16. Council of Evelyn (Patreon)

Real quick before we start, I actually added a few paragraphs to the prior chapter. I'll post them here.

"What the fuck am I, Mr. Mooshi?" I hiss.

"You're Evelyn, last time I checked," he answers.

Which means what, exactly? I’m not even surprised by this. It almost feels like some part of me, some little bit in the back of my brain knew I wouldn’t die all along, and had never been afraid of from the start. Of course I can try again and again, fail as much as I want, and eventually come out on top. That’s only natural. I get extra lives. It’s like a game. So whatever put me here… they must expect me to win.

That, more than even the deaths, frightens me to the core.

When Evelyn Bork finally arrives on scene, stalking close to the murderous avians and whipping out my tongue is enough to catch the first and end its life in my jaws. The second is much trickier, flying off at its first opportunity, but I follow easily enough, catching and killing it as well after it lands an hour later. That is what humans do to animals that eat us, after all.

I get some very nice adaptations out of it, I have to admit. Keratin-based external growths optimized in shape and thickness for heat insulation, also known as fur.  Very fuzzy. A working bat wing structure, which will probably be invaluable. The black dome that it had in place of the head is actually a giant eye optimized for detecting light differences and movement, though its depth perception is so bad the creature also evolved sonic detection systems. It is, all in all, an incredible find.

The ecstasy of eating them was somewhat dampened, however, by having many of my own corpses litter the dinner table. It is only well after it's too late that I realize one of them was on my metaphorical plate.

I've already eaten myself before I realize what I'm doing. I can't even pretend it's an accident, the brutally methodical method of devouring my prey dissected the stomach in pieces, pulling out my broken corpse and deliberately dropping it down my throat. My own flesh. My own body. I try to retch, but no vomit comes. My stomach is too efficient.

Immediately afterwards, I start feeling the temptation to eat the rest. I need to get rid of the bodies. I have to. I can't leave them. Eating them would be the easiest way, practical and efficient.  Instead of doing that, I grab what's left of my corpses and flee from the scene in disgust.

It's not the only thing I do, though. That would be a waste of time. Two of my ETBs continue onward, because the whole point coming out this way is to investigate that light and I will be damned before I'm going to just give up on that. My two Tinkerbells ride together on Evelyn Bork, not risking another aerial assault. It's almost dark by the time I reach the rising fog cloud that obscures what appears to be marshlands beyond. The trees of the forest start to become sparse and soon and entirely as the ground gets wetter, squishier, and stinkier.  The air smells like farts.

It's not enough to dull the beauty of the rising cloud that acts almost like an artificial barrier between the two zones. Honestly, I hope in my heart of hearts that it is artificial, that it is the product of some advanced species. But even on close investigation, I see no clear sign of technology or intent. It is beautiful enough to be art, but it is a natural sort of beauty.  A happy coincidence of conflicting air patterns, likely caused by convection currents in the atmosphere that for whatever reason are consistent enough in this area to form clouds on the ground and pull them into the sky. It is nothing like anything I have seen on Earth, but there is no reason it has to be artificial or magical. Just more dead, thoughtless nature.

Hesitantly, I fly through the cloud and die for a fourth time.

Not because of any air currents, not because of any predator, but because I simply take a breath. The cloud is poison, a wretched stench of rotten eggs that fills what passes for a bloodstream in my insectoid body with something I simply cannot metabolize fast enough to purge. I can recognize the chemical, though not identify it. It's very often inside my body. But instantly, I can feel it is far too much. I shoot backwards into fresher air, catch myself with my second ETB, but it is already too late. Today I have died for the first and fourth time, and I have officially had enough.

Returning to the river in defeat, furious and numb, I form Fort Mooshi once again and collapse into sleep.

(And this is the actual start of chapter 16.  Enjoy!)

A beautiful blue alien is sitting in my room.

"I have so many questions," I tell her.

"Probably almost as many as I do," Tara responds, "but ask away."

I'm sitting cross legged on the floor, with Tara nestling her little beetle body in my bedspread. She seems to like it.

"Oh! Oh!" I declare excitedly. "We can take turns! I'll ask one, then you can ask one!"

Her horrible screech-laugh sounds through the room again, equal parts terrifying and wondrous.

"That works for me," she agrees. "Would you like to go first?"

"Yes!" I say immediately, though I'm still scrambling to decide what to ask first. "Um! So! Why did you come to Earth?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

I blink in surprise.

"What? How do you not know?"

"My turn," she chides. "Why did you pick me up in the forest and start feeding me?"

"Um…"

The real reason is just that I thought she was cute. Which I mean in the same way I mean that Mr. Bubbles is cute or a kitten is kinda cute, but now that I know she's a person I can't describe her as cute out loud or else I will have a stroke.

"Well, I've been in the forest a lot," I answer slowly. "And I had never seen anything like you before. So, I just thought that was super neat and it made me very excited! I guess I fed you because I wanted you to be happy and fed? Wait, you used an 'and' so that's two questions!"

She responds with a hissy chuckle.

"I see. I suppose you're right. Your turn to take two, then."

I nod rapidly, trying to calm my fiercely beating heart as I let more questions flow out of my mouth.

"Okay, um… how did you get to Earth? And are there any other of your people here?"

"I don't know, and I don't know."

I narrow my eyebrows, starting to get concerned.

"How can you not know?" I ask. "Are you hurt?"

"That's two more questions," Tara points out. "You're bad at this. It's my turn. Why did you ask to be my friend?"

"Um."

Because I think being friends with an alien is the coolest possible thing in the universe.

"Because it's always better to be friends rather than not friends?" I hedge.

"Is it?" she asks immediately.

"Huh?" I blink.

"You can count that as another question. Is it always better to be friends than not friends?"

I open my mouth to say "yes," but manage to shut my dumb trap at the last moment to not let any sound out. My alien bug friend just asked me a question about friendship. I should probably consider it more seriously. And off the top of my head… yeah, there are a lot of situations where I wouldn't and shouldn't be friends with someone.

"Well, not really," I admit. "I just meant that I think the whole world is better off when you treat everyone in… you know, a friendly way?"

I wince as soon as that comes out of my mouth, regretting that phrasing. The alien may very well not know what I mean, so I press on for clarification's sake.

"I think everyone should be nice to each other, is what I should say. Yet at the same time I guess, at least in my culture, there's more to being friends with someone than just being nice to them. You have to invest time and attention and care into learning about and being with that person, and generally do that you have to like them a lot. And… and I guess that's not the sort of relationship I can have with everybody, since I just wouldn't have enough time? But, I would like to do that with you! Um, if you want."

The little alien beetle sits in silence.

"Um, is it my turn to ask?" I prod after a minute.

"Ah. Yes, I think it is."

"What do you know?" I ask. "About getting here. And, um, please tell me your best speculations if you don't know anything!"

The bug continues to be quiet, long enough for the hint of panic to start mounting inside me, fearing I've done something terribly wrong. But eventually, she speaks.

"I do not remember much of anything," Tara admits softly. "At least not in regards to how I got here. I was… I was living my life normally, in my home, and then I was here. I was panicked and confused and vulnerable. I had to eat raw animals to survive. I initially suspected your species was at fault, but you seem to be as genuinely confused as I. So I have no speculations. Not even any hints. I truly have no idea what happened to me, Evelyn. I am frightened."

Oh my god. What can I say to that? Poor Tara.

"…As far as I know," I hesitantly respond, "my species hasn't even discovered another planet with life on it, let alone yours. Even if we did know where it was, we'd have no way to reach it. We haven't sent a human to any celestial body farther away than our own moon. Outside our solar system is way beyond anything we can do. So I'm really sorry, but I have no idea what happened to you either."

"I see," Tara says. "I believe you."

"If you want, I can probably introduce you to some super-smart people who know more than I do about this stuff. I bet if I rolled up to someone who works at NASA and you started talking to them they would be overjoyed to help you out as much as they can. They're probably all huge dorks like me."

"But you don't think they could get me home," she says.

I don't want to tell her no, but you should never lie to a friend.

"Unless you know how interstellar travel works and can teach them, there is basically no chance," I admit. "I'm sorry. But if you do know anything, or even just a hint, I promise they're all really smart, so—"

"No," Tara says quietly, cutting me off. "My species knows about how outer space works and we have theories on how it all came to be, but we have not even traveled to our own moon yet. It was not deemed an acceptable use of resources."

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense," I nod. "Humans only went to the moon because we were mad at other humans that wanted to do it first."

She makes a startled, amused noise.

"That's why you went? Really?"

"Really," I confirm. "Our government was mad at another huge country's government, so they funded the race. It turns out there isn't much of interest up there anyway. Your moon might be cooler, though. There are some pretty neat moons."

"That sounds absurd. Why didn't their superiors step in?"

I hum to myself, leaning against the side of the bed so I can rest my head next to Tara's little body.

"…So, the government of the country on Earth is about as high as it goes," I explain. "Except arguably the United Nations, kind of. But not really. And we have hundreds of countries! Are your people unified under a single government?"

"Yes," she answers simply. "About eighty-seven of my peoples’ years ago… well, I suppose maybe not from now, but that long from when my memories of home end, the nation of Haslken-Rkto successfully united the world in a war that spanned every nation on the planet. I hear it was quite brutal at the time, but we have not had open warfare since then."

"Huh," I eloquently comment. "In our first world war, most of the countries stayed the same afterwards, I think. Also in the second. The countries that wanted to rule everything just sort of didn't win? Then nuclear weapons became a thing, and everyone has been too afraid of a third war that big to try it. We've still had a ton of smaller wars, though."

"Nuclear weapons?"

"Really, really big bombs. They can kill everyone in a whole city, and then the whole area is poisoned afterwards from radiation. They're horrible."

"They sound horrible," Tara agrees.

"Yeah. They are. Your planet sounds nice. War sucks."

"I can only imagine. Of course, my people are far from perfect. We are safe and cared for, but our government is very... what's the word? Rigid? Industrialist? They make and make and make, we work long and hard for them. Your planet seems very relaxing by comparison, at least in the moments where I am not terrified for my life."

"Ah, I can see that, yeah," I say. "A lot of us work really hard too, but in a rich country like this one a lot of people don't."

Both of us sit in silence once again. Tara seems very content to leave the quiet unfilled, and I am more than introverted enough to understand. I watched the light in my room reflect off her brilliant blue carapace for a while, until I realize I've been staring at her for a solid five minutes. I quickly look away.

"Um... if you're still... I mean, I don't want you to have to fear for your life here," I stammer. "This is my planet! I mean, it's not mine as in I own it, but… um, I mean, I'll keep you safe. We're friends, so you can count on me, okay? You can ask me anything you want, and I'll help you as best I can. I promise!"

Tara shifts her weight a little on my bed, staring back at me.

"You are a strange and funny alien," she responds. "I get the feeling that I am very lucky to have met you."

I'm unable to suppress a grin at that, far too happy to be embarrassed. I stand up, suddenly full of energy.

"Want me to cook us some food?" I ask.

"Oh, yes please," Tara says. "These days, I feel like I am constantly hungry."

…

"And so," I say gravely, "I call to order the first Council of Evelyn!"

My bodies are arranged in a rough circle, branching off of where Mooshi happens to be grazing by the river so that he appears to be seated around my invisible table. All of my me is gathered into a single place, where I can begin this debate with myself. The Council is ready.

Evelyn Experimental, almost to her full nine-foot height, is a foolish endeavor made by accident and lack of foresight. My first extra self, my initial doubling, is the representation of everything I fear and the voice of my restraint.

Evelyn Tinkerbell the First, trapped in a world of giants where even bugs hold threat and birds are lethal creatures of nightmare. Created to be an expression of joy, a personification of everything I love, she now represents the consequences of optimism and hubris, the voice of my cynicism.

Evelyn Bork, the powerful and lithe devourer of sloths and keeper of the forest's safety. Key to both my livelihood and my protection, she is both my most inhuman form and also by far my most effective. Eternally hunting and eternally hungry, she is the voice of my desires.

The clones, including my freshly-hatched Evelyn Bork 2 and the rest of the Squad Evelyn, sit together to show the clear evidence of my capacity for exponential growth. They know that each individual part of me is temporary and meaningless compared to the whole. They were built to expand, to consume, to protect, and to conquer. They are the voice of my alien instinct, something I cannot deny is present and influencing me in ways that are often difficult to detect.

Mr. Mooshi, my eternal rock, the singular friend I can hold in my darkest hours, my hooverer of grass, maintains his ever-watchful gaze on the status of my sanity and morality. He is the voice of my wisdom.

Finally there is Evelyn Prime, the first among equals, the original and still the best. ...Unless you measure via any practicality-based method. Hatching here on that first terrible day is a memory I will never, can never forget. Perhaps her death will be the end of all of me. Perhaps she is just another cog in the machine that has become my ever-expanding body. Whatever the truth, she represents the voice of my reason and master of the Council.

"Here here!" comes the resounding answer from all of my other bodies.

"Our first order of business today," I have EP say, "will be discussing the reclamation of our hill and home."

"It's not worth it," EE grunts. "Why do we even care? We can just stay by the river."

"If we can't handle a bunch of tiny bug-weasels, we will never be able to survive on this planet," my newborn dog body grumbles. "The hill might not matter that much, but being able to take it does."

"If we lose?" my Tinkerbell body counters. "The weasels clearly hunt in packs, they've demonstrated the ability to hurt even our larger bodies, and we have no idea how many there are."

"They probably hunt Mooshians, though," EB growls. "Think about it. They dig holes to get our feet stuck in the ground, and then they start burning away at it with acid. There's no way instincts like that wouldn't be used to take on Mooshians, they would be the ideal target for a strategy like that. If Mr. Mooshi gets hurt because we don't know how to handle pack hunters..."

"Evelyn Experimental is strong enough to lift me now," Mr. Mooshi intones. "You won't let me come to harm. I believe in you."

"And we won't let that belief be misplaced," I promise him. "I mean, I won't. But it's we in the context of this bit we're doing."

"Don't break kayfabe!" Evelyn Bork chides.

"I think there might actually be a legitimate risk we could fragment our personality, so maybe we shouldn’t actually be doing this," Evelyn Experimental points out.

"Okay, can we just focus please?" I snap with Evelyn Prime. "Are we retaking the cave or aren't we?"

Most of myself turns to look at the two Bork bodies I now have. They were in part designed to capture and kill the stupid weasel creatures, and doing so is both important for my safety and for my ability to control territory.

"Hold on, we want to control territory?" some members of Squad Evelyn realize, scowling.

"You do," Mr. Mooshi confirms. "That's certainly not something you would care about as a human, but is it an unreasonable urge in this situation? If you control territory, you possess a degree of safety that you otherwise wouldn't."

"It's not unreasonable," EB agrees. "I was made to do this. Let's do it already. If we want to make somewhere safe, we want to control the cave so that we have a central fallback point, and we want to control part of the river so we don't die of dehydration. From here to there is our control zone."

"I agree," Evelyn Experimental nods. "Going all the way to that swamp place with just a few bug bodies was not a well thought out plan. We knew there were birds. We knew there was a risk. We knew we were expanding well into unknown territory. Going that far was a stupid idea, no matter how lonely we are. We need to understand everything we can and then start expanding."

"Yeah, I'm tired of dying," ETB grumbles.

"All right," Evelyn Prime confirms. "So first, we are taking back the cave. Then we are going to focus on making the cave safe, or as safe as possible.  I've thought about it a bunch, and I have some good ideas for ways to make that work without totally messing with our head. What if the bodies we create don't have to be intelligent or otherwise part of the hive mind? We can just make shit, right? Is there any reason we can't? Plants are ideal for that. We need to start branching into creating them. The trees and stuff around here are edible, but the nutrition we get from them is terrible. We need nuts or fruits or things like that. So I say we replace the nearby flora with stuff that we can farm better."

"Wouldn't that be environmentally disastrous?" Mr. Mooshi asks.

"Only if we make our new plants capable of breeding on their own, which we don't have to do. We aren't introducing an invasive species, we're just building a farm, and maybe a city out of stuff that happens to be alive. We can manually plant everything we need ourselves. It's not like we're going to be low on womanpower."

Most of my selves nod along to that, at least until ETB makes a squeaky throat-clearing noise and chimes in.

"So if we're going to produce seeds, plant them, and then eat the stuff that those plants make, isn't that objectively cannibalism, even if the plants we’re making aren't conscious? They'll have come out of our… you know."

I wince.

"Motion to just not think about that?"

"Sustained."

"Sustained."

"Sustained."

"Sustained."

"Rejected," EB2 says, drawing many glares. "What? We know we're going to."

"So," Mr. Mooshi says, "you are going to take the cave back and establish a bit of a more stable base before returning to our search for other sapients species. What's the time limit on this?"

"Time limit?" I ask, glancing his way. "Oh. Yeah, I guess we should set one. We still do need to find people. We can't lose hope for that, and we can't let ourselves get so distracted by expanding and defending that we forget it."

Mr. Mooshi does not nod, but I imagine if he could he would.

"Two weeks then," I say. "We have the exponential chutzpah to make that work, right? And then we'll find ourselves some sapients."

"Agreed!" all my bodies cheer.

Together as one, we move for war. Well, not war-war.  Unless you count the Great Emu War, I guess. A real war is between people, a clash of ideologies solved only through death, and I believe it is unambiguously evil. I will not wage war. Pest control, however, is acceptable. Animals are not people. They are not sapient. They are sentient, certainly. They feel and they think and they experience the world, and it is therefore pointless cruelty to harm them more than necessary. But sapience, the capacity to reason, is something animals do not have, and that sets them apart from personhood. So this is not war.

If things go to plan, it will be a slaughter.