Inhuman perspective

There was something almost dreamlike in observing the world through Khenumra's eyes. It was subtle and easy to miss. Such was the nature of dreams. Lost in them, the dreamer often forgot the fact that they were dreaming.

Khenumra's eyes were not real. No photons struck the illusory retina. The incubus saw the world through memories that lingered, perceiving reality as others beheld it.

And thus, the interior of the Nazi Moonbase was transformed, reflecting the essence of its inhabitants. Brutalist design became iron, not just in structure but in spirit, with a subtle, ever-present taste of iron, for such places were not built without bloodshed.

Like oil slipping over water, new and different perspectives were being layered over countless similar ones. One was tumultuous, filled with churning emotions; the other was almost calm in its disdain.

I wondered what would happen if Khenumra looked at something no eyes had ever seen before. It would be an interesting experiment.

But that was for later. For now, I basked in the good news. Jane, the elder one, CMO of Aperture, was alive.

Who is the girl? I asked Khenumra silently. Our communication was more than just words. The link that bound Magus and familiar—especially one as well-crafted as Khenumra—allowed for a flow of information that transcended mere language. There was no need to point, not that I could, since I was still on Earth.

The teenage girl in question was held in a firm grip by Jane, almost as if the good doctor feared the she might escape. The older woman looked at her with determination, duty, and a trace of familiar love. There was also an undercurrent of seeing her younger self in the girl, and a silent vow that this one would be saved in ways she herself had not been.

The girl looked back at Jane with a mixture of wariness and curiosity. She was a bit afraid, but she wouldn't run. She was too accustomed to obedience.

Through Khenumra's eyes, their emotions were clear, as he saw them as they saw each other. In a way, how we perceive others reveals much about ourselves.

The answer to my question didn't come in words, but in impressions, almost memories. It was like suddenly recalling something in a dream.

Renata. That was the girl's name. She was Jane's niece, born and raised on Black Sun—the Nazi Moonbase. Jane and Steve had rescued her, though from Renata's perspective, it might have felt more like being kidnapped.

Steve? It seemed he was here on Black Sun too. I hadn't even known he was missing in action.

Now that I thought about it, the first distinct echo of emotion was his. The second one was likely Jane's, after all, Renata was born and raised on Black Sun, culturally, her perceptions would align with those of the other inhabitants.

"Coast is clear," Steve said, announcing his return before I could ask about him. "I think we're finally near the docks. Are they still called docks if it's about spaceships? Or should it be hangars, like for airplanes?"

"That was fast," Jane spoke, ignoring the question. Knowing her, she probably deemed it irrelevant. Still, I was of two minds about them going near the hangars—or docking bay. The proper term needed to be established, especially now that Aperture planned to build spaceships. I made a mental note to create a small workgroup to address the matter.

But a more relevant thought crossed my mind: extracting them using a portal would be easier if they were in a less guarded part of the base. On the other hand, having a backup plan was always good.

"I had help," Steve answered the unspoken question. Well, it wasn't quite unspoken to me. If Khenumra's sight was based on perspective, then, following the same metaphor, his hearing was based on significance or meaning. For example, the ticking of a bomb would override the ticking of a clock. Or a clock made by hand, cherished by a family, would drown out one mass-produced in a factory and easily ignored.

The effect itself was even more subtle, especially when it came to human speech. Tone, choice of words, accent—there were myriad ways to convey additional meaning through sound. Khenumra just skipped the intermediary steps. A different process, but with results similar enough for me to easily overlook it.

Even with other sounds, humans naturally filtered what they heard to avoid being overwhelmed. The difference was that Khenumra's filtering was based on the inherent meaning of the sounds created, rather than the meaning assigned by the one who heard them.

"Who?" Jane asked.

I too was curious about the person who helped Steve, but I had been a passive observer long enough. Silently I commanded my familiar to reveal my presence

"I'm curious about that myself," Khenumra said, cutting in smoothly, his voice carrying a quiet authority. Observing through his senses, one might expect him to speak in an alien, mystic way. But I was better at crafting familiars than that. When interacting with humans, Khenumra would adopt the role required of him, slipping into it with ease.

The name by which he was called, Khenumra, was a lie—a name stolen from a long-dead prince of ancient Egypt, from whose mummified corpse this familiar had been crafted. In a way, it could be called his default or first form. But here, he acted as a spy, a secret agent, and so he spoke as one.

But was that so strange? After all, humans too were adept at wearing masks, adjusting their speech and mannerisms to fit the moment. We all wear masks.

"But I have more urgent news," Khenumra continued, his tone shifting to the clipped efficiency of a seasoned operative. "The Director has contacted me."

"How did he contact you? Technology? Some kind of communicator? No, you would've used it to contact Earth earlier. It must be something unique to the Director. Psychic communication, perhaps? But from Earth, or is he on the Moon?" Jane's words flowed rapidly, each thought precise and deliberate. It was impressive, but I was already well aware of her sharp intellect.

She turned to Steve. "And you're not surprised?"

"Well," Steve shrugged, "it was Jane who helped me. I mean, the other Jane—the younger one. If she can reach the dark side of the Moon from Earth, then I guess it's not so surprising that Director Johnson can too."

I felt a mix of annoyance and admiration. I tried so hard to be a responsible adult, yet those children still managed to insert themselves into dangerous situations. On the other hand, finding Steve on the Moon through remote viewing was impressive. Although, it was also a bit worrying. Jane could be pushing past her limits. No, she almost certainly was.

"Miss Evans?" Jane inquired.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, she started talking through the speakers on the wall. It was kinda creepy hearing her voice cut in over that Nazi's. Is the Director planning to do the same?"

No," Khenumra replied, after a brief, silent exchange with me. "I'll be relaying his orders and questions directly."

"Does the Director have any further instructions?" Jane inquired, her tone as precise as ever.

"Yes. The Director suggests we abandon the plan to steal a spaceship," Khenumra relayed with the practised ease of someone who always knew the next move.

"Why? We're practically there," Steve shot back, a mix of confusion and frustration in his voice.

I saw Jane, the younger one, before she spoke, even though she wasn't here in the flesh. In a flicker, she seemed to appear next to Steve—or at least her subtle body did. It wasn't that Khenumra could peer into astral realms. He could travel through dreams, but seeing the intangible wasn't one of his talents. She saw, and thus she was seen by him.

Observing through Khenumra's eyes, I had to reexamine some of my assumptions. This didn't look quite like I expected astral projection to be. She brought traces of her environment with her. I could see that she was submerged, probably using sensory deprivation to boost her psychic powers.

A co-location instead of a projection?

It would fit. While magecraft postulates the trinity of mind, body, and soul, psychic sciences are more rooted in the physical. The mind is a function of the body. And the soul? Was there even such a thing?

It would also explain the ease with which a psychic could tear a portal in spacetime. This required more thought before I could even begin to formulate experiments to prove or disprove it.

"Found the ship," Jane's voice crackled over the wall speaker, layered with static. "But it's guarded."

"It doesn't matter," Steve replied to Jane—the younger one. With two Janes, it was a bit confusing. Maybe I should think of the younger Jane by the nickname their friends used for her, El. It would certainly be more elegant than referring to her as 'Jane the Younger,' reminiscent of the way one might distinguish historical figures in Ancient Roman annals "Apparently, we're not stealing a spaceship."

"Why not?" El asked. "You need to get back home. And don't marry a Nazi."

"I'm not marrying a Nazi. Where'd you get that crazy idea?"

"Will drew it. Sometimes his drawings come true."

"He must've been picking up on that weird hallucination I had when the Nazis were drugging me. And as for why—we're just following Director Johnson's orders. Agent K was about to explain before you dropped in."

With a daredevil smile, Khenumra began to explain, "Stealing one of the Nazis' spaceships is dangerous enough—they're certain to be well guarded." He paused, glancing around the room as if assessing their odds. "But even if we managed to get past that, escaping would be nearly impossible without dealing with the base's anti-air guns."

He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice as though confiding a secret. "We'd also have to sabotage all the other ships to avoid pursuit. And let's not forget, none of us has experience piloting one of those things, let alone well enough to make a clean getaway."

Khenumra straightened, his tone firm. "All in all, the plan had a slim chance of success. When it was the only option, we had no choice. But the Director is offering a much safer alternative—a portal."

"Portal? To here?" El asked. It was disconcerting to see her apparition next to Steve while her voice came from the speaker. A small trickle of blood between her nose and mouth—a clear sign she was pushing herself near her limits. "Can it be done?"

I wouldn't say I liked the eagerness in her tone. Silently, I passed the instructions to Khenumra.

"The Director's orders are clear—don't even think about it," Khenumra said, his voice firm. "He insists you sever this connection before you hurt yourself."

"I can help," El stated, her voice resolute.

"There's no need for that," Steve tried to reassure her. It was almost humorous how he spoke to the speaker, completely unaware that her apparition was standing right there. Steve had his talents, but psychic sensitivity wasn't one of them—we'd tested everyone in Aperture for that. I would say he had the psychic receptivity of a brick, but experiments found that bricks were actually great receptacles for psychometric emanations. From my perspective, the scene had an odd, almost absurd quality, like something out of a British comedy sketch.

"About that," Khenumra interrupted, his tone serious. "Not immediately."

"What?" Steve asked, his brow furrowing.

"While it's possible for the Director to open a portal directly from Earth, it's too risky. First, he'll travel to the Moon using a mechanically stable portal, then he'll open one to us. We just need to stay hidden until then."

"That sounds reasonable," Jane said, appearing completely calm. The only crack in her armour was the way she was tightly clutching Renata's hand—and the fact that Khenumra could smell her tension.

"Then I'll stay," El declared firmly. "Until they're rescued. I can hold on that long."