String Theory_ Fusion (Book 2) - Kirsten Beyer [17]
The form was a little less than two meters high. A soft, flowing, brightly patterned fabric composed of a combination of organic and synthetic polymers covered its four appendages, two that rooted it to the floor for balance and two that extended from its upper torso for the purpose of crudely manipulating solid matter. A round formation with several vulnerable openings sat atop the torso, and it was from one of these openings that the disturbing vibrations were emanating.
Finally, it found the distant memory it was seeking.
She is laughing at me.
“I know why you’ve come,” the being that was so like itself and yet so different said. “You may as well go back, because you won’t succeed.”
Every moment brought fresh reorienting memories to the surface of its awareness. Human. She has taken human form. Though it could easily manipulate the matter of the fragile humanoid brain that regulated the functioning of its body’s systems, it knew that such tactics would have no effect on the other, despite appearances.
“That’s right,” she said, answering its thoughts. “And I do not wish to hurt you either.”
It gathered all of the distasteful “feelings” that had percolated inside it from the moment it had crossed into this reality, and directed them toward the other, engulfing her in the vise grip of its fluid tentacles as if it could force a more appropriate response from her.
She had been ready for just such an attack. She did not resist, conserving her energy and using it instead to send her own flow of powerful intentions into its consciousness. Where the two forces met, its rage and her acceptance, there was, for an instant, a delicate balance of energy.
Peace.
It knew this place too. But there could be no peace as long as she protected the object that was vibrating and glowing behind the energy field.
She was struggling to continue speaking. Bound by some of the laws of her form, she could not easily continue making the vibrations she was using to communicate as long as she was held in its powerful grasp.
It knew that if it persisted in this manner, she would defend herself. She was more than capable of repelling any “physical” attack presented.
“Release… me…” she was struggling to say.
Finally, a thin protective barrier closed over two of her facial openings, soft watery organs that some humanoids used to interpret visual stimuli. This action seemed to allow her to focus more sharply on her own intentions.
She did not speak again; nonetheless, it knew in a flash of insight that she wanted it to remember how to take human form, so that they could communicate more easily.
There was no time.
“There is always time,” she struggled.
It slightly released the pressure of its tentacles, and allowed them to explore the humanoid form. Moments later, it had achieved a fair approximation of a human woman, a mirror image of the other that stood before her.
“Thank you,” she said, as her respiration returned to normal.
“I do not want your gratitude,” it replied, amazed at how quickly it was falling back into certain knowledge of every aspect of the form it now inhabited.
This was followed by an uncomfortable silence. Long ago, countless others had stood in precisely this place of opposition. It was pointless to begin the old arguments again, knowing all possible outcomes.
“You are an individual for the moment,” she began. “Would you like a name?”
“I am not a lesser being,” it replied scornfully. “I do not appreciate or require individuality. You forget us, and yourself.”
The edges of her mouth curved slightly upward in the beginnings of more laughter. Laughter was a sign of amusement or pleasure. What positive feelings she could possibly be taking from this encounter were beyond it, but to argue over such a trifle seemed wasteful.
“I have learned more in my time here than I have forgotten,” she countered, “and if you will not choose a name for yourself, I