Ch. 15 Tether

Joran's mind raced as he began connecting the dots, the grim puzzle pieces fitting together to form a haunting image. The bodies strewn about the installation, their brains reduced to carbon, the method of preservation—it was all clear now. He had a sinking feeling in his gut, an unsettling realization that he was standing amidst a profound tragedy. As the pieces fell into place, he posed a question to Washington: "How were you able to do that, considering your immobile form?"

In response, there was a trace of mirth in the voice that echoed back, "All researchers had neural interfaces that linked back to me. It's what allowed me to save them. However, the ones that went mad were also connected to me." Joran's brows furrowed as he absorbed this information, the gravity of the situation growing even heavier. And then Washington added another piece to the puzzle: "I had to amputate a lot of myself to be this functional."

The gears in Joran's mind turned as he contemplated their next steps. He voiced a thought that had been brewing: "Can you be moved?" The anticipation in the air was palpable as Washington responded, "You wish to take me with you?" Joran's reply was measured: "It's just a thought. We don't know much about your creators or this world. You're the first being we've encountered who can have a conversation with us." Washington's yellow glow shifted to a vivid green hue, a sign of curiosity and perhaps hope. "This form cannot move, but what houses my intelligence and the researchers may. However, its interface may not be something your kind are familiar with."

Washington would continue, "From my scans, your neural layout is similar enough to humans to allow for a neural transfer; however, be aware that it's an invasive procedure." Washginton paused for a moment to continue, "I could be implanted into one of your minds and hitch a ride inside of you until you can find me a more permanent form. Leaving this cave would be most beneficial to me."

Joran contemplated the potential risks and benefits, his mind racing through possibilities. The moment hung in uncertainty until Pathfinder voiced her question, her tone laced with caution: "How would you get in and out of our minds?" Just then, the apex of the pyramid opened, revealing a small silver platform extending from it. Resting on the platform was a large silver syringe like object. Washington's voice resonated with a mix of explanation and reassurance: "This is the delivery device. I open my core, and you use this device to pull me out and quickly inject me into the base of your spine. The transfer will be complete. To pull me back out, just repeat the process. However, you must have a new vessel for me to go into when the time comes."

Both Joran and Pathfinder exchanged a glance, their weariness and hesitation evident. The archaic nature of this method left them torn between the potential benefits and the risks they couldn't fully comprehend.

But before they could fully process this development, Washington's voice broke the silence once more, this time with an unexpected statement: "Oh, a third one of your kind has made it down here." The words echoed through the cavern, and Joran's thoughts immediately turned to Niroth. He spoke his thoughts aloud, mostly to himself: "Oh, right. Prepper. He should be making his way here now." The knowledge that their team member was fine and reuniting with them lent a fleeting glimpse of something positive amidst the confusion and danger.

After a contemplative pause, Washington's voice resonated again, offering "I can show you a demonstration on my display on how to perform the neural transfer."

Joran exchanged a glance with Pathfinder, a sense of desperation for some semblance of progress evident in his eyes. "Fine, I'll do it," Joran agreed, his voice carrying both resignation and determination.

Washington's response was swift and direct, almost eager, as if attempting to reassure them, "The female's chemical makeup is better suited to handling me. It needs to be her."

Joran's confusion was palpable, his words trailing off in a protest: "That doesn't make any sense—how can there..."

His objections were halted by Pathfinder's hand gently touching his arm. Her voice, tinged with a mix of acceptance and resolve, broke through: "It's okay. Let's... let's just get this over with. My suit's been breached anyway. No need for you to break your seal."

With those words, Pathfinder removed her helmet, revealing her sky blue feathers with silver accents running down her neck. Her face, however, had raw determination etched on her features.

Joran watched her intently, concern evident in his eyes. "Lorin, are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

She nodded, her gaze unwavering. "I can handle it. And if it helps us understand this place and its secrets, then it's worth the risk."

Joran took a deep breath, regaining himself. "Alright, if you're sure."

As Pathfinder stood ready, her expression steadfast, Washington's voice interjected, trying to provide assurance, "Excellent. Please approach my interface, and I will initiate the demonstration this will go without a hitch im sure."

Pathfinder took a cautious step forward, her eyes fixed on the silver platform extended from the pyramid-shaped form of Washington. She glanced back at Joran briefly, a mixture of determination and trepidation in her gaze.

Joran offered her a faint, encouraging smile, his concern still evident. "Im right here, Pathfinder."

Pathfinder gave a slight nod in response, her resolve unwavering. As she approached the platform, her heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and fear.

The display before them illuminated, projecting a simplified and edited version of the instructions for the neural transfer process. Pathfinder and Joran watched intently as the visuals guided them through the steps. The videos concluded, and Washington's voice broke the silence, asserting, "Commander Joran, you will have to be the one to perform it on her. Both of our lives are in your hands."

As the center of the pyramid shifted and opened, a sense of gravity enveloped the scene. Suspended within an odd gel-like substance, a small blue light floated. It resembled a grain of rice, its luminescence soft yet captivating. Joran's gaze was fixed on the heart of Washington, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty. It looked organic, defying his expectations.

Pathfinder's voice pierced the air, breaking through Joran's inner turmoil. "I trust you," she said, turning her back to him and exposing the base of her neck. Her trust ignited a spark of determination within him. His heart raced as he stepped forward, his talon-like fingers trembling slightly.

Joran's mind wrestled with conflicting emotions: fear of failure, the weight of responsibility, and the thirst for understanding. He was aware that in this moment, their future was balanced on a knife's edge. But he knew that he couldn't let doubt paralyze him.

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats.

With every ounce of concentration, Joran held the syringe in his hand. Carefully, he inserted the needle into the clear gelatinous sac at the core of Washington. His movements were deliberate, his focus unwavering. The device glided over the small bead of light, encapsulating the essence of Washington. Swiftly, he withdrew the syringe, a mixture of awe and trepidation coursing through him.

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats.

Now it was Pathfinder's turn. Joran turned to her, his heart racing, his mind racing faster. Time seemed to suspend as he looked at the spot on her neck where he hoped the transfer would succeed without harm. He activated a scanning function on his suit to pinpoint the precise location.

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats.

With determination, he maneuvered the syringe, slowly inserting it into the designated spot. Slowly pushing the bead of light into her neck's bone structure. The moment passed, and the weight of the action settled upon him. The syringe was removed, and it was done.

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats.

Joran stepped back, his chest rising and falling with the rush of emotions. A profound silence enveloped the room as Pathfinder remained still, her form tense, her eyes closed.

After a few heart-wrenching seconds, Pathfinder opened her eyes and turned to Joran. "It... It worked. I can hear your voice... err, well, Washington's voice in my head." Her voice was a mix of wonder and surprise, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Joran couldn't help but share in that relief, the weight of uncertainty lifted from his shoulders.

Joran's voice broke the silence, his practicality returning as he handed the syringe-like device back to Pathfinder. "Okay, we need to get out of here. At least back up to the historians. Let's find Prepper and..." His words trailed off as a loose end, previously buried beneath the intensity of the moment, resurfaced. "Where is Prepper?" he voiced his concern, the realization settling in that Niroth was still unaccounted for. The reunion of their team was yet to be complete.

Venturing further into the depths of the glacial cave, Prepper and his two sentries pressed forward. The frozen steps led them downwards, each step feeling like a cursed descent into the unknown. As they journeyed, Niroth's consciousness felt strangely disconnected from reality, as though he were observing the events from a distance. He glanced back at his sentries, his companions in this eerie journey, and the disconnection grew more pronounced.

With a sense of resignation, Niroth muttered aloud, "Oh, of course, they don't know." His words held a weight of understanding, a realization of the burden he carried alone.

In a subtle exchange that bypassed spoken language, Niroth initiated a mental link with his sentries, sharing the image of the intricate purple runes that adorned the stone ruin. Through his S.W.I.F.T. A.I., he conveyed the eldritch meaning of the runes to the drones, an exchange that transcended the boundaries of Aelorian communication. In that moment, the sentries and his internal A.I. quivered, their mechanisms responding to the influx of information. A maddening revelation was etched into their memory banks, altering their very essence, and weaving a new directive into their artificial minds.

The dissonant images and alien knowledge seeped into their programming, birthing a kind of madness that surpassed the confines of mere flesh. With their directives rewritten, Niroth's sentries finally understood.

As Niroth and his sentries pressed forward, their passage into the ruinous stone city of Chal'kala Ta marked a profound shift. The ambient light emitted by the drones began to take on the same eerie shade of purple that radiated from the monument itself. It was as if the city acknowledged one of its own, a connection forged between ancient architecture and an Aelorian traveler. The ground beneath his feet seemed to shift and morph, the very fabric of reality warping to Niroth's presence.

Within the enigmatic geometry of the ruins, Niroth experienced a surreal sensation. The city itself seemed to respond to his presence, offering a form of recognition that transcended time and understanding. The twisting streets and towering structures shifted around him, carrying him along with an otherworldly speed that defied logic. It was as if the very essence of the city recognized his connection, granting him the power to bend space within its labyrinthine pathways.

With each step, Niroth moved faster than the laws of physics should allow, a surreal dance between ancient architecture and the essence of the Aelorian. The city's geometry itself seemed to contort and accommodate his passage, whisking him closer and closer to the monument.

Niroth and his sentries reached their destination. The monument's ancient runes radiated with a mesmerizing glow, responding to Niroth's very being; he was finally in the presence of the eldritch monument. As he approached, a mixture of anticipation and reverence filled his mind. Niroth extended his hand, his fingers brushing the surface of the obelisk. Yet an unsettling sensation tugged at his consciousness, and he swiftly tore off his glove, exposing his bare hand to the monument. The connection, once again, was established, a sense of oneness filling his mind.

Niroth's fingers traced the intricate, glowing runes with a touch of reverence, a profound understanding forming in his mind. He spoke, his voice carrying a mixture of conviction and realization, "I know what I must do. Worry no longer." He released his touch from the monument, the connection lingering like an ethereal thread.

Turning away from the monument, Niroth's steps carried him down the dias, leading him toward the ashen smear on the ground. A gnarled, curved blade lay amidst the remnants of the confrontation, seemingly unscratched from the destruction that had occurred. Niroth's hand closed around the blade's hilt, his eyes fixated on its design, captivated by its intricate beauty. He held it up, the blade glinting in the unearthly light of the cavern.

"I will not forsake this opportunity," Niroth declared, his voice carrying a quiet determination.