Ride the Star Wind

by Nakamura, Remy

  Worse still, the creatures are now sentient.

  This was not the plan. The specimens were intended merely for organ and nerve growth to remedy the symptoms of the disease. But in attempting to manufacture neurological regeneration, awareness emerged. Perhaps, he shouldn’t care. Wiser creatures, creatures deserving of consciousness, would have sought comfort in one another. At the very least, they should have a rudimentary sense of self-preservation to conspire against a common foe. But Shai has conditioned them to be at war. Now, no longer in need of external provocation, the specimens attack one another at random and compete for the most basic of resources: food, water, even Shai’s affections.

  Monsters beget monsters.

  It is only a matter of time before he is just as sick, his desires decidedly less amorous than his colleague’s. Millions of years of a strict vegetarian diet, and now, the disease has awakened a primordial desire for flesh. He salivates at the sight of them. Their warm, tender flesh growing riper with each passing moon. Fortunately, there is only Shai to judge, but he knows she would like to watch. Consuming flesh—never mind a product of one’s own body—is abomination, and these days, there is nothing Shai likes more. He wants to be better than her, but he knows he is not. He will consume these creatures before long.

  “Well,” Weh sighs, “let’s prepare the report while we still can.”

  “Transmission start,” Shai commands and Weh begins.

  “This is Vhrool Space Laboratory 696, progression status 7 prepared for the R’lyeh Scientific Council. The subjects of this report are specimens α-12 and ε-13, harvested from Ω-strain materials 360 moons ago to redress the deterioration caused by the Shesmu virus. Live matter extracted from both scientists was used to create scaffolding with greater stability than previous specimens.

  “Specimens grew rapidly with essential systems to sustain life, including respiratory, circulatory, and digestive. Scaffolding became an endoskeletal structure, the base for a functional bipedal form. Attempts at tentacle replication failed. Twenty digits have formed from arm and leg extremities, growing sufficiently to support movement but lacking the size and dexterity to adequately replace our failing limbs as specimens are relatively diminutive in size. This is no doubt due to the calcification of scaffolding, which at this point cannot be removed without killing the specimens.”

  “This was attempted with specimens ξ-5 and ς-6,” Shai interjects. “Each specimen sedated and a complete laminectomy performed.”

  A task she took great pleasure in performing, Weh wants to add but instead says, “Actually, the specimens were completely deboned.”

  “Only to collapse when revived and expire several minutes later,” Shai continues unabashed.

  “And it appears the specimens felt great pain during this process, despite sedation,” Weh adds.

  Shai dismisses the notion, “There is no conclusive evidence that any of our specimens have awareness beyond simple nerve reaction to stimuli,” she responds coolly.

  But Weh can remember the screams.

  “The scaffolding is essential for the viability of the organisms,” Shai continues with scientific detachment. “Muscle development is insufficient as sole support for the specimens. Organs and nerve tissue were harvested and refrigerated. Organs ceased to function just six hours later, supporting the previously established critical window for successful transplant.”

  Weh sighs. He never wanted to create life. Becoming a god was not an ambition. He studied philosophy before surrendering his mind to the science program. He seeks comfort in the false truth that he may be saving his species, but each day, he is confronted with his futility.

  Still, they continue the charade.

  “Back to specimens α-12 and ε-13, reproductive systems have formed as binary genders,” Weh explains, “specimen α-12 becoming biologically male and specimen ε-13 female. Once the reproductive cells began to regenerate on a chromosomal level, they seem to have an intention all their own.”

  “Of course, this means that if sexual organs are needed for transplant, we must replicate twice as many specimens for harvesting,” Shai adds. “Time and cost implications are well known. We have started to grow a third, dual-gender specimen to course correct. Until then, we are observing the distinctions in the genders as this may impact organ function. Muscle development on the male surpasses that of the female, resulting in increased physical strength. But interestingly, the female has greater tolerance to both stress and pain. We recommend further neurological study to determine exactly why, but this should be noted when harvesting and replicating from male specimen α-12.”

  Shai gestures for Weh to proceed.

  “Less progress has been made with nerve repair to thwart the psychosis of the virus,” Weh begins.

  “Transmission, pause,” Shai commands, turning to her partner. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Weh hesitates, but Shesmu has yet to completely devour his mind. After a moment, he nods. Shai exhales and commands, “Transmission, resume.”

  “Neurotrophins like nerve growth factor, or NGF, are produced naturally by the specimens at lower than sufficient levels,” Weh begins. “In addition, we have created an organic-based neuroprosthetic prototype and implanted into ε-13, the female. Full cognitive impact is unknown at this time. It is possible that NGF levels in the specimens have been compromised due to the stress of the testing environment and chronic pain.” He glances at Shai, who simply looks away. “But we are no longer in a position to alleviate either of these conditions,” Weh finally admits. “NGF has been extracted from specimens and injected into both myself and my colleague with little effect. Despite treatment, our mental deterioration progresses steadily, manifesting in sado-sexual impulses . . .”

  “And a growing appetite for flesh,” Shai interjects with a smirk.

  So, she knows.

  Weh flinches but continues, “We regret to report that there will be no further progress within this laboratory by either myself or my colleague. We are in the process of full mental deterioration and reversion to primitive states. We request the removal of specimens immediately for the continued viability of the work. Transmission end.”

  The report is sent instantaneously along with samples of the specimens’ DNA. Weh and Shai wait in uncomfortable silence for a response.

  Shai is the first to break the tension, “You did not tell them the whole truth.”

  “I said enough,” Weh responds.

  “Still, it’s over for us.”

  “This report is the one moral thing we’ve done since boarding this laboratory.”

  “You’ve condemned us,” Shai accuses.

  “I’ve saved us,” Weh answers. “Surely, you have enough sanity left to see that. You’ve become a monster, Shai!”

  Enraged, Shai puffs up into an aggressive stance, her tentacles waving, wings unfurling to beat against the laboratory walls, “Do you think I’m proud of my behavior,” she shouts. “Do you think I’m unaware of what I’ve become? Perverse, barbaric. I cannot help myself, you self-righteous dhole! And you are no better. I see you licking the tissue samples, nibbling at the specimens when you think my back is turned. Slicing pieces from where you don’t think I’ll look. I see your sickness too, partner!”

  Weh simple nods. “Then we agree. This should end.”

  Seconds later, the communication monitor flickers.

  “Don’t interfere,” he warns Shai as a figure appears on the screen. It is a bulbous, misshapen mass of tentacles, obviously implants from various specimens grown in laboratories across the galaxy. It is a monstrosity. A set of eyes barely visible amidst the swirling extremities indicates a semblance of a face.

  “Hastur, is that you?” Weh gasps.

  “Yes, Brother, it is I,” the voice is strong despite the chaos of its container, the tenor unmistakably his half-brother and junior member of the R’lyeh Council of Elders—too junior to respond to an official annual report on unsanctioned biological regenerati
ons conducted on a covert space laboratory. “Your report has been received.”

  “What?” Weh asks. “Where is the council?”

  “I’m afraid few have the physical or mental capacity to continue to serve. I am sorry to hear of your own decline. Great progress has been made, though, in impeding the physical decline of this disease on your ship and others. As you can see, my own body, though unsightly, has been restored in no small measure due to the work done by scientific pairings such as yourselves.”

  “I am glad that we have at least contributed that,” Weh responds.

  “As for the psychosis, I’m afraid the other teams have been just as unsuccessful. I fear we may be doomed to immortal insanity. We have ordered all mentally afflicted to Xoth, where minds wiser than ours continue to work on a cure.”

  “Xoth is a secure medical facility,” Shai protests, her worst fears realized. “We will be prisoners!”

  “For your safety and ours,” Hastur replies, “isolation is the best course of action. But my sincere hope is that it will be a temporary stay.”

  “And what of the specimens?” Weh asks.

  “Sedate and transport back to Vhrool where they will be replicated and harvested for their parts.”

  “But . . .” Weh begins.

  “Is there anything else that should be considered before we conclude here?” Hastur asks.

  Weh and Shai exchange an uncertain glance.

  “Let me be very clear,” Hastur continues. “Your work and the work on the other laboratories is critical to the survival of our species. I know that during the performance of your duties you may have felt compromised. Your work may have had unfortunate consequences. And you may feel a certain attachment to what you’ve created. Guilt even. You were, after all, attempting to replicate yourselves. But the fact remains, we need these specimens. We need their organs, we need their cells, we need their nerves, even their fluid and their bile. We need every bit of them. They are of us, and they are ours to use as we see fit for the survival of our species. Now, again I ask, is there anything else that should be documented in this official council report before we conclude?”

  Weh answers hesitantly, “No. You have it all.”

  “Then, your work here is done. Now, let us care for you. Are you able to transport to Xoth, or shall I send an escort?”

  “We can make it there on our own,” Shai responds.

  “Gratitude. I will check back in a day to ensure you both have arrived.” With that, Hastur disappears.

  Resolved, Weh and Shai approach their creations. The specimens huddle naked, shivering in adjacent cages with barely room to stand. The creatures stare back with terror and—worse still—understanding. They heard everything. The male knocks over his water bowl in frustration. The female reaches through the bars of her cage toward her creators, seeking compassion as if a tangible thing.

  It is natural to want to protect one’s offspring, even for a species unfamiliar with the notion. This evolutionary imperative is hard-coded even when science has negated the need. A deep genetic mantra whispering, “survive, survive,” setting tempo to all critical life decisions. Even in civilizations where survival is more invention than reproduction, that biological instinct persists.

  Weh and Shai prepare their specimens for transport in solemn silence, each processing privately the extent of this final abomination. Uncertain, they strap the creatures into travel units before inducing stasis.

  Clarity comes with a sneeze.

  Cthulhu, is the sound Weh makes following an oozing of thick green mucus from his pores, a physical symptom of the disease. Three violent sneezes follow: cthulhu, cthulhu, cthulhu.

  “Idh-yaa,” Shai curses as she is inadvertently covered in Weh’s fetid fluid. “You are a mess!”

  The female creature speaks first, her tongue thick and uncertain but with determination. She points to Weh and repeats, “Cthulhu,” and then to Shai, “Idh-yaa.”

  The words hang in the air as Weh and Shai pause over the bound bodies of these beings. They stare with wide eyes, tentacles frozen, as they take in this final proof of sentience.

  “She thinks those are our names!” Shai exclaims in horror.

  “Yours is fitting.” Weh laughs nervously.

  Shai ignores him. “I’m not doing this,” she finally decides. “I’m calling the council. Someone besides Hastur.”

  While she frantically attempts to call the council—her back turned to her partner, shouting commands and pressing buttons—Weh stares bewildered at the creatures.

  “Cthulhu,” the male attempts to repeat, more of a grunt than the careful pronunciation of the female.

  “Cthulhu, Cthulhu, Cthulhu,” they chant together in desperate reverence.

  “Shesmu help?” the female asks. “Shesmu cure. No,” She declares, “No more. No more!”

  Weh backs away.

  “What have we done?” Weh shouts, but Shai only waves her hand to silence him.

  “I’m getting the council,” she repeats.

  The female continues to ramble, attempting to communicate to save her life. But she is doing the exact opposite.

  Shesmu is rising and Weh is suddenly ravenous.

  Her brown skin is radiant under the soft glow of the laboratory lights. The light dances off round thighs, her body shaped in angles and curves, so unlike his own bulbous form yet created from it nevertheless. Her eyes communicate intelligence, but Weh is distracted by her neck. Long and angular, veins pulsing. She twists a head covered with sponge-like fur. He touches it.

  It’s so soft.

  She is bound but snatches her head away.

  He grips it, holds it steady, leans forward to let her fur tickle his tentacles. She becomes very still, quiet. He sniffs. She smells like sun, the hot beaches of home. He extends his broad pink tongue and licks her entire face in one aggressive flick, tasting. Fluid pours from her eyes, like sweet saltwater. He cannot stop. He leans in and bites down gently into the plump flesh of her cheek. A single trickle of blood tickles his tongue.

  “No,” she cries.

  Weh pulls away, “I’m sorry.”

  Arms bound, she rubs her bloody cheek against her shoulder and whimpers softly from the pain. She looks up at Weh and nods as if to say, Apology accepted. She forces a reconciliatory smile.

  “Cthulhu,” she whispers.

  “I’m sorry,” Weh repeats before turning to the male and pouncing.

  There is screaming and there is blood, but Weh is no longer aware. There is only the hot flow of fluid and flesh down his throat as he tears through layer and layer of the creature’s chest, down to the scaffolding. Unable to stop himself, he rips out a rib, raising his head to howl with the bone still lodged between his teeth.

  Shai is there, pulling him away, slamming his body repeatedly into the wall until he sinks to the floor.

  “What are you doing!” she screams.

  She races to the male, pressing hands against the gaping wound where blood sprays out like a geyser.

  Weh shakes his head to clear it, realizing the gravity of his actions.

  “Did I kill it?” he asks.

  “Not yet,” Shai shouts. “Grab a clamp!”

  They work in silence to repair the wound. The female is quiet, the male unconscious. When Shai and Weh finish, both creatures are alive, the male strapped to a gurney and the female locked inside of her cage. Blood covers their bodies and the once-pristine walls of the laboratory. Meat still hangs from Weh’s tentacles and teeth. Despite himself, he sucks it off.

  Wiping the blood from her suckers, Shai turns to Weh in disgust, “What were you thinking?”

  “You’ve done worse!” Weh cries.

  “That’s a matter of debate.”

  “The female was talking,” Weh tries to explain, “So I went for the male . . .” he shakes his head before looking up hopelessly at Shai. “I couldn’t help it.”

  Shai sighs. “I know a little something about that. Well, what now? We can’t just
turn them over for harvest. Or replication.

  “Did you get the council?”

  Shai shakes her head, “No, I had to stop my colleague from devouring a sentient being. The council doesn’t know yet. Not that it would change their minds. They’re desperate. You heard Hastur.”

  Weh just shakes his head.

  “Okay,” Shai decides, “so we send them away.”

  “You forget that they hate each other. They’ll tear one another apart.”

  This, too, Shai thinks through. After several moments, she nods, “Then, we inject them with enough oxytocin to inhibit adrenocorticotropic hormone in the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis. This should simulate the feeling of love. It will not last—but perhaps long enough for the female to care for the male’s injuries. She’s capable. I’m certain of that; I designed her neuroprosthetic myself. And hopefully in the process, they will learn to cooperate. It will give them a fighting chance.”

  “Is this what it feels like to be a parent?” Weh asks.

  Shai laughs wickedly, recalling her frequent illicit couplings with the creatures, “I certainly hope not, or this is a really twisted universe. But we created them. We’re responsible now for what they become.”

  Weh’s discomfort increases.

  “Let’s just find them a home,” he says, “before we’re both completely mad.”

  Finding the wormhole is easy enough. It leads to a known galaxy; though charted and visited many times, it is far enough. Together they carefully examine each planet for the ability to sustain life, starting with the nearest to the sun. They ignore the frequent and frantic calls from Hastur. They know that they have precious little time before their own extraction is ordered and they are remanded to Xoth, their children stolen and murdered to feed their dying species. Fortunately, the third planet from the single sun offers the most promise—already brimming with life but with no detectable sentience above ground. They prepare their children for transport.

  The credibility of creators and their intentions has always been questionable. Yahweh and Shaitan, known as Cthulhu and Idh-yaa by their creations, did the only conscionable thing they could with the last remaining threads of their sanity. They set their creations free, saving them from future torments, giving them an opportunity to live on as they themselves decline.