"Uh-huh. I'm familiar with Thuringia - been there, remember? It's a tragedy, really, but at least the job is done." his stoic attitude broke as he left out a cackle. In different circumstances he'd even smile. Alas, the ill-omened creature presented before him could only witness a featureless visor and the soulless optics monitoring the crystal.
"You know...for months I kept thinking about how should I crack that shell of yours. Damn shame, really. A few things things happened since I shot you down. Now I'm supposed to show some form of leniency towards your kind."
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"Test the sharpness of your sword against another. And when that is not enough, unsheathe your cunning as the hidden dagger that ends the fight."
He spoke slowly and clearly. His tone was almost sharp, and though his intent was obscured, it was clear that there was meaning behind each word he spoke."Icouldapplaudyouforescapingthecageofwoundandvendetta.Onecannotreachtheirdestinationiftheystoptokickeverydogthatbarksatthem.ButyourdedicationtoconflictwasoneofthecatalystsneededtospuroursplendidDirektortoact,andthatwound,thatpain...ThatwaswhatwasneededtomakeDieWildeJagdmoveagain.There'snopointinawarifthesoldiersdon'tbelieveinit."
The Gardener took a moment to choose his words, laying a trap in his ideas: "SoIaskyou:Isleniencytrulyyourchoice?Didyoucomethisfartoonlycomethisfar?"
"Yes and no. While you took you took a long nap I had a moment of 'clarity'."
Caliban looked down for a moment, contemplating what his next words would be like. In the end his self perceived righteousness has showed a crack, compromising his judgement. He willingly turned traitor against humanity to save it. There was irony in this, but what if there wasn't? After all, there wasn't much humanity left. Such thoughts lingered before he mumbled his next words aloud, somewhat ashamed of it.
"I was...given the chance to work on some devices of your design. Someone we both know came with a solution to a shared problem. One we both hate, but must be done. Take that as you will."
After finishing what he had to say, the merc looked up again, gazing into the alien crystal and fully expecting either a humorous response or intrigue.
"I'm being 'lenient', because I want to get things done, not because I developed sympathy towards you. Remember that."
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"Test the sharpness of your sword against another. And when that is not enough, unsheathe your cunning as the hidden dagger that ends the fight."
A brief silence overcame, broken only by the rattling that followed the Gardener's presence. A momentary look away from the board is all it took for a pawn to become a rook, it seemed.
So he chose a different perspective, and this time, only his human voice spoke:
"Obviously, it is noble to sacrifice yourself for others. I once did as well. But who do you struggle for? The Nomads have their own fate, it doesn't belong to you unless you choose to grasp it for yourself. So, then... a human. Many humans, perhaps? And what do you think humans hold dearest? Medical bays hear prayers a thousand times as sincere as temples. Landing pads see kisses that wedding halls could only dream of. It only matters when it's leaving. Loss is what they value. What humanity holds dear is Death."
"The purpose of every human is Death. It is the shared fate of all that is human. Their society, their buildings, their bodies, their ideals. Each will die. That is why they hold graveyards in sacred light, but not apartment complexes. Tombstones honored, but not mothers. Death is their god. Death is their duty. Death is their fate. And yet they tell you to do it so that others may have a life worth living, all the while the sorry hypocrites search to find a death worth dying."
"It seems foolish to sacrifice even so much as your own comfort for these who would throw it away as soon as given a chance. Whatever sacrifice you do make will not be honored. All they want is that death worth dying, and they all will die in the end anyway. And should you survive?... For fifteen years I served House Rheinland, and for the crime of keeping my life, the Marinenachrichtendienst took everything but it as they fought a new war against a new race. A mere collateral damage, they said. An apple fell, and all people knew of gravity. Darkness falls, and each man knows struggle. But trillions of bodies will have fallen, and not a single man will know humanity."
"So why did you really accept a solution you hate? Did you confuse your feeling and your thinking? Or did you simply waste too much time asking how you knew a solution was wrong, so much time that you forgot that, indeed, you knew it was wrong?"
They called him many things. Gardener, Hybrid, Terror, Amalgam, Monster, Abomination... Traitor. But not Liar. They never call him Liar.
"Consider it a riddle then. Why does the great Vincent Abrams want to work with humanity's greatest enemy? What's the end-goal? A freak whose only commendable purpose is to exchange death for credits; suddenly commits to a seemingly selfless act of treason. I've been shooting your kind for as long as both of us can remember, yet here we are. Hoping for a middle ground and laughing at the circumstances.
This might have not been the answer one would hope for. A question turned riddle for a mundane topic radiating with a sense of importance. Why does the chicken cross the road? What tempts it to do so?
Caliban continues his monologue with a particular lack of interest in having to explain his every action to every one. Why do this? Why do that? In his mind he'd always answer: "Because I can." with a bright, innocent smile behind a visor who hid a face no longer present. An answer he'd share with the amalgam hiding under a thick layer of impenetrable crystalline rock. A subtle whisper hidden between the words he'd next spew out.
"Humanity is a funny thing. Fragile yet beautiful. Ugly when you get the short end of a stick. You'd think I embrace death by now since, y'know, I'm a human. Looking in the mirror I tend to question if I really am one after all these upgrades. I don't really 'feel' it anymore now."
A brief pause took hold of the room. Several seconds long of staring at one another. Uncanny in its own right yet not without purpose. He'd expect an answer, though part of him expected none.
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"Test the sharpness of your sword against another. And when that is not enough, unsheathe your cunning as the hidden dagger that ends the fight."
In his answer, he offered two answers, through two perspectives, for the two facets that made up himself. And in the same manner, he asked in one sentence two questions: "So,whatdoes"Apotheosis"meantoyou,ohDiscretormine?"
Acknowledging every word spoken Caliban could only let his head tilt ever so slightly in contemplation before nodding slowly. Like a literature connoisseur he'd soak in the given answers, somewhat resonating with both logics. That's where his empathy for a story partly mirroring his own ended and bitter tone took point. In all these years no human could have a clearer picture of how life really worked. The crude truth hiding under a dirty rug nobody wants to touch out of fear. There was a bit of irony in the thrall's theorems: being so disgusted of one's humanity to willingly cast it aside in the form of a wretched amalgam? It took guts, for sure. Strength - and yet, weakness. Yet he wasn't sure what kind of weakness it was.
Not much, to be honest. I know the meaning by definition: to reach a higher form of being - the very peak one can achieve; maybe even consider yourself to have reached divine power. But that doesn't apply here, does it? You are here stuck to a ceiling, probably holding up a last ace up your sleeve."
Caliban would leave out a light chuckle as his position adjusted. Hands were left lower to hip-level. Left hand gripping the right, and his right hand forming a relaxed fist as he stood with a straight back and stern look at the abomination before him.
You're not looking to give yourself praise for the good job you've done so far, are you? Seems a bit beneath you.
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"Test the sharpness of your sword against another. And when that is not enough, unsheathe your cunning as the hidden dagger that ends the fight."
The Gardener finally laughed of his own right. He had no need to correct Caliban on the level of his desperation. Perspective was a power that he wielded and a prison he inflicted, and the most effective prisons are the ones where the prisoners cannot see the bars.
Puzzles, piece, manipulation. Typical of any nomad and thrall alike. What hurt more is that the thing wasn't wrong. There are so many pieces on the board, and Caliban was one of them. Why should he accept this truth though? He had all the right to deny it as he has for the past five or six years.
"I guess we are." a short pause between breaths "So how about we play our part? Of course...that means you might have to drop the wise rock act. One freak to another: it gets less interesting the longer you continue with it."
And so he planted another proposition to continue the initial deal made with yet another Elder. A painstaking process to develop specific measures against Sentinels, and by default Nomads alike. To design a heretical weapon was to design the knife that would stab the owner and the victim at the very same time. Caliban was fairly close to adapting hybrid technology to his ship - bastardize it with the technology of those he hunted for years. And yet it would take eons for him to figure out how to make them hurt Sentinels as bad as they hurt him.
At this point the human factor has become a burden. Fresh eyes were needed. No matter whose eyes.
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"Test the sharpness of your sword against another. And when that is not enough, unsheathe your cunning as the hidden dagger that ends the fight."
He did, in fact, drop the act. The rattle ceased, and the thing it hid, unending muttering and whispering, took hold. The twisted shadows disappeared, and the warped perspectives came forward, bending reality like the space around a singularity. Most importantly, the chains holding the crystal aloft were slowly being transformed into the same substance as the crystal, crawling up the chain one link at a time like a glassy frost.
The reality of his madness was tangible. His tone of voice shifted to the fanatical hiss that his compatriots had gotten used to."I'veseentheSlomonK'Haraastheywere,heirtoagalacticthrone,sonsoftheconquerorsofspace,time,andlifeitself.ThePattern-Makerswho'stable-scrapswewagewarover.So,whynotletthepawnskeepfighting,hmmm?Everysingleoneofyouplaysthegame.Thepawnsmarchforward,thebishopsstrikeinunknownangles,theknightssuddenlyappear,andtherookscontrolthepathways.I'mgoingtocreateaplayer.Sh'ozak,ourblessedMercy,yoursacredDeath,ismadesingular.Amalgaminherownright.AllIneedisthefinalpiece.IwillmakeherDa'amK'Vosh,Human,andNomad,allatonce.Andwhenshecanseethepatterns,changethepatterns,andmakethepatterns?Thegameisover.Theuniverselosesitsidentityasaboardonwhichagameisplayed,andbecomesacanvasonwhichanimageispainted.TheimageofthefinalvictoryoftheEMPIREoftheDa'amK'Vosh.Afatherthatconqueredallwithinreach,andadaughterthatconquersallthatexists."
His excitement and psychic pressure receded, as well as the transformation of the chains halting at the halfway point, as he addressed the question of Caliban's humanity again: "You'llembraceOurHallowedMaidenSh'ozakonewayoranother.Allofhumanitywill.Deathisyourgoddess.Deathisyourduty.Deathisyourfate.Ifyouwanttopickadifferentfate,surelyitisobviousthatyoumustceasetobehuman.Youcan'thaveadifferentendingbyreadingthesamebook,afterall."
