“Eeeeeee!”
What is that?
“Omigod, omigod, omiGAAAWD! What’s happening to me?”
My host is speaking. I don’t believe this should occur.
It says, “It shouldn’t. This is wrong. All wrong!”
Very wrong.
“Wait,” it squawks. “I must be having a nightmare.”
A nightmare? Oh, yes. A form of sleep disturbance.
“Only it seems like it’s still happening.” My host sounds puzzled. “I’m awake now. Helloooo.”
Is it greeting me?
It shouldn’t be able to talk, but it keeps going. “Whoa! Maybe this is one of those lucid dreams Madison was talking about.”
A lucid dream?
“Yeah.” It expels a gust of air. “So all I have to do is go back to sleep, and this will stop.”
I certainly hope so.
“Me too,” it mumbles. And I sense its consciousness fading.
I focus hard on absolutely nothing. It’s a technique Universals learn so that they can cloak their minds from other Universals. I’m not very good at it. But I believe I manage to hide my presence from the human while it returns to sleep.
And then I let myself panic over the problem with skin. Float said entry via skin is risky. Something to do with triggering the host body’s immune system? No, that wasn’t it. I didn’t pay close attention because I knew I’d take the safest route, through a nostril. Until I didn’t. Horrid mosquito!
I recall that skin entry isn’t a fatal error. Does it prevent me from suppressing the host? That could be it. Ideally, the host is entered during doze mode and is unaware that it has been occupied. It should remain dozing while I have control of the body.
I suspect I have a problem. But, really, how bad can it be? I am the superior intelligence here. That will allow me to control the human when it wakes. If it wakes. It might not. Now that it’s sleeping again, it could simply carry on doing that.
Or not. In which case, my best strategy is to master the operation of the body. I am most interested in the sensory organs. For example, the nose. It detects odors in the air. It is connected to the breathing apparatus. Lungs? Yes. They are supposed to be self-regulating. I locate them, and, sure enough, they are automatically expanding and contracting. Amazing.
I check out a few more internal organs. The heart is pumping blood. The stomach is digesting food. The liver is filtering blood. My host appears to have an excellent body.
Back to the nose. I attempt sniffing and find a variety of smells. I don’t know what they indicate, but they are there. Another sensing feature is the ear. There are two of them, and with these I should hear sound. And I do. I hear the movement of breath. And something else. It’s a persistent sound emanating from outside the body. Is it possible someone is attempting to communicate with my host?
It’s another shrill “eeeeeee” sound. I attempt to listen for thoughts from the “eeeeeee” being but hear nothing. Then I recall a sickening detail. It is extremely rare for humans to hear the thoughts of other beings. Possibly, the skin bag blocks this. They must rely on their physical senses to perceive everything.
That is truly primitive. And I, too, will be stuck with this handicap for an entire bioethics class. Float is a cruel teacher.
So how can I figure out what is making that sound? Oh yes. I should use the eyes. I locate them in the head where they should be, but they seem to be malfunctioning. I can’t see a thing. Then a point on my skin bag produces a sensation. Skin is the sensory organ that provides touch data. This touch is unpleasant. In fact, I believe it is the sensation known as pain.
My host emits a muffled moan (a very bad sign), and quite suddenly, one of our limbs jerks into motion and swings about. “Stupid mosquito,” my host mutters. Then our eyes begin functioning. I perceive dim light and the form of another mosquito dodging the limb.
And then, “What IS this?” My host is talking again. “Who ARE you? WHAT are you? WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HEAD?”
“That’s a lot of questions,” I say.
“Oh. My. God!” my host screeches. “Get OUT!”
Carefully, I say, “I can’t do that yet.”
It propels our body upright, which is a dizzying sensation. It then proceeds to strike our head with our hand. I experience pain again and dislike it. “Stop that,” I say.
“Leave! Now!” It continues hitting us.
Perhaps my host isn’t so excellent. “Are you defective?” I ask it. “You’re hurting us.”
“Us? Us?” it asks. “There is no US! Get out!”
“I told you I can’t do that,” I say. “It would mean an automatic fail for me. The proper thing for you to do is to simply obey me. I’m in charge now.”
It stops hitting us and collapses our body downward. “Ahhhhh!” it moans. “I’ve lost my mind.”
“Not exactly,” I tell it. “You’re simply hosting me for a short time. Three days, by your calendar. Nothing is required of you other than your body.”
“And you think I’m defective?” it asks. “Who are you?”
“My name is Welkin. I’m a Universal. You are a juvenile human.”
“I thought I was dreaming,” it mutters. “But no. I’ve lost it. Totally lost it.”
“What did you lose?” I ask.
“My mind, you idiot!” it shrieks. “What do you think?”
“I think many things.”
“Yeah. I can tell,” it says. “Like, totally rude stuff.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“For one thing, you think of me as an it. I am not an it. And who says stuff like ‘juvenile human’? That’s creepy.” It pauses, then asks, “Are you some sort of perv?”
“I’m not familiar with that term. I already told you, I’m a Universal. I’m a superior nonphysical being, and I’m here to study you.”
“You are sooo a perv!” it says. “And my name is Chloe. Got that, Welkin? That’s not too hard for you, is it?”
I can’t believe this. It—that is, Chloe— is implying that I lack intelligence.
“Too right, Welkin. That’s exactly what I’m saying. You know why? Because any freaky blob creature who thinks he can just hang out in someone else’s body”— Chloe pauses to draw breath—“is a total moron.”
I know this word, moron. It is not flattering. “Chloe, that’s enough. Calm yourself. Try to be rational. Most preferably, go back to sleep for three days.”
Abruptly, it sits up and swings our legs off the bed.“I’m telling my mother,” it says.
Mother? “Ah, yes. That would be your parent, correct? What are you going to tell it?”
Chloe doesn’t answer immediately, and it’s then that I realize I can’t hear its thoughts. But obviously, it can hear mine. Such as my thinking of it as “it.” How can that possibly be rude? I concentrate fiercely on hearing its thoughts and get nothing. This is very bad.
“Aha! So that’s how it is, eh?” Chloe crows. “Looks like Mr. Superior Welkin isn’t so superior after all.”
“You should go talk to your mother,” I say.
“Why?” Its tone is suspicious.
I attempt to cloak my mind as I think how the mother human might agree that Chloe has lost her mind. If the information in the Thought Archives is correct, the mother would then take Chloe to a doctor. This doctor would likely drug Chloe, and then I—
“Welkin! That’s evil! You want me drugged?”
So much for the mind cloak. “This is a disaster,” I say.
“Too right,” it says. “So you’ll leave now?”
“Absolutely not,” I tell it. “If you refuse to sleep, then we’ll have to find a way to co-exist.”
“That is so not happening.” Chloe shakes our head rapidly from side to side, and our field of vision blurs.
“Why not?” I ask.
Chloe snorts. “Why not? The better question is, why would I? This is my body, and you’re trespassing. You didn’t even ask. You barged in and—oh, forget it. I don’t have to explain. Just go!”
“That is an excellent question,” I say.
“Huh?”
“Your question about why you would agree to co-exist with me,” I explain. “I’d like to answer that question.”
“Welkin, I don’t need you to—”
“No, it’s quite all right,” I interrupt. “I want to answer. My answer is that you’d agree because it would provide you with the opportunity to study me. You see?”
“Wow. That is so lame. Do you honestly think I’ve ever given a single thought to studying a Unitard?”
“Universal,” I correct. “I’m a Universal.”
“Whatever,” it sighs. “Give it up, Welkin.”
It appears that I am unable to suppress my host. Nor will it cooperate. Conclusion—Chloe is correct, and my only option is to give up. This means I’ll have to take Float’s dreadful bioethics class yet again. Thinking about another eon of that droning voice is deeply depressing. And then there will be the cruel mockery of my classmates…that will be the worst.