The Wild Ba’Neesh Chapter Twenty-One ©2019 Fay Thompson All Rights Reserved

Mick lay in a shallow tank of smelly red stuff. Jeffrey promised it was only for thirty minutes as the red stuff was supposed to penetrate the silver film and help it release. Mick had his eyelids closed and glued shut and glue around the straws in his nose and his lips glued shut. Yet, somehow, he could still smell the stuff, like rotting bananas bad. The only positive to the entire process was the absolute silence. Jeffrey had shut everyone outside, even Elias and Rojer, saying Mick needed the absence of stimulation to keep still.

Jeffrey was right.

Mick felt slammed, his brain was so tired he felt he could sleep for a week solid, except his brain refused to shut down. He understood that his brain had experienced a trauma, a wipe and been re-fed back into him. All of that was too scary to comprehend fully. He preferred to think of it as falling asleep instead of wiped. He felt like Mick. But, he knew, he didn’t have any way to compare the current Mick with the before Mick. He tried to shut his brain off again. Jeffrey said it was okay for him to sleep in this vat thing, maybe even easier.

He liked Jeffrey well enough, the guy had an easy way about him. Quiet, firm, solid. He instinctively trusted him, just like Pirate Brad. Both were a lot older yet he couldn’t fix their age in his head, they felt around thirty or so. Soek. He knew this was part of the problem. He’d never known a Soek before meeting Elias. The idea he too wasn’t human was hard to process.

Jeffrey had told him that while he looked younger than fifteen human age years, this slowness to age would only grow more pronounced pushing him further from humans who knew him well. That would be his mother. She cared. He tried to find the composite that generated the right emotional state. He should feel powerful emotions, that’s what his psychiatrist had told him. He suffered through the pain of that recall wishing he hadn’t summoned a new memory. Jeffrey had warned him it would be harder to process memories while in the vat.

But, he wanted to feel a greater sense of loss around his memories of his mother. Instead, he felt guilt for getting her into trouble and regret for not saying goodbye but he really couldn’t find the feelings of deep sorrow he should have. Back when he was ten the doctor had made him take a series of tests relating to correct emotional experiences. They played some vid scenarios and he was supposed to feel something. He failed that stupid test.

They had him wired up so they could read the deployment of neurological chemicals, strong indicators of specific emotional states. His didn’t fire properly, so they said. Back then the fear was that he was a sociopath. But, the doctor said he wasn’t, he simply didn’t respond to stimulation in predictive ways. There were reactions, but they were contextually different from the expected.

He compared Jeffrey’s silver sensory film to their helmet like head gear. Soek technology. Jeffrey said it wasn’t available in the human community. He couldn’t respond like a human because he wasn’t a human. The answer seemed clear now, but at ten years old, he was human. Jeffrey even said his bloodwork would be unremarkable before puberty and with Soek, puberty usually came late, that’s when the mutations began.

He tried to feel anxious about being Soek. But again, what did it mean? He was just Mick, no matter what species label got hung on him. Inside his head he was Mick with a broken word salad memory problem. But, still just Mick. The Ba thing, that was weirder. He didn’t feel like Elias was reading his mind or could. He didn’t think he could read Elias’ mind, except maybe during a battle. He blinked. Why had he quantified an exception? The thought circled inside him.

He had already remembered the tunnel battle when he sat back-to-back with Elias and there had been moments when they acted seamlessly, like one person expressed in two different operations. Ba was scary and strangely welcome. Maybe he would stop feeling so isolated and alone all the time. Maybe the lack of Ba had acted on him to limit his ability to interact with peer-aged kids, except through the anonymity of gaming. Maybe he had even met Soek online.

Elias played, so did Jordy. Mick knew that from Elias’ shared memory. It was weird thinking he might have played with another species without knowing it. Were there more still, other hidden species?

What exactly was out there riding the back of his head with prescience? Jeffrey said the Soek had once been human, then a group separated to organize around a deviation, a mutation process, slowly growing to alienate them from their human cousins until now, they were distinct species. He felt surrounded in secrets. Jeffrey said the Ba’Neesh knew more, but as usual, were holding back, forcing the Soek to work harder. To what end?

If this were a game. Mick focused on that thought. It was a game. In some critical way, thinking it was a game felt right. And, if this was a game, if he transplanted this scenario into a gaming platform, he would be in the building process. Every game had time periods where the opponents marshalled their resources, worked on abilities, refined rules, and made adjustments for the upcoming battles based on changes in what they knew and understood.

Why had he been rebooted? Jeffrey said that during the flight out of the national airspace he’d collapsed, been the locus of a directed personal attack on his molcom. Mick knew he was just a kid. Expendable. Hell, Elias and even Rojer had a better skillset than he did. So, why bother trying to get him back? He had already learned that She forced it. But, why did She force it? Why Mick? Secrets. He suspected She wouldn’t tell him, at least not easily. He was processing the Ba’Neesh trigger word. It had so many layers. He had seen them walking around, or frozen really.

He had seen Kiena, mostly in blue. Neeshatari. When he thought of Her his mind shied away, hunting safety. She was the key. She knew something. He could feel the grip of her at the base of his skull, compelling, but not trying hard. He suspected Her touch in his mind was barely a whisper, the rest he was augmenting on himself. He knew Her in some way and She knew him. Kiena, lying about her name. He paused on the thought. Why was he so adamant in forcibly including that truth every single time he thought of Her? Lying. Name error.

Something physical got his attention. He focused. Jeffrey?

The plugs inserted deep in his ear canals were pulled out. “Can you hear me now?” Jeffrey’s voice sounded too loud to his hearing.

Mick nodded.

“Good.” Jeffrey continued. “I will be rinsing you with a brisk spray. It will feel bitey. Lay still. If you can’t, I will strap you down. Okay?”

Mick nodded again. He didn’t want to be strapped down.

It was miserable. The wash felt like jabs of needles where the spray hit him. Mick moaned in his throat. It was extremely difficult to lay still and it took all of his concentration. He worried about what it would feel like on his face and genitals. Rightfully so. He hadn’t remembered his punched out face, its bruises, its small cuts. He screamed, only, it only happened inside his mouth. What really happened was desperate inhale snorts and snorty snot blasts as the spray felt like a power sander on his face.

Jeffrey had forgotten too. He raced to turn off the spray but by then most of Mick’s face was scrubbed revealing intense, refreshed wounding.

“Gods Mick, I’m so fucking sorry.” Jeffrey’s tone was truly remorseful. “I forgot your face was trashed. Son of a… I’ve stopped the spray. What do you want me to do?”

Mick couldn’t cry, his eyelids were glued shut. He couldn’t scream with his mouth glued closed. So he snorted and snorted until the pain was manageable. He wanted it over. He was fucking half done.

“Pain killer?” Jeffrey asked?

Mick nodded. Nuke him the fuck up. He nodded more vigorously.

A power ampoule penetrated his shoulder, unfortunately too close to another bruise. Mick moaned and then his mind spiraled out, carrying him away. He could feel the spray turned back on him. He didn’t give a fuck. He wondered why Jeffrey waited to narc him up. Maybe he wasn’t the only person off their game. He wondered what turning a molcom off when it was already off did to a person like Jeffrey. A degree of permanence? The thought floated above him, filled with glitter and lights. He watched it and wondered what it meant. It was pretty and shiny.

He roused hours later laying on a soft medical bed. He was slathered in salve. It smelled good, herbal. He felt clean and sore and itchy, even with the salve. He could hear the murmur of voices in the next room. The door was open although his room had the lights on low. He lay and listened, focusing on the sound until it became clear in his hearing. It was Jeffrey talking to someone named Serla. He tried to connect the name. Wasn’t Rojer called Serla too, Second of his Name? The audible second voice on the com didn’t sound like Rojer. Who was Serla?

It was clear, based on the content of the conversation, that Serla and Jeffrey were close friends. Serla was asking questions, mostly about Mick. He was discussing various bits of footage, tunnel footage, the airborne battle footage. Mick’s alertness grew. This Serla was clearly a strategy expert. The man was deeply interested in whether Jeffrey believed Mick’s essential logical pathways were damaged by the wipe. Jeffrey was speculating, describing Mick’s disorientation and flashes of clarity. Serla seemed particularly amused by Jeffrey’s discussion of Micks assessment of readiness and weapons directed at Thorne. He even laughed. “No wonder,” He said. “Thorne has been fit to be tied for days. Seems gamer boy finds his toys inadequate, Thorne never likes to be told he is inadequate, in any way.”

Gamer Boy.

Mick evaluated the tag. He was one boy among millions of gamers yet the tag felt personal. He compared it to his online gaming name, WareHawk. Both had dub. He found he favored his old moniker more. Ware meant Beware, Hawk indicated a bird of prey.

Aloud he said, “Call me WareHawk, if you mean me in gaming mode.” He spoke loud enough to silence the conversation. Footsteps brought Jeffrey into view.

“You’re awake? How bad is it?” Jeffrey asked, appearing at his side.

Mick watched Jeffrey’s face. “I slept. Integrated. Who is Serla? When can he get here?” He hadn’t known the last words were coming until they escaped his mouth.

“Integrated. Interesting word.” Jeffrey answered. He reached over and toggled his external wrist device, common to all DireSec operatives, Jeffrey included. “You there Serla?”

“WareHawk, huh? I’m running your stats now.” The voice held power and authority and another something Mick couldn’t analyze so easily.

“Not bad. Your gear suffered a lot of electronics failures.” Serla noted. “Power surges. You needed a Vrill dampner to do a clean interface. Might have pushed your scores up.”

Mick blinked. There was no courtesy dialogue. This guy was straight up. “I didn’t know about Vrill then and besides I doubt our power maintenance had Vrill dampners available for isolate Soek gamers.”

“Lack of knowledge is no excuse.” Serla answered, and he wasn’t playing coy.

Mick grunted, pushing himself upright. “You game?”

“I have.”

“Would I know you?”

“Our games have not overlapped according to my records.” Serla answered.

Mick was gasping a bit. He felt like he’d hit the motherlode of straight up. “When do you get here?” He asked directly.

“En route as of about now.” Serla answered. “I understand you and the Neeshatari have stolen a submarine, our biggest and best too.”

“Seems like.” Mick answered, trying not to scratch himself.

“I expect you to have some concrete weapon improvement ideas by the time I arrive, around fifteen hours from now.” Serla answered. Authority. Mick squirmed a bit and then nodded. He needed the help.

“Elias will help.” He said.

“You have the Citadel at your feet, Mick.” Serla’s tone chastised. “Access your resources. You wouldn’t be here now without due cause. The Ba’Neesh like to play close to the action. This means the clock is running. I am bringing some Akaitapi with me, cloaked.”

Mick realized he knew the strange word, a specific group of Ba’Neesh who lived ‘under the mountain’. Anya was Akaitapi. He wasn’t sure exactly what it meant beyond name recognition because even Mael hadn’t shared that information. He realized he knew this through a sleepshare, not his direct memory. It didn’t hurt. Integration. The word took on new meaning.

“I integrated, Jeffrey.” He said again. “Got some Mael in there. Do you think Ba is selective? I seem to have more of some a less of others.” He found he was able to see the memories of others like available data. It didn’t just flood him. That was a relief. What it offered was like those class slates, only better, he could dip into the real information and knowledge at any time. Serla’s comment landed. Use the Citadel. Battle and Weapons development? Who else was in his head this morning?

“From my own limited experience of one night’s sleep, I would say yes, we seem to favor specific shares over others.” Jeffrey nodded, “Likely it’s a mutual choice. Those strongest who want to share with each other get more, those less inclined or blocking get less. Discretion. If you have Mael it’s because Mael agreed. I didn’t get Mael, except on minimum.”

“Who’s Lal? He wants to try anti-itch dessert on me.” Mick said, raising an eyebrow. It sounded great, anything anti-itch sounded great, but dessert when he was starving sounded extra good.

“Bartholomew Lal, our Master of Superb Food.” Jeffrey said, “He is lurking in the Citadel making goodies. He’s tight with Mael. I will tell him you are hungry. He’ll make you fat.”

“Jeffrey? I think I need a wrist com, like the rest of you.” Mick said. “And a stunner, someone took the one I stole earlier.”

He heard laughter over Jeffrey’s com.

He noticed he was naked and all over red with bumps. This was worse than a rash, he felt peeled. He looked around for more salve. “Got socks to cover my hands, Jeffrey? Keep me from scratching?”

(I loved bringing Serla back. If this is the first WitchBoard book you have read, he will be a mystery. He is critical in other novels and he is one of my personal favorite characters. Yes, there are other WitchBoard novels. I am uncertain at this exact moment of the publication information on them. I am hoping you will be a fan ready to yell at my publishers for publication. The writing/publishing world is strange right now. Anyway, I hope you are enjoying the novel. Please click the stars and comment here or on Fay Thompson Author on Facebook. You are the best!)