Chapter ERROR (Reducation) (2/2)
He did not ask how he knew to tighten the tension here, pry loose the blinking eyeball to access the screws and tighten them there, ease the tension on the gear right there, wind the spring over here.
He just knew.
He worked slowly, admiring himself even as he cared for the twisted and warped mechanisms that had replaced his flesh.
As the Terrans say, the flesh is weak even if the spirit is willing, Do'ormo'ot thought to himself.
When he was done he cared for the tools, wiped the edges of the plates of his body, and put away the tools.
Afterwards he did not bother to smile. There was no need to show an outward display of the clean and sharp emotions within him.
---------------
Black mist puffed out from beneath each of his hoofs as he trotted around the exercise yard, enjoying the feel of the gears, pulleys, pistons that had replaced weak meat muscle. He held his head high, his hands grasping the forearm of the opposite arm within that sleeve, and felt the bellows within both his torso and his abdomen slowly pump.
A human stepped out in front of him, stopping him on his circuit that he would never complete and that he had completed and that he was in the middle of completing.
”Still confused?” the human asked from behind his mask.
”There is nothing to be confused by,” Do'ormo'ot said. ”This place offers many gifts, no simulation would gift me as this place has.”
The human seemed perplexed. ”Do you not fear losing yourself, what makes you you?”
Do'ormo'ot gave him a stare from behind his mask. ”No. Who one is is a concept that is fluid from moment to moment, experience changes that concept. There is no moments here, thus I am as the Deep Skies see me. I have no fear.”
The human moved back, politely motioning Do'ormo'ot to continue on his never-ending trot around the exercise yard.
Finally he stopped, moving over to where other prisoners were gathered up. They all stopped their discussion and looked up at him.
”So which centaur are you?” one of them asked.
”Prisoner 4582143,” Do'ormo'ot replied. He paused for a moment. ”End of Line.”
The others all looked at one another and then back at Do'ormo'ot. ”You've been here a while, haven't you, centaur?”
Do'omo'ot waited until he was sure they were done talking. He felt a slight bit of annoyance that they did not properly end their sentences.
”Yes. End of Line,” Do'ormo'ot answered.
”Yeah, he's been here a lot longer than the others. Did you know there are others of your kind here?” another asked.
Do'ormo'ot considered it. There had been a strike team with him when he had been captured. All of whom had destroyed entire planet's worth the population simply because their minds were too narrow, too carved in stone by forces that did not understand the basic realities of the universe.
”The fact that there are others of my species is inevitable. They have undoubtedly always been here, as have I,” Do'ormo'ot stated. ”End of Line.”
”Still think it's a simulation?” One asked.
”What I perceive as reality is of no importance, reality is as it is,” Do'ormo'ot answered. He looked up into the endless purple sky. ”Reality must be either accepted or altered, the denial of reality is a victory of ignorance over observational intelligence. End of Line.”
”Well, have a seat,” one of them said, moving to the side.
”For what purpose? End of Line,” Do'ormo'ot said.
”There are things we can teach you, that we are permitted to teach you, 4582143,” one large bulky one stated.
Do'ormo'ot sat, ensuring he appeared dignified.
”Let us teach you meditation,” one said.
----------------
His fingers had become long, thick, and powerful, with razor sharp tips. The cabling on the underside of his fingers, beneath the plating, was thick and well tensioned.
Do'ormo'ot held up his hands, concentrating as he had been taught. He reached down inside of him, where he could feel the complex interactions of his biomechanical parts. He exhaled slowly, focusing on the long fingers at the end of his four hands.
Purplish electrical arcs sizzled between his fingers for a long moment, moving up and down, arcing and spitting.
He held it for an eternal moment but barely a heartbeat before it vanished.
He hung his head, breathing slowly and heavily as he had been taught.
He did not smile. External displays of emotion were not necessary.
--------------
Do'ormo'ot trotted around the exercise yard, concentrating as he had been taught by his fellow scholars. He could feel the power building within him and guided it was he passed several of his fellow scholars as they sat and watched or talked with one another or exercised, all at the same time in different parts of the yard.
With a tingling burn down his legs the mist around his hooves caught fire.
He trotted, head high, arms folded within his sleeves, on hooves wreathed in fire.
There was no need to smile. He had always trotted thus.
-------------
Do'ormo'ot sadly closed the cover on the book he had been reading.
It was the last one. He had read all of the others, reading in the library and within his cell for an eternal nanosecond.
He closed the book, a written philosophical tract on how the loss of religion leads to the rise of cultism written by a Lanaktallan who wrote as his world burned around him. The book had ended suddenly, the bottom of the page charred, the edges of the charring still burning red with heat.
Sighing, Do'ormo'ot placed the book back onto the shelves and regretfully ran his hand down the spines of the other books.
He had read them, one by one, for he had always read them. The words were burned into his mind, as if the book was in front of him and being read because it was and always would be.
”Prisoner 4582143, you will follow or face Level IV Negative Stimulation. End of Line,” a jailer stated in the squealing squeaking voice.
”As you command. End of Line,” Do'ormo'ot replied.
He followed the figure through the hallways as they twisted and turned, his fire wreathed hooves thudding on the stone as black mist eddied behind his hoofbeats. Finally they reached a door and the figure held out Do'ormo'ot's ditty-bag.
Do'ormo'ot took the ditty-bag and waited as the door slowly swung open.
Beyond was noting but purple light with shining black swirls faintly visible in the depths.
”Your sentence has been served, Prisoner 4582143,” the figure intoned. ”Go forth, Do'ormo'ot, and bring wisdom to the ignorant.”
”I shall, Blessed One,” Do'ormo'ot stated, and stepped through the door.
-------------
The day was sunny, rich and powerful Lanaktallan trotting through the park, enjoying the sunshine and their wealth.
Storm clouds rushed in, despite the panicked actions of the beings at the weather control consoles. Lightning crackled, bolts coming down from the sky to slam into the ground.
With a bright flash, purple and painful to the eyes, the lightning stopped and the clouds dissolved.
Standing, in the grass, was a Lanaktallan. Dressed in heavy robes, his face masked, his hooves surrounded by black mist, the Lanaktallan was half again as tall as the tallest Lanaktallan present.
Do'ormo'ot did not smile as he looked around park.
There was no need for an outward expression of his satisfaction.