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be not proud
Tavakh Aldebaran was doing recon.
The minuteness of the folds in Universe give the lie to science fiction. An incorporated spirit does not dematerialize, it sees and slips into the folds.
It just wasn't recommended behavior.
It had taken time, this foray into L5. The man was so nondescript it had taken Tavakh 3 hours to sense him, three hours to find the greenhouse with the condensation-covered glass, a brief time to enter silently. Tavakh's heart was heavy for the victim, but he was not here to save her, even if that were possible.
Saving her was forbidden.
He needed to know of what the man was capable.
Tavakh was about to witness a torture and murder, and he knew it. His intent was to protect Taris with foreknowledge.
On L5, anything which touched water was made of stainless steel; sinks, toilets, showerstalls.
Working surfaces beside sinks in greenhouses. Greenhouses inside the AgriZones.
Largely deserted AgriZones when the blue lights we're on because the gentle rains we're scheduled.
Stainless steel like the rack on which plants were re-potted, under an array of stainless steel showerheads used to wash spilled soil and plant food along the corrugated stainless steel drainer tray into the capacious stainless steel sink.
The man was washing his already pristine tools, carefully drying each one in turn by hand. He placed each one neatly side-by-side on what seemed to be a human bath-towel, clean and fluffy.
As he placed the last utensil on the towel, the man glanced at his watch, then at the girl under the showerheads, almost still.
Watching the man's face, reading the perplexity, Tavakh learned what the man was waiting for.
He wasn't waiting for her to die.
He wanted her to wake up.
Tavakh's mind began to whirl as he realised why that had to be.
The man dried his hands, reached into his small bag and took out a small glass ampule. He took two steps and cracked it under Navica's nose.
Tavakh watched, ashamed, as the true nature of her predicament dawned on Navica.
Tavakh saw her face of horror, eyes desperate, full of tears, mouth taped shut, all parts of her pushing on restraints, body fueled by adrenalin.
Muffled screams behind the tape, futile attempts to get off the rack causing metallic thumps.
The man seemed satisfied she had burned out all the sedation in her bloodstream.
He was right about that.
The man turned the overhead spray on low. He opened a bottle of Shiraz.
Now Santoku knives, the expensive kind, the ones which made the high-quality ringing sound when they touched something.
The ones which sliced under Navica's nipples just the right amount as she endured unimaginable agony and humiliation.
The ones which sliced each breast in turn. Thin slices, like Schenkenspeck, the kind you could see through.
Thin slices made slippery from her blood.
Her blood now washing gently down the sink.
Piece by piece, Navica slipped down the man's throat like an oyster in season.
Tavakh tried to fight back his tears. It didn't take.
Tavakh felt Taris beside him now, and turned his gaze to her face.
It was awash with tears, but Taris' expression was firm & resolute.
She slipped her hand in his.
Between them Taris Sajel Sorell & Tavakh Aldebaran wilfully took the life of Jane Doe #11.
The minuteness of the folds in Universe give the lie to science fiction. An incorporated spirit does not dematerialize, it sees and slips into the folds.
It just wasn't recommended behavior.
It had taken time, this foray into L5. The man was so nondescript it had taken Tavakh 3 hours to sense him, three hours to find the greenhouse with the condensation-covered glass, a brief time to enter silently. Tavakh's heart was heavy for the victim, but he was not here to save her, even if that were possible.
Saving her was forbidden.
He needed to know of what the man was capable.
Tavakh was about to witness a torture and murder, and he knew it. His intent was to protect Taris with foreknowledge.
On L5, anything which touched water was made of stainless steel; sinks, toilets, showerstalls.
Working surfaces beside sinks in greenhouses. Greenhouses inside the AgriZones.
Largely deserted AgriZones when the blue lights we're on because the gentle rains we're scheduled.
Stainless steel like the rack on which plants were re-potted, under an array of stainless steel showerheads used to wash spilled soil and plant food along the corrugated stainless steel drainer tray into the capacious stainless steel sink.
The man was washing his already pristine tools, carefully drying each one in turn by hand. He placed each one neatly side-by-side on what seemed to be a human bath-towel, clean and fluffy.
As he placed the last utensil on the towel, the man glanced at his watch, then at the girl under the showerheads, almost still.
Watching the man's face, reading the perplexity, Tavakh learned what the man was waiting for.
He wasn't waiting for her to die.
He wanted her to wake up.
Tavakh's mind began to whirl as he realised why that had to be.
The man dried his hands, reached into his small bag and took out a small glass ampule. He took two steps and cracked it under Navica's nose.
Tavakh watched, ashamed, as the true nature of her predicament dawned on Navica.
Tavakh saw her face of horror, eyes desperate, full of tears, mouth taped shut, all parts of her pushing on restraints, body fueled by adrenalin.
Muffled screams behind the tape, futile attempts to get off the rack causing metallic thumps.
The man seemed satisfied she had burned out all the sedation in her bloodstream.
He was right about that.
The man turned the overhead spray on low. He opened a bottle of Shiraz.
Now Santoku knives, the expensive kind, the ones which made the high-quality ringing sound when they touched something.
The ones which sliced under Navica's nipples just the right amount as she endured unimaginable agony and humiliation.
The ones which sliced each breast in turn. Thin slices, like Schenkenspeck, the kind you could see through.
Thin slices made slippery from her blood.
Her blood now washing gently down the sink.
Piece by piece, Navica slipped down the man's throat like an oyster in season.
Tavakh tried to fight back his tears. It didn't take.
Tavakh felt Taris beside him now, and turned his gaze to her face.
It was awash with tears, but Taris' expression was firm & resolute.
She slipped her hand in his.
Between them Taris Sajel Sorell & Tavakh Aldebaran wilfully took the life of Jane Doe #11.