Primal Estate: The Candidate Species (11 page)

BOOK: Primal Estate: The Candidate Species
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“Father, you're not clear. You must be upset. What methods are you talking about?” Nwella asked.
Synster forced his mind to calm and took a deep breath. “When I saw the problems they were having with their health, I quickly reviewed their history over the last five hundred years to see what we’re dealing with. It seems the humans’ first scientists were motivated by profit, much as we believe ours were. No surprise there. They wanted to find easy ways to make more materials that were valuable to them. Gold is one example. They would start with other less costly materials and add elements or compounds to it, generally manipulate a variety of elements in different ways. They would simply add compounds to a system and expect the sum of that addition to amount to what they wanted! It works, of course, with a few simple things, like mixing colors, or making concrete, but not with anything as complex as their physiology.
“In this manner they would try to do things like change lead into gold. That never worked, but they maintained this method, developing chemistry, where the very simple manipulation of nonliving chemicals showed them they could predict a variety of outcomes. They toyed with this for a few hundred years.
“Then they discovered that there are life forms so small they can’t see them, life forms that can infect them and cause disease. They developed treatments that could be added to their physiological systems to kill these infectious diseases, just as we did. That’s where the parallel nature of our development ends.
“For any kind of illness other than infectious disease, for instance, the failures of our systems as we age, instead of researching those bodily systems and enhancing their own protective and healing mechanisms, humans thought they could develop single or multiple physiologically unrelated treatments, and add them to the failing system to cure the problem.” Synster noticed Nwella was beginning to look at him with a blank stare.
Synster realized he was rambling again and decided to give an example. “Remember two years ago when one of our meal storage units was improperly calibrated and the storage field was causing the destruction of all the food’s essential nutrients?”
“Yes,” Nwella replied, hoping to understand soon.
“Some Provenger began to have some very mild issues surrounding the ability to concentrate, their children either falling asleep at school or behaving inappropriately.”
Nwella understood where he was going. “Obviously due to a micronutrient deficiency that was affecting healthy cellular metabolism, hormone function and synapse firing…”
“Exactly. So the first thing we looked for was the root cause. Getting them the correct nutrients so their bodies can operate as designed. We looked at the source and recalibrated the storage unit. The problem turned out to be with those who were eating more than half their meals sourced from that unit. Problem solved. Do you know what humans do?”
“I have no idea,” Nwella replied with the same blank look on her face.
“In the tradition of their first scientists from hundreds of years ago…they called them alchemists, they try to add a compound, a drug, to their bodies, which they think might help the symptoms. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn’t,”
Nwella chimed in. “But in the process they don’t identify or correct the original problem or deficiency, so it persists.”
Synster continued, “Exactly…affecting the other organs that are deficient but not symptomatic, they continue to atrophy while they suffer additional side effects throughout their other systems from this foreign chemical they added to the body.”
Synster paused to access some information from the panel on his desk. “Some of the drugs they take don’t even actually help the problem they take them for. They may help to mitigate the symptom, but for reasons often unknown to the human. The medications then cause other damage in addition to what they’re suffering. And you know what the crazy part is?”
“That’s crazy enough; is there more?”
“They know most of this,” Synster said, exasperated, his voice rising in pitch.
“Know most of what?” asked Nwella, afraid he was going to say it.
“What I’m telling you, that their drugs don’t help the problems they take them for, and may even hurt them. It’s all in their own literature.”
“If they know it, then why do they keep doing it?” Nwella asked, now believing that her father was somehow misinformed.
“Their own studies clearly state and show proof of these issues, and yet some of the best studies are ignored. It appears they’re very slow in changing anything that has to do with diet or medical research. It is very difficult for them. Also, the interpretation of studies is left to humans that the masses consider experts, when those experts are operating from the wrong foundation -- a presumption that chronic disease originates from somewhere other than nutrition and immune system function. Most of their doctors don’t even study the effects of nutrients and anti-nutrients on the body. Can you imagine trying to correct a failed system that lives and dies solely by nutrient absorption without studying, or even considering nutrition? That’s like trying to solve equipment malfunction without a power source. On top of that, individuals don’t pursue the information themselves. They leave it to others.”
Nwella looked at him as if he’d gone insane. She couldn’t comprehend why beings would ignore their own nutritional responsibilities and instead opt for the addition of a foreign substance, which would react with all systems unpredictably. And they would do this in preference to optimizing their body’s own repair systems. Nwella thought she might joke with her father that they’d better not eat their brains because they’d have virtually no nutritional value, but then thought better of it. This issue was too serious. Their very lives were hanging in the balance.
When he continued, she was glad she hadn’t joked.
“So when their bodies have a systemic failure, which is almost always due to a failure of their nutrition, they try to add chemicals to achieve the outcomes they hope to see. They may often achieve a single outcome and reduce symptoms, but their interventions change a multitude of systems in the body that alter outcomes they don’t see. Some of these chemicals change the actual qualities of their organs and flesh. They treat physiological failures the same way they treat infectious disease. They think they can use a single or even multiple compounds to kill the problem.”
Synster stood from his desk as he became agitated. “Their liver, heart, lungs, all of them are tainted to a degree that they may be useless to us.” Synster paced as he spoke. “Their flesh for instance, is corrupted by
a drug they use to inhibit their own liver function
, known generally to humans as statins, to the point where they are breaking down their own muscle tissue while they still live. This drug promotes the destruction of their liver, kidneys, and brain.” Synster hit his fist on his desk. “It’s insanity, and they know it.” He looked up and realized he was scaring Nwella. She had a horrified look on her face.
“Does this mean we’ve failed?” she asked. Nwella was fearful for the Project. All the organs he’d just listed were vital to the Provenger and the Union to make the Project viable. Without them, he would be terminated from the Project and effectively everything else. But she was also concerned about her future as well, as the time she may have wasted going through all these socially obscure ceremonies that made her feel both alienated and insecure. All she wanted to do was be free of her parents and start her own life. Even if it was in obscurity, she almost didn’t care. It sounded as if their family might be ruined. She rose to her feet.
“Are you telling me there is no harvest?”
“No,” Synster said, now aware he’d upset her. “There will be a harvest; it’s just going to be a little more complicated. We have to correct some of these issues. Patience is the key. We have the population we require; all we need is to correct these issues.”
Nwella started trembling. Synster mistakenly thought she was concerned for the family. She was not. Nwella was enraged over the last ten years of delay, the false hopes about her future, and getting on with her life.
As Synster looked at her, he realized how much he wanted for her. She was so beautiful, and he was so proud of her. She was the only daughter, probably the last, who had not yet established dominion over a male. She would make a great spouse. Her fitness level was immaculate, her health was perfect, and she was intelligent enough to reach top levels in the science community. His only concern was her love for adventure. She was a risk taker, a rebel, and he knew that this only served her self-image. It wouldn’t have much bearing on social or professional achievement. He was determined not to let her down. He took control of himself. “I have a plan for this. Don’t be afraid, Nwella.”
She studied him and didn’t know what to think.
“You need to control yourself better,” Synster said as he walked toward her. “This will work itself out. This is a big project and not everything can be expected to go perfectly. Don’t be afraid.” Synster took her hands and looked at her palms. “Things will be right.” He flipped them over and saw her fingers, “You need to do something about these nails. They don’t look good.”
Nwella nodded and moved to sit back down, “I’ll stay while you eat.”
“No, go. I need to get some things done first anyway.”
Nwella left the room feeling empty. All that she had hoped for seemed to be slowly slipping from her. The Project seemed to have started so well. When they arrived the first time in this system almost ten years before, she had been thrilled. The carnate were delicious and exciting. Nwella recalled the feast which celebrated their departure, to honor those Provenger who would stay permanently and live out the rest of their lives on Earth for the sake of the project.
On the first trip to Earth, before the Provenger Nation Ship departed, a banquet was held for the team remaining on Earth. The carnate collected for the event were treated to remove all parasites, well fed on a diet of grain to fatten and soften their flesh, and scrubbed and washed daily by young Provenger detailed for that purpose. They lived in luxury and comfort for twenty-four days. They thought they were to become gods.
For two days before the banquet, they were given nothing to eat, a fast they were told was to prepare their bodies for the ceremony. They were then led away to a room where they were washed one last time and sedated. Each was lashed to their own circular frame that left their bodies suspended in the center, limbs stretched out to their extremes. These circles were then freed from gravitation and allowed to float freely in the center of the banquet hall, where the carnate once again became fully aware.
They held out hope for some kind of a religious ceremony. When they noticed the knifed gauntlets beneath the Provenger’s robes, they all knew what they were really there for but didn’t dare to think it. None wanted to scream first, for that would make it all too real. The carnate were silent, except for some crying. The only obvious noise was from the Provenger, talking and laughing, while pointing out features on the carnate, planning for where they would cut first and how they would eat. Some were interested in sucking blood out of their victims whereas others wanted flesh, and still others would make a race for the organs.
Music started and the floating circles began to slowly rotate around the room, displaying the carnate meals. In other locations around the ship, similar banquets were being held for each Provenger that was to be left on Earth. This particular team and their guests had decided to choose their victims at random, although the female Provenger were showing most interest in the male carnate, while the male Provenger were congregating around the female carnate. The music pulsated through the room as the tempo and volume increased. The Provenger could feel the energy building as they grew more excited for events to begin.
Twenty-seven-year-old Nwella stood aside from the various groups, not speaking to anyone, only eavesdropping.
“This is so exciting. We’ve rarely banqueted on beings so similar. They look like us in almost every way.”
“Yes, I know. That came into consideration during the preparation, I heard. Even though we don’t prefer eating through hair, they decided not to shave them. Otherwise, they’d look almost exactly like us.”
“I think it’s creepy”
“I love it. It’s so close to deviant behavior without actually being so, it’s wonderfully consistent with the nature of the festivities.”
Nwella walked away, in full agreement. It was exciting. She was certain the banquet would bring her to ecstasy.
Nwella was there as a friend, but she didn’t really fit in. Her father was the Director of this project and she had to be invited to one of the banquets. This was the one. Some approached her to ask about her father’s accident during a hunt and how he was healing, but otherwise she had no one she cared to speak to.
The change in music was a cue. Nwella knew it was about to begin, and that most Provenger would remain watching and talking even though the time to begin mounting and eating was near. As the moment was close, they all turned to the wall, removed their robes, and hung them on hooks. Tradition held that clothing was bad luck, both for the victim and the Provenger, and unnecessary in a feast of living blood and flesh. It got in the way, could interfere with cuts, become very slippery and cause snags. It could hide wounds if a Provenger was accidentally injured in the melee, and tended to look like the victim’s flesh when fully saturated with blood, causing some to mistakenly sink their teeth into a layer of fabric.
Nwella had completed a skin toning treatment and had her nails done for the event. She wanted everyone to admire her. She strutted out in front of all, displaying for the males while trying to make the females jealous. Like all Provenger, she was trim and muscular, her fresh skin bronze with a glowing sheen undeserving of the imminent dowsing of blood. Her long nails were shiny and painted black, and glinted in the bright light. Her head was beautifully shaped from her round dome to her square jaw.
BOOK: Primal Estate: The Candidate Species
4.3Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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