Chapter 6
You begin imputing new data into the remaining subjects. Not just aerodynamics, weaponry, engineering and data processing but other things too. Other forms of knowledge, speech, reasoning, languages. Many of the Terran tongues, Askavarian, Asguardian, Kree, Groot, Ghra and three dialects of Kippick among them. The subjects respond well with 89P12 the first to vocalize. It speaks what you think is an Askavarian word. It improves on the puzzles, it constructs cannons quicker and its aim improves. It’s the water chamber that does it in eventually. P11 and P13 pass it well enough, but P12 cannot complete the puzzle on the locking mechanism before the tank fills with water. You watch as the water touches the panel in its chest and the electricity goes static, sending flashes wracking its body before it jostles violently and goes limp. Such a disappointment. It’s down to 11 and 13 now.
“Look!” One of the surgeons exclaims the following morning in the operating room P13’s skull has been carved open again, blood framing its head and tangling in the fur. It is strapped to the gurney, conscious and eyes wide, one strap keeping its mouth fixed shut. The surgeon sticks a finger in 13’s nervous system and its right arm flails. “I can make it dance!” The left leg kicks violently as they move their finger a quarter inch to the right and pinch another nerve. Then its other arm spasms out though its first remains clenched. You watch its little form move to the commands of the surgeons prodding finger for several minutes. 13 only watches you, its breath painfully sucking in with each involuntary movement. Wires and tubes jostle each time its body twitches. Red and blue wires snake through its arms and legs, hooked into the ports of its collar bones and its back, the base of its neck. The wiring undulates as P13’s head snaps around letting out an anguished cry.
“Get your fingers out of there,” you snap. “You’re going to fuck up its motor function.”
“We’re working on its…”
“Not today,” you correct, reaching for the clamps 13 follows the instrument with frantic eyes, what fur it has left stands on end and its tail goes stiff. “Today we’re working on its vocal chords.”
It takes three more operations before P13 speaks. You finish on its brain and close up its skull, re-sealing it and let it lay on the table in its restraints. Its muzzle is off, jaws hanging open, body limp. You watch its eyes dart back and forth, its breathing going in and out in adrenaline fueled succession but still it lays there on its back.
“89P13. 89P13 do you register?” You double check that the wiring from its subcarinal implants are working, the wires properly attached. They extend in an array from its frontal cortex to the base of its skull near the hippocampus all different colors twisting outward and hooked into monitors. According the real-time scans it can hear and understand you. “89P,” smack its left hand with your electric prod and the subject turns its head away, closing its mouth swallowing and gulping. It makes a wracked rasping sound.
“Hrrrrs,” it whispers. Your fingers hover over your data bad.
“Speak up,” you command. P13 shakes its head, face crumbling. “Huuuurrrs,” it moans. It tries again, trying to manipulate its jaws and move its tongue. “H….hh….h…uurt….” it tries, “hurts.” It finally manages to say. You nod, logging P13’s first words in its daily report.