been in that group.  He had still seen combat at Terris – a brutal experience.  But it had been nothing like the group Denso had been in.

Out of fifteen thousand ships in that battlefleet, less than a thousand made it out.  Among them were the most dead, the most insane.

And the most altered.

The sound of footsteps caught Brooks’s attention.  Kell was approaching.

He was not the only one to notice.  As Kell came near, Michal Denso opened his eyes.

Those on his growths were swollen, grotesque.  They rotated all the same, each of them affixing upon Kell.

Kell had a grim look upon his face, almost angry.

“This is not meant to be,” he said.

Verena was watching the Ambassador closely.  “Any information might be useful,” she said.

Kell opened his mouth to speak – but then paused.  He struggled a moment, then closed his mouth.

“I see, but I do not understand,” he said softly.  “Not yet.”

He stepped closer to the chamber and lifted a hand, pressing it gently against the glass.

Alarms began to go off, and Verena looked to the screen on the side.  “There is a surge of brain activity,” she said.

Michal Denso lifted his head – and hand.  Brooks had not seen it before, it had grown so smoothly among the other tendrils of flesh that it had seemed to be merely one of those.

It was not like a human arm anymore.  There was no skin left on it, just raw flesh, and twice as long as any human arm.

It moved stiffly, mechanically, and more alarms went off.  He leaned forward, flesh on the table peeling off, and pressed his hand to the glass, opposite Kell’s hand.  The tubes and devices moved with him, and Brooks could not imagine how he could have moved in this state at all.

The alarms went silent suddenly, as Verena deactivated them, but the silence was worse than the noise.

Brooks felt sweat trickle down his temple, wondering why Verena did nothing to put a stop to this, but he could not make himself move as he saw Kell . . . commune . . . with the man within the chamber.

And then Kell spasmed.  A sound of pain, of fear, came from him – not just his voice, but suddenly a cacophony of them, all making the same kind of cry-

Kell collapsed onto the floor.

“Ambassador!” Brooks cried, dropping to a knee.

His eyes were open, and he was staring sightlessly upwards.

Brooks opened a channel.  “Cenz, get to the high-security medical wing, the Ambassador is injured!”

Verena was summoning help as well.  “We have no information on Shoggoth anatomy here,” she noted.

“We don’t know much more,” Brooks admitted.  “But if anyone has learned something, it will have been Commander Cenz.”

Brooks wanted to pull the Ambassador away, but he could not budge the being.  He could not even move a limb.

It would be minutes before Cenz could get here.

A long, piercing shriek brought his attention back to Denso.

He realized that the man was attempting to stand, struggling to pull his own flesh free from the table.

He was staring at Kell, and on his face was rage.

Alarms were building again, and the man was breathing harder and harder, staring at Kell.

He pounded the fist of his horrible, elongated arm against the glass, letting out a voiceless cry of anger.

A moment after he’d struck it, cracks appeared on the case.  It was as if something massive had crashed into it, something moving with but just behind his limbs.

“I want to go home!” the man screamed.  His voice carried through the chamber walls with unnatural power, echoing in the empty room.

More cracks appeared on the chamber walls.  Denso hadn’t even moved.

“We need help in here now,” Brooks said.

“The Shoggoth cannot be moved,” Verena said, with unnatural calm.  “And Denso is unresponsive to sedatives.  Bringing others in will only endanger them, we must simply wait, and watch.”  Without another word, she turned and walked towards the door – but did not leave, only standing near it and observing.

Denso pounded the glass again.  A sound like a mighty crash came, and the glass of the floor cracked, nearly but not quite buckling.

Brooks said nothing and looked back to Kell.  “Ambassador, if any part of you is awake, we need you to move!”

Perhaps some part of the being was still aware, because the eyes suddenly looked to him.  Kell sat up, moving not like a man lifting himself with muscles, but like he was suspended from invisible strings.

He rose and stared at Denso.

Denso was still furious.  He had made no other move, but he was panting hard, his face red with exertion.

Verena watched.

Kell took a single step forward, and Denso was shoved back.  He fell heavily back onto the table, his body straining, but not moving.  All of his eyes were still fixed upon Kell.

He went still, sagging onto the surface.

A single word escaped his lips.  “Home.”

Kell said nothing, unmoving, staring at the man behind the glass for a long moment.

Then he opened his mouth, and a flood of thick black liquid poured past his lips.  He said nothing as it splashed down his front, onto the floor.

Brooks could not understand it for a moment, before realizing that it was blood.

But before he could say a word, could even ask if Kell was all right, the Ambassador turned on his heel and walked towards the door.

“Ambassador!” Brooks said, chasing after him.  He did not try to stop him, but simply came up alongside him.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.  “You need medical care.”

But Kell would say nothing.

Even when Verena opened the airlock, the being was silent.

All the way back to the ship.

---

< Ep 3 Part 12 | Ep 3 Part 14 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

“Ambassador, thank you for agreeing to come,” Brooks told the being as they shifted from the gravity of the Craton to the zero-g of the medical station.

Despite how disconcerting it was to even a seasoned spacer like Brooks, Kell seemed unbothered.

Taking a railing and pulling himself along, he glanced at Kell.  The being seemed to have no need for handholds or anything to move itself as it liked in the lack of gravity.  Not even a foot touching the floor.

The inhumanity, the . . . wrongness of the being struck him again, and he felt a shiver go down his spine, a twisting in his stomach.

It was just nerves, he chided himself.  The Ambassador was as odd being, one that was inhuman, but in a way that was wholly appropriate; he was another species, after all.  And he had, largely, played fair with them in the last few weeks.  Just because the Battle of Terris had been brought up, that he was about to meet one of its many victims, was no reason to alter his views on the Ambassador.

Kell had still said nothing in response to him, as they met an orderly drone that led them deeper into the structure.

As they entered the chamber that would bring them up to speed with the rotating station – and back into a semblance of gravity – Kell spoke, as if there had been no pause in their conversation.

“I must come,” he said.

Or it.  Brooks mentally found himself humanizing the being, and chided himself.  Projecting human concepts and norms onto non-human beings was a long-time source of problems in inter-species relations.  It was good, vital, to view them as equal beings, but it did not help to simply think of them as humans who looked a little different.

Though, honestly, Kell seemed to not care at all how they referred to it.

“I hope you understood that it was not an order,” Brooks said.  “It was only a request, though an important one.”

Kell looked at him, and despite there being no change in his expression, Brooks could still feel the judgment.

“There are times when I will have to give you orders,” Brooks told him.  “I’ve been very spare with this out of respect, Ambassador.  But you must understand that there are requests – and there are orders.”

“I will keep my own counsel on that,” Kell replied.  “But this case – it is bigger than us.  Bigger than this station, I feel.  If you had not asked me, I would have requested to come see.”

The chamber had been slowly picking up speed, and Brooks feet were just starting to touch the floor.

This part of the station kept at 90% of Earth gravity; enough to feel some weight was taken off of him, but still quite solid.

Verena was waiting.  She spared Kell at glance, and the Ambassador stared back at her, his face equally expressionless, but his interest still apparent.

“Follow me,” she ordered.

They began down the corridor, and she led them into another elevator.

“The area we are going into is reserved for the most extreme cases of alterations caused by exposure to a Reality Break event,” she explained.  “These cases are nearly all terminal, and typically all we can do is give them palliative care.  However, in most cases, their injuries are severe enough that they are not mentally functional.  Such was the case with this patient we are soon to meet – his code is AB49672-E.”

She looked at her pad.  “Until recently, the patient was in a catatonic state.  His condition was severe, but physical alterations were – as far as we could tell – relatively minor.”

She looked back up and her eyes moved from Brooks to Kell.  “Until recently.  The patient has regained consciousness and has started to communicate.”

“Is he improving, then?” Brooks asked.

“I do not believe so,” Verena said.  “His communicative periods are brief, but other oddities have begun to arise.  While it is common for altered patients to develop benign tumors and growths, Denso has begun growing functional new organs.”

“That’s impossible,” Brooks said.  “Alteration is the corruption of matter as we know it-“

“It is not impossible,” Kell commented.

Brooks looked at him, but the Ambassador did not meet his gaze.  He was only staring at Verena.

The doctor nodded.  “Evidently, the Ambassador is correct.  Denso has begun to grow eyes – functional eyes.  This has not been seen in another altered patient, it is entirely novel.  I believe it is possible that you will be able to understand this more, Ambassador, on account of your equally-novel biology.  And you, Captain – you have encountered Leviathans more than any other living person and come out without alteration.  It makes you both uniquely qualified.”

“I will be happy to lend whatever assistance I can,” Brooks replied.  But he didn’t feel very confident; after all he had seen, he still knew almost nothing about Leviathans, beings like them, or those that had been altered by their presence.

He had the feeling, though, that there was more to this than she said, that her reasons extended beyond his mere experiences.  The sinking feeling in his stomach grew worse.

“Do you have any questions, Ambassador?” Verena asked, looking at Kell.  Brooks realized that she had not had any visible reaction to the Shoggoth.  Not upon first meeting him, and not now.

“I will have to see him,” Kell replied.

Verena nodded.  “I thought as much.  Captain, are you ready?”

“Yes,” Brooks said.  Though his stomach churned, and dread crept up his spine, he knew that this was a part of his duty.  It was the worst part, but it was still the service required of him.

The elevator door opened, and Brooks realized it had stopped some time ago, but Verena had kept the doors closed.

The first thing that hit him was the smell; the stench of chemicals designed to render a surface more sterile than a radiation-baked rock.  There was no pleasant scent added to diminish the noxious sting, and he found his eyes wanting to water.

The area itself was white, antiseptic.  The walls were different from any he had seen elsewhere on the station or even a starship; a slight off-white color, made of single pieces that formed wall, floor, and ceiling.  It seemed that the entire corridor had been made in a single custom piece, with all halls extending off it appearing the same.  The entire area, perhaps even floor, must have been 3D printed in one single piece.

The air seemed oddly humid.  From the sheer quantity of cleaning chemicals, or for a different reason entirely, he could not tell.

Kell seemed just as fascinated.  “Interesting,” he said, looking over.  There was some distaste in his voice, and when they stepped out, Kell seemed almost uncomfortable.

“Is something troubling you, Ambassador?” Verena asked, studying him carefully.  As if watching for a reaction.

“No,” Kell replied.

Other doctors were in the hall, but were faceless under full-body protective suits, bulkier even than space suits.

“Should we be wearing more protection?” Brooks asked.

“Only if you plan on staying for hours,” she replied.  “For the purposes of our visit, we will be safe enough.”

Reassuring, Brooks thought.

“Before we go further, I must impress upon you both that what we are about to see is a Class-15 secret.”  She looked to Brooks, then Kell, pitting the latter with a more intense stare.

“You will not speak of nor share anything you learn or witness here with another being outside of this facility.  Am I understood?”

Brooks nodded, but he had to struggle to fight a dizziness that swept him.

The Sapient Union was a very open body, and yet they still had secrets.  Class-15 was the pinnacle of secrets, a type even he had never been privy to before.

The bulkhead walls ahead looked somewhat different; more milky, further from true white.  As they neared, the color drained out of them, turning as clear as glass.  Beyond, was another room.

It was a very large space; at least ten meters tall and twice that on each side.

The space was largely empty – save for at the center, where there was a glass-walled chamber.  Or, at least it was clear like glass; Brooks’s data feed informed him that it was a heavily-reinforced plastic.

The airlock doors were still opaque, cutting them off from all sight as they entered.  A decontamination procedure commenced.  Kell scowled through it.

“Unpleasant,” he commented.

Verena was watching him carefully again.  But she said nothing.

The other door opened, and they went into the room beyond.

---

< Ep 3 Part 11 | Ep 3 Part 13 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

Dr. Verena Urle’s office was a paradigm of efficiency, Brooks thought.  There was her primary desk, there were bookshelves filled with physical copies of the most important documents, displayed perfectly, everything lit, everything neat.  There was very little else, save for a chair for him.  No photos, no knick-knacks, not even an errant paper.  No sign of life.

It was a spacious room, but with the scale of Medical Station 29, it could afford to be.  Yet the sparse nature of the furnishings made it feel almost too large.  Uncomfortably so.

“I am quite busy, as you may guess, Captain,” she said.  Her voice was inflectionless, merely information with none of the warmth.  Not at all the woman Brooks had once known.  “Perhaps you can appreciate my hard copies of The Complete Medical History of Humanity another time.”

“Of course,” he said, pulling his eyes away from the shelves.  It was easier than looking the woman in the eyes.

“We have begun offloading the clones and their equipment to your people,” he began.

“I am aware,” she replied.  “I have already received reports that it is behind schedule.  I was under the impression you ran a tight ship, Captain.  Was I wrong?”

The hardest part, he knew, was that it was not meant to be a snipe; if she said it, it was just likely to be true.

“I run my ship well,” he replied.  “But with something of this nature, slow-downs can occur.  I’d rather make sure it was done right than quickly.”

“We manage both, here,” she commented.

“With all due respect, Admiral,” he said, using her rank instead of title.  “We are not a medical facility.  We are a city-ship, and this is something we will handle as best we can.  I have full faith in my people; they are doing their best.  Once they are in your hands, we will all be happier.”

The woman nodded sharply, and looked down.  “There is another matter which requires your attention.”

“The transfer of people from your station?” Brooks asked.  He’d been informed ahead of time; it was not often that a ship such as his came here.

And Medical Station 29 was a hard place to work – or live.  There was a long list of people asking for transport off, and the wait could be years.

“That is correct.  My people estimate that your vessel can take 10,000 emigrants.”

“Ten thousand!” Brooks replied.  “That’s a substantial increase in population, Admiral.”

“That is the second time you have called me by my rank,” she replied.  “It is better if you call me Doctor if not Verena.”

“Very well, Doctor.  But you understand my shock; our population cap is set at 40,000, and we’re already at nearly 35,000.”

“Yes, but these people will not be living on your ship for long.  You need only take them to the next port – I believe your itinerary has you heading to Gohhi Station after here?  They can certainly take on many of the transfers, who will then be free to move wherever they wish.”

Brooks was unsure how he would manage that many people.  “Is this an order?”

“Yes, Captain, it is.  But consider it in a humanitarian interest.  Many of these transfers have been on the waiting list for five or more years, and they are only seven percent of current requested transfers.  I expect that after taking your clones aboard, we will have many more.”

Brooks could not reply.  In a way, they had an easy task, merely being the courier of these beings.  Those who were in too poor a condition to have been moved from New Vitriol were now in the care of specialists of the Sapient Union, whose job was simply to make them as comfortable as they could in their passing.

And here at Medical Station 29, they would have to help those they could, watch many die anyway, and then help give the best lives possible to thousands of others who would likely never know a full life.

“I would order you to take more than ten thousand if I could,” Verena added.  “But I estimate that this is the most you can comfortably transport.”

“We also have a number of people from New Vitriol,” Brooks noted.

“I took them into account,” she replied.  She was looking down at her tablet and not even making eye contact.

In a way he was glad.

She said nothing for several moments, and Brooks cleared his throat.  She looked up.

“It is good to see you, Verena,” he said.  “How are you doing?”

“I am fine,” she replied evenly.

“Will you see Zach later?” he asked.  It seemed an obvious question, but with how she was anymore, he couldn’t really know.

“I will see my ex-husband later,” she replied.  “But it must wait.  There are many important matters – these clones, and something else.”

“I know it will mean a lot to him and to the girls,” Brooks added.

“I understand that it will have an emotional impact,” she replied.  “There is a more pressing issue, however.  I have a special patient.  I had hoped for you to bring your Cerebral Reader to meet him, but her initial reaction to the station does not give me hope.”

“What is the issue with this patient?” Brooks asked, trying to hide his discomfort.

He had met her since her accident.  But it was always hard.

“He is one of the altered from the Battle of Terris,” she replied.

He sat forward in alarm.  The battle.

“What is the nature of his . . . condition?”

“It is severe,” she replied.  “And currently there is much I do not know.  But most important is that this case must remain a secret, Captain.  You must tell no one in the crew about it, besides whomever you choose to bring with you.”

“Who do I need?  You mentioned Apollonia, but I don’t think she will be up to it – not yet.  We only just took her in, and days ago she was awaiting execution.  She’s going to need some time to adjust, to learn-“

“Understandable reasons,” Verena replied.  “Instead of her, I suggest Ambassador Kell.”

Brooks frowned.  “What is going on, doctor?”

“I will inform you more at 2030 hours,” she replied.  “Dismissed.”

The sudden dismissal caught him off-guard.

Verena was already looking back down at her tablet, and Brooks awkwardly stood, moving for the door.

As he reached it, he could not help but look back.

“I am glad you are well, Verena,” he said.

She glanced up to him, and gave the barest of nods in acknowledgement.  Then she returned to her work.

---

< Ep 3 Part 9 | Ep 3 Part 11 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

“We’re already behind schedule, and we just started,” Ham Sulp growled to Pirra.  His eyes were fixed on the loaders as they very carefully hoisted each cloning tank onto a crawler.

The tanks and equipment combined weighed over two tons each, and yet neither the loaders nor crawlers had any trouble with their burdens.

“Chew?” Sulp asked her, offering an open bag.

“Dessei don’t chew,” she replied, trying to keep from being short with the man.  “Sir.”

“Your loss,” the Commander said, popping another piece into his mouth.

The bag proclaimed it as smoked dovoq flavored with green tea.  She knew none of those flavors, though Alexander had told her that green tea was unlikely to bother her.  Dried foods, chews, flavored water.  They were all bizarre things to her; but then, Dessei had much different palates than humans.

Another cloning tube went out of the room.  The being within was shifting, hands clenching and unclenching.

“Can we be more gentle with them?” she asked Sulp.

He looked to her.  “I’ve got these movers on the gentlest mode.  We can’t get more careful unless we want to slow our moving rate even more.”

“I just think they’re getting disturbed by the movement,” Pirra replied.

“Probably,” Sulp agreed.

“Can’t we just go slower?” Pirra asked.  “Is getting the job done quickly more important than doing it in a way that keeps them safe?”

“Lieutenant, some of these clones are about ready to pop out of their tanks.  In some cases it might be as early as tomorrow.  We want to make sure they are within reach of doctors when they do that.  Because otherwise, half of ’em are gonna crawl out and just die on the deck.”

The man frowned severely.  “Why are you even in here?” he asked.  “This is a joint operation by Quartermaster, Sci, and Med.  And you’re a Lieutenant in Response.”

“Yes sir,” she replied, biting back a retort.  “Commander Cenz has given me permission to be involved in the operation as an advisor due to the fact that they’re living beings.  If an emergency situation should arise, I have authority to be involved.”

Sulp pointedly looked around the room.  Over a dozen cloning tubes were in motion now, each slowly rolling across the floor towards the hangar, where they’d soon be going into the medical station.

“I don’t see an emergency situation,” he growled.

“The clones seem disturbed, sir,” she said, struggling to keep her cool.  Sulp could test anyone’s patience, but today he was being particularly onerous.  “It’s not an emergency situation, but-“

“Then keep an eye out for one, Lieutenant,” the man growled.  He stepped away, throwing up both arms.  “Hey, what are you doing you idiot?”

His final words were spoken to a drone that had begun to veer out of line.  A series of strange coded beeps came from the machine, and Sulp shook his head.

“I don’t care if there’s a mote on the floor!  Unless it’s an important mote, just roll over it!”

“Wait, let me look, sir,” Pirra said.  The crawler had come to a stop – the whole line had done so – and she darted between them to look at the spot.

It wasn’t her singing stone, as she had hoped, just a folded sheet of paper.  Picking it up, she stepped back out of the line, while Sulp cursed the drones back into movement.

It bothered her that he was cursing up a storm by the sleeping ones.  They were likely aware of things around them, on some level, Cenz had told her.  They could therefore hear the whole slew of filthy words and slander that the head of the Quartermaster department was heaping on his machines.

She knew that the man was an expert at his job, kept his tongue in line when it mattered, and was from a bizarre human spacer culture for whom strings of expletives were not just acceptable, but downright polite.

Still.

The scrap of paper was not one of those old weird human pieces made from bits of tree, but rather made from a kind of plastic that mimicked those properties.

Carefully, she unfolded it.

It had just two words on it; Ema and Dav.

The antenna on her head twitched, rising up from her feathers, as some scent caught her attention.  It was the dovaq, she realized, and the smell reminded her of burning tires.

“What is it?” Sulp said over her shoulder.  He resumed chewing, and the sound grated on her ears.  Even Alexander’s quiet chewing could be off-putting to some of her kind, and the quartermaster was being far louder than that.

“Names,” she said.  “The paper isn’t like what we use on the ship, so I think it must be from New Vitriol.”

“Probably fell off one of the cloning tubes,” the man said.  He reached around and took the piece of paper from her hand.  “We can put it with the others.”

“Others?” she asked, startled enough not to comment on him taking the slip.

“Some other notes like this have been found on the tubes since we got here.  Probably the cloners, naming the clones they took a shine to.  Heard of it happening with amateurs in the people-making business.  Emotional connection.”

His words were like a stab into her heart.  “They’re people in those vats, sir,” she said.  “I can understand an emotional attachment.”

“Sure, you can,” the man replied.  If not for the sadness in his voice, it would have seemed mocking.  “But we’re talking about people who were trying to mass grow human beings.  Who were willing to let the majority die or come out sick.  For ’em to then be forming an attachment . . . well, in my view the caring shoulda come a lot sooner and in the form of not cloning at all.”

Pirra couldn’t come up with any response to that.  Sulp walked away, and after a moment she went after him.

The man had gone into a small office, and was pulling a box out of a cubby as she came in.

“What are you going to do with it?” she asked.  “You said there were others.”

“We don’t know which tubes they fell off,” the man said.  “So I’ve been collecting the loose ones in a box.”

He picked up a small box and shook it.  There were several dozen slips of paper in it.

Pirra carefully picked up one and saw that it had the name Dum on it.  Another she could see had Tos, and another Heg.

“Are these all names?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Sulp grunted.  “That colony took up a common spacer trend – short names.  Short means bigger letters on your jacket, less sounds to call each other.  Lots of little reasons lead to that.  That Apollonia girl, I bet you diamonds to dross that she picked that name herself, bein’ an outcast.  Nor sounds a lot more proper by the standards of a place like that.”

“I see,” Pirra said.  “But why name them?  Putting some kind of claim on them?  They didn’t even know that these clones would survive . . .”

Sulp didn’t answer for a long moment, but snatched the paper from her hand and put it back into the box.

“Rads make having kids hard in space,” he said.  “I bet that the named clones were people’s kids.  They were just . . . excited.  Hopeful.”

He shoved the box of names back into its spot.

“They didn’t think it would go so bad.”

---

< Ep 3 Part 8 | Ep 3 Part 10 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

As Apollonia screamed again, Brooks stepped over.  She had passed out before he even reached her.

“What’s happening to her?” he demanded.  “Is she all right?”

“I do not know, precisely, but she has gone unconscious,” Y replied quickly.

Brooks leaned in to help him hold the woman, but the mechanical arms of the Doctor were stronger than he could ever be, and he realized it was pointless.

Dr. Y placed his hand on her head, his fingers spreading out.  He had innumerable medical diagnostic tools built into his body specifically for emergency situations like this, Brooks knew.

“How is she?” he asked.

“I can detect no serious medical conditions,” Y noted.  “I was quite thorough in my prior tests.  I believe that something about entering the station has simply given her a great shock.”

Brooks was not sure he bought that – though he had to admit that Apollonia had had a very secluded life.  She had barely known gravity for much of her life.

“I have an emergency team on their way,” Verena said calmly.

“I believe the best course of action would be to return her to the Craton,” Y said.

Brooks nodded.  “I agree.  Take her back, if you would, Doctor.”

Verena frowned.  “Are you certain, Captain?  This is a medical station.”

“I am,” he replied.  “She is comfortable with Dr. Y.”

“Immediately, Captain,” the AI said, picking her up in his arms.

“I had hoped to learn more about this CR,” Verena commented.

“You still will get a chance, but she wants off here, and I’m not going to force her to stay,” the Captain replied.

The doors opened and they stepped off, while Y waited.  As soon as they were off, the capsule began to slow – no longer matching the rotation of the habitat cylinder and returning to zero-g.

Brooks watched it, part of him wondering if he should go back with her.

But he still had a job to do here.

Verena’s face was neutral as he turned back to her, and it bothered him even though he knew why.

“Apologies are unnecessary,” Verena said.  “Let us continue on.  The rest of your staff should speak with the organization department head regarding the cloned individuals you have brought.  We will head to my office.”

Brooks had not been going to apologize; Apollonia had done nothing wrong, in his mind.

---

She felt cold.  A blanket was over her shoulders, but it didn’t help.

Dr. Y had brought her back to the ship – practically carrying her.  Not the most dignified way to move, but she didn’t feel any remorse over it.  She’d been only barely awake for most of it, remembering others talking, but their words had been vague, mere sounds without meaning to her mind at the time.

Staying in that place was worse than some embarrassment, and she had no hesitation admitting that.

And that woman – ‘Verena’.

She’d never been very religious, the whole gospel of the Dawn had fallen on deaf ears.  Hard to believe in it when the same people pushing it thought you were some sort of hellspawn, but she knew the stories, the legends.  The opposite of the Dawn was the Dark, the stuff of deep space, of night time, of caverns into the Earth where horrible things lived.

She still felt afraid thinking of those things.

That woman was as close as she had ever seen in a human.  She was a human, she knew that.  But that woman was a black hole inside – a void.

Y had brought her to a small medbay near the hangar, and she now sat with her legs dangling from the side of a patient chair that could lay back to be a bed.  She considered laying down and taking a nap, she felt tired enough to go right to sleep.  But she didn’t think she could calm down enough for that right now.

The doctor had left – he’d offered to stay, but she’d told him she wanted to be alone.  He’d accepted that, and she’d gotten a hot drink, tea, and was sipping it.

Why did anyone like this stuff?  It tasted awful.

She’d always seen it on shows, distinguished, smart people drank it, and she’d always wanted to try it.  Ever since she’d come on the ship and tasted it, she’d disliked it.

But it was warm.

The door opened, sliding into the wall with a soft hiss.  She looked up, expecting Dr. Y-

It was Dr. Logus instead.

“Hello, Apollonia,” he said warmly.

“Leave,” she said to him.

A look that was probably hurt went over his face, and she felt a twinge of guilt.

“I’m here to see how you are.  I heard you had an incident on the Medical Station.”

“I’m fine now,” she said, watching him over her tea.

“But you did wish to leave very quickly, yes?  Something was bothering you.”

She took an exaggeratedly long drink of her tea, just to give an excuse not to answer the man.

But he went and sat down.

“I can’t talk to you,” she said.

It only seemed to encourage him.  “I noticed you’ve been avoiding me.  Would you tell me why?”

“No,” she said.  “Just leave.”

The man took a deep breath.  She thought he was about to stay, but he rose to his feet.

“I can’t – and won’t – force you to talk to me,” he said.  “But I am only here to try and help, Ms. Nor.  Before I go, is there anything you will let me do for you?”

She said nothing, glaring still.  But she couldn’t keep up her rancor; the man was being so clearly earnest, and she felt guilty at treating him this way.

But she still couldn’t talk to him.

“Just go,” she said, softly.

The man turned and walked out the door.

---

< Ep 3 Part 7 | Ep 3 Part 9 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

The airlock doors opened, and Apollonia was amazed.

This wasn’t one of the rickety tubes that swayed and seemed like it might fall apart at any moment as she’d always known from her home system.  This tunnel was a literal tunnel, six meters wide and solid.  Off to the side was even a gravity-generated pathway for them to walk down.  She headed towards it automatically, enjoying greatly the sensation of freely walking she’d had since coming aboard the Craton.  But the Captain instead floated down the middle, with Urle and Dr. Y at his side.  Kell was also with them, along with a few other attaches she’d been introduced to, but whose names she had already forgotten.

She should stick with the group, she thought, and adjusted her path to match theirs.  It was weird going from the gravity to non-gravity again, a step out and you just began to float.

Using the railing in the middle, she followed the Captain’s group.  The tunnel was probably twenty meters long, and at the end another door had opened.

A woman was there with two attendants, waiting.  Even from here, Apollonia could tell her stern expression, and felt a nervousness rise in her gut.

Or was it the woman?  As they moved down the tunnel, it seemed like the lights were getting dimmer.

No, she thought.  They weren’t dimmer, but things felt different.  The shadows seemed more stark, more cruel.

Her feeling from her first sighting of the station came back.  They were deep in the Dark out here, and this was a cursed place.  Ambassador Kell had said it, and when it had, she’d felt it.

Yes, she thought.  This place was cursed.

“Admiral-Doctor Urle,” the Captain said, as they closed with the severe-looking woman.

Wait, Urle?  That was the first mate’s name, Apollonia realized.

The woman’s face did not change.  She nodded just slightly and spoke.  “Captain-Mayor Brooks, welcome to Medical Station 29.  You may call me Verena.”

“Very well, Verena, if you insist,” Brooks replied.  “I need not introduce you, save perhaps to one – I would like you to meet Apollonia Nor, formerly of the colony New Vitriol in the Begonia system.”

Something was wrong, Apollonia thought.  The Captain was gesturing to her, the doctor was staring, and she knew she was supposed to talk.

But she felt dizzy.  And the woman, the doctor – she was not right.

Their eyes met, and Apollonia felt herself shudder.

Those eyes.  They were hollow.  Empty of soul.

She was of the Dark.

“Ms. Nor?” Brooks said.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she managed to breathe.  She did not want to mess this up, she did not want to fuck up the very first thing she was supposed to do with these people, she did not want to go back to New Vitriol . . .

“Ms. Nor,” the doctor said, moving closer.  “I have heard about you already.”

Her proximity made Apollonia feel worse.  “Oh.  That’s good.”

The doctor swept her eyes over the rest of the group.

Dr. Y moved forward.  “A pleasure to see you again, Dr. Urle – Verena, if you prefer.  It has been too long.”

Verena accepted that, and her eyes moved to Executive Commander Urle.  They hung there, and no one said a word for a long moment.

“It’s good to see you,” the first mate said, his voice soft.

“I am glad you are here,” she said.  But that was all.

What was going on? Apollonia thought.  Could no one else see what she was seeing?

Oh.  Of course not, she realized.  Her head was swimming so much she could barely think.

Something came next to her, and she nearly screamed until she realized it was Ambassador Kell.  He – it – whatever it was – was looking at her intensely.

She realized that the Ambassador saw whatever it was that she was seeing.  And it didn’t know what to make of it anymore than she.

Verena was talking, and Brooks had started to follow her.  Apollonia forced herself to move.  No one but Kell seemed to have noticed her discomfort.

When she crossed onto the station, she felt pain shoot down her spine.  It went down her legs, through her arms, leaving her feeling weak.

“Oh god,” she said.

She didn’t remember moving more, but was drifting towards a door that the others had entered.  Kell was still watching her, but saying nothing.

They were in it now, and something was happening.  A pleasant voice chimed over a speaker.

“Prepare for return to Earth Grav Normal.  Please hold onto the railings and stand with feet pointed towards the red floor.”

It felt like they moved, and then suddenly their feet were on the floor.

And she fell.  She could not stand up any longer.

“Nor?” Dr. Y said, his voice alarmed.  But to her, it sounded distant, fuzzy.

She was looking up at his metal face.  She had blacked out, but only for a moment, she thought.  They were still on the elevator.

“Are you feeling ill?” the doctor asked.

“Take me back to the ship,” she said.  Her voice was weak, her muscles not wanting to work.

“It may be gravity orientation sickness,” Verena said.  “We have treatments for that-“

“Take me back to the ship!” Apollonia screamed.  Red clouded her vision, and she could not have told them why she wanted out of here so badly.  But she knew that she did not want to spend even one more minute in this cursed place, near that woman without a soul.

---

< Ep 3 Part 6 | Ep 3 Part 8 >