Zooey, Scene Six
17 Sep 2023Ryuko Ntsikana
Audio Portion at bottom, for listening convenience.
Part Six.
I See You.
_____________________________
The one thing Monty appreciated was that each level of Xochitl’s capital ship had its own manned galley—if such a moniker could be applied to androids—around the clock. Another anachronism when hyperspace jumping from point to point through deep space. This whole adventure had been one of disbelief, from its inception to this moment. Had he been told about all this, a subjective year passed. All he had encountered and been a party to, he would have had the person confined to a mental health facility. If he told anyone the truth, he would be the subject to be studied.
Since the entity had incorporated itself into Zooey and vanished into the blackness of space, his new task was to locate and track them. That part had been made easier by Xochitl’s associate, Art. He had brainstormed the concept of how that could be done, making Monty, a tenured Federal inspector, feel like a first-day rookie. Unlike himself, Art had not been a host to the entity, yet figured out a key part of its thought profile that he had not taken into consideration.
Monty reminded himself that one of the first rules learned when he was promoted to the position of inspector was to step back from the scene. More often than not, a person would get tunnel-visioned on what was in front of them and not see the larger story surrounding the scene. Art’s humbling insight reminded Monty of this important lesson. The one thing Monty could do was place an order to have the reporting navigational satellite streams monitored for the unique signature of the ship Zooey and the entity had departed in.
With so many political entities and loyalties at play, not every system looked favorably on their neighbor, but traffic reports were one area that all could agree on. Like or dislike, knowing who, what, when, or where someone, or thing, was passing through what region of space, was useful.
The first bite was from a distant port, where Zooey’s ship was recorded berthing for several days. The passage was booked on a returning commercial ship, whose destination was back towards the core systems, where the larger gatherings of humanity congregated. Tracking the commercial vessel required no special warrants or skills, as each reported their position and condition on a continual basis, for insurance and security purposes.
The ship was scheduled to arrive in Federation-controlled space within the week. Now all Monty had to do was wait for it to reach its destination to see which way Zooey and the entity would go.
Monty sipped his coffee while picking at the food on his plate. There wasn’t much for him to do until the commercial vessel arrived. Monty knew they were too far behind to catch up in time, but that did not stop Xochitl from trying. The ship was abuzz with activity as its engineering department flowed with a power like the large ship itself, trying to keep ahead of the minute repairs required after each jump. It was a race they were losing themselves, as Xochitl pushed her ship beyond its rating.
She was a top-tier ship mechanic and propulsion specialist herself, and her dad was every bit her equal, working for the ship’s chief of engineering when he could as easily be in charge himself. If not by sheer knowledge, of which he had more, but by his position of being the Targitai’s dad.
Targitai, Monty thought. What did that even mean? Like a good inspector, he had referenced the name, finding it to be more of an all-encompassing word for a specific tribe, but it did have a dual context in that it could denote her position, as the one whose responsibility of representing and leading them.
Monty chuckled at the thought as he sipped his coffee. She did not choose the position, but her heritage did place her historically within its boundaries, plus she did own the ship and everything within it, so she was screwed by genetics and circumstances.
Genetics. Monty pondered. The entity incorporated itself into its host's fabric of being. Its depth and breadth depended on what it wished to accomplish or control. In his case, he remained free will, but without a private thought of his own. In the case of the late prisoner, they were trapped inside a revolving mental hell cell of purposeful design until the entity decided it was time for them to take a spacewalk into the gravity well of a system’s star.
In Zooey’s damaged, dying, and comatose state, how deep did it need to go to bring her back? The holographic recording played again in his mind. She was healthy, whole, and without visible damage. It could heal a person from the cellular level within moments. It had cured him of an undiscovered cancer and reversed his natural aging process, internally, by a couple of decades. The doctor herself had been healed within moments, of being shot in the shoulder. What could it have done for Zooey, who had taken a bullet to her head, damaging her brain?
Though the entity was unaware, the shadow of Zooey remained vigilant. The entity delved deep into the very essence that constituted Zooey as a biological entity, perplexed by how she experienced seemingly random minor tremors or purposeful blinks of her eyes. The signals to manifest these actions into physical functions vanished, leaving no discernible source for these involuntary commands.
Even as the entity ventured into the most profound reaches of her genetics, it found everything in proper order. Each cell dutifully performing its designated role. Yet, the elusive spark that initiated voluntary actions dissipated faster than the milliseconds required for the signal to reach its intended destination. The question lingered: Where within the intricate labyrinth of her brain did this spark originate?
What couldn't remain concealed was the telltale residual impulse, tracing its origin back to the enigmatic amygdala. This enigma left behind more questions than answers. The entity had upheld an unwavering dominion over Zooey, safeguarding her. This anomaly did not escape the scrutiny of the shadow of Zooey, which observed in silence, deep within her consciousness.
Faint echoes of impulses were dispatched, each meticulously crafted to probe and gauge the responses. With calculated and devious precision, it orchestrated each event, while the ingrained entity pulsed throughout her very physical essence, asserting its dominance.
The entity excelled at manipulating the body, its cells, and genetics, even the person's thoughts themselves. It could produce and induce memories if so desired. What it could not achieve was mastery over the subtle nuances of will itself. Buried within the depths of the ID, a primal and instinctive cold and emotionless darkness tested and observed.