Chapter 4 Chapter 2 Wiretapping

The voices are so soft and so close that I'm only aware of them now, and it's clear this whispered conversation has been going on for some time. "I'm afraid it's too horrible for her," said one, in a soft but deep, male voice, "too horrible for anyone, such a violent act!" disgusted. "She only screamed once." Another higher-pitched, high-pitched female voice pointed out gleefully, as if she had won an argument. "I know," the man admitted, "she's very strong. Others are less traumatized than she is, but the psychological trauma is much worse."

"I'm sure she'll be all right, as I told you." "Maybe you failed to understand what your role was," the man said sharply—sarcasm, my memory said. "Maybe you were going to be a therapist like me." The woman laughed and said with interest, "I doubt it. We hunters prefer another diagnosis from you." My body knows the word, the title: Hunter.It sent shivers down my spine, a residual reaction.Of course, I have no reason to be afraid of hunters. "Sometimes I wonder if human contagion affects those of you in your line of work," the man quipped, his tone still bitter with exasperation, "violence is part of your life choices. Your bodies Are there enough inherent characteristics left to allow you to enjoy the terrifying and hideous scene?"

I was amazed by his accusations, by his tone, that the discussion was almost like an argument.That was something my host was familiar with, but something I had never experienced. The woman argued: "We didn't choose violence, we faced violence when we had to. And some of us are strong enough to take it, which is a good thing for the rest of you. Without our efforts, your peaceful lives would be in tatters." "It used to be. Your profession will soon be obsolete, I suppose." "The error in that assertion now lies in that bed over there." "A girl, alone, and with bare hands! Yes, it is a great threat to our peaceful life."

The woman let out a deep breath and sighed: "But where did she come from? How did she appear in the center of Chicago? This city was abandoned a long time ago, and there has been no sign of resistance for many years. She is Did you come by yourself?" When she listed these questions, she didn't seem to seek answers, as if she had asked such questions many times. "That's your problem, not mine," the man said, "my job is just to help this soul adjust to her new host without unnecessary pain or trauma, and you're here to interfere with my job. " It wasn't until then that I realized that I was the subject of this conversation, as I was still in the process of slowly waking from a coma and acclimatizing myself to this new world of sensory perception and consciousness.I am the soul they speak of, a word with a new meaning, a word with many different meanings to my host.We have different names on every planet.Soul, I guess, is an apt description—the unseen force that guides the body.

"The answer to my question is as important as your responsibility to this soul." "That's up for debate." Then there was the sound of walking, and her voice suddenly became a whisper: "When will she react? The effects of the sedative must wear off soon." "When she's ready, let her be, she has a reason to choose whatever she thinks is most comfortable handling the situation anyway. Think of her shock at waking up - injured in an attempt to escape , in a host of rebels who are almost on the verge of death! No one should suffer such trauma in a peaceful age!" As his emotions became more and more agitated, his volume also increased.

"She was strong," the woman said now with relief. "Look how well she coped with the first and worst memory. Whatever she was expecting, she coped well." "Why should she have to?" the man muttered, though he didn't seem to expect an answer. Still, the woman replied: "If only we could get the information we need" "Needing is just your wording, I will choose wanting." "Then one has to suffer unpleasant things," she went on, as if he hadn't interrupted her, "and I think, from what I know of this soul, if there was a way for her to do it, she would take it." Kind of a challenge. What do you call her?"

The man did not speak for a long time, and the woman waited. "Wanderer," he finally replied reluctantly. "It's a good fit," she said, "I don't have an official record, but she must be one of the few, if not the only one, who has been roaming so far. Yes, a roamer would be a perfect fit her, until she chooses a new name for herself." He didn't say anything. "Of course, she may also use the host's name. We haven't found any matching records through fingerprints or retinal scans. I can't tell you what that name is." "She doesn't use human names," the man whispered.

She takes comforting coping: “Everyone seeks comfort in their own way.” "This soul will need more comfort than most, thanks to the style of your search." There was a sharp sound—footsteps, the clack of heels on the hard floor.When the woman spoke again, her voice came to the man from across the room. "Early in the career, you're going to react badly," she says. "Maybe you react badly to peace." The woman laughed, but her voice was discordant—without real interest.My mind seems well adapted to infer true meaning based on inflections in tone and intonation.

"You have no clear idea of ​​what my responsibilities entail. Working hours and hours at a desk with files and maps, mostly desk work, it seems that the kind of fighting or violence you think doesn't happen very often." "Ten days ago, armed with a deadly weapon, you caused this body to collapse from exhaustion." "That's the exception, I assure you, not the rule. Don't forget that weapons that annoy you will turn on our kind whenever and wherever we hunters aren't alert. Humans will happily Kill us if they can, and those whose lives have been affected by this hostile act make us heroes."

"You say that as if you're saying a war is going on." "For the remnants of humanity, there is a war." The words sound harsh, and my body responds to them.I felt my breathing quicken and heard my heart beating louder than usual.Beside the bed where I lay, a machine beeped muted to record this acceleration.Both the healer and the hunter, caught up in their respective opposing attitudes, fail to notice this. "But it was a war that was lost long ago, and even they must have realized it. They were outnumbered, by how much? A million, or one? I guess you'll know."

"We figured the odds were better for us," she admitted reluctantly. Hearing this information, the therapist seemed content to let go of his own objections.There was a moment of silence. I used this blank time to assess my situation, and many were obvious. I was in a therapeutic facility recovering from an unusually harrowing and memorable implant experience.I'm sure the body I'm hosting has been fully healed before being given to me, and those damaged hosts will be disposed of. I considered the tit-for-tat point of view between the healer and the hunter.Based on the information I had before I chose to come here, the healer made more sense, the war with the small remnants of humanity was over long ago.The planet called Earth has become as peaceful and serene as it appears from space, with mesmerizing green vegetation, blue oceans, and a harmless white vapor of water.Harmony is now commonplace, as is always the case with souls. The spat between the healer and the hunter was inappropriate and uncannily combative for our kind.It made me wonder, could they be real, those whispering voices undulating in that-that's mind? I'm distracted trying to find the name of my last host's species.We used to have a name, I know that, but, no longer tied to that host, I can't recall that name.The language we use is much simpler than this, the silent language of thought that connects us all to one great idea.It is a necessary and convenient condition when one is permanently rooted in the moist black earth. I can describe that species in my own brand new human language.We live on the bed of an ocean that covers the entire surface of our world—a world with a name, but that world too has disappeared.Each of us has hundreds of antennae, and each antennae has a thousand eyes, so that, because our minds are closely connected, no sight can go unnoticed in the vastness of the sea.There is no need for sound, so there is no possibility of hearing sound.We rely on sight to taste the sea water and learn everything we need to know from it.We appreciate the sun, so many allies on the water, and turn their flavors into the food we need. I can describe us, but I cannot name us.I lamented the knowledge I had lost, and then brooded again on what I had just happened to hear. According to common sense, the soul will only speak the truth.Of course, hunters have their duties, but there is never a reason to lie between souls.In the language of thought of my last species it is impossible to lie, even if we wanted to.However, since we are so firmly anchored, we tell ourselves stories to ease the boredom.Storytelling is the most respected of all talents because it benefits everyone. Sometimes fact and fiction are so tightly intertwined that it can be hard to remember what is strictly true even though no lie is being told. When we think of new planets—Earth, so parched, so diverse, and filled with inhabitants so violent and destructive that we can barely imagine what they're like—our fear is sometimes overshadowed by our excitement Alright, rumors are swirling spontaneously around this exciting new topic.War—war!Our kind must fight! ——It was reported factually at first, and then it was whitewashed and fabricated.When rumors contradict the official information I seek, I automatically believe the first report. But there are also whispers that the human hosts are so powerful that souls are forced to abandon them.A host whose mind cannot be completely suppressed, the soul takes on the personality of the body, not the other way around.Rumors, random gossip, flooded wildly. But that seems to be pretty much the therapist's charge. I dismissed the idea that the more likely implication of his condemnation was the aversion most of us feel to the hunter's duties.Who would choose a life of fighting and chasing?Who would be attracted to the grueling task of tracking down and capturing reluctant hosts?Human beings with malicious intentions are so reckless and kill so recklessly, who has the guts to face the cruelty of this particular species?Here, on this planet, the hunter actually becomes a kind of militant—my new brain has a term for this unfamiliar concept.Most believe that only the most savage souls, the least evolved, a few of us are attracted to the Hunter's Path. However, the hunters have taken on a new status on Earth, and never before has the profession become so twisted.Never before has there been a ferocious and bloody battle, and never before have so many souls been sacrificed.The hunters stand in the posture of mighty shields, to whom the souls of this world owe at least three things: for the safety they carve out in the great disturbance, for their willingness to face the danger of death every day, for their continual Provide new bodies. Now that the danger has essentially passed, the gratitude seems to be fading, and, for this hunter at least, the change isn't very comfortable, it's easy to imagine what her problems would be for me.Although the therapist is trying to buy me more time to adjust to my new body, I know I will do everything I can to help the hunter, and good citizenship is a model for every soul. So I took a deep breath to prepare myself and the monitor registered the move.I know I'm a bit of a procrastinator, and I hate to admit it, but I'm terrified.In order to obtain the information the hunter needs, I have to explore the fierce memory that once made me scream in fear.Much more than that, I was terrified of such a loud voice in my head, but that's right now that she's silent, and she's just a memory too. I shouldn't have been afraid.After all, I'm now called a Wanderer, and I'm worthy of it. I took a deep breath and dived into the memories that terrified me, gritting my teeth and facing them face to face. I was able to skip the ending - now it doesn't overwhelm me anymore.In fast-forward, I'm walking through the darkness again - timidly as I try not to think about it - and it's quickly over. Once I get past that hurdle, it's not hard to easily drift into less alarming things and places and browse the information I want.I saw how she came to this icy city and drove at night in a stolen car, which she had chosen especially for its indescribable appearance.She walked through the streets of Chicago in the dark, shivering in her coat. She was doing her own search, and there were others like her, or so she hoped.One person in particular, a friend no, family, not a sister but a cousin. The words came more and more slowly, and at first I didn't understand why.Is this forgotten?Disappeared in the trauma of near death?Am I still sluggish from the coma?I struggled to figure it out, the feeling was unfamiliar.Are the sedatives still numbing my body?I felt alert enough, but my mind struggled and failed to find the answers I wanted. I tried another search, hoping for a more definitive response.What is her goal?She was hoping to find Sharon—I pulled that name out of it—and they were banging my search against the wall. It was blank, empty.I tried to go around, but I couldn't find the edge of the void, as if the information I was looking for had been erased. It was as if the brain had been damaged. Anger surged through me, hot and wild.Surprised by the unexpected reaction, I gasped.I had heard of the emotional instability of these human bodies, but had not been able to foresee such a situation.In eight whole different lives, I have never been touched by such strong emotions. I feel blood rushing up my neck, thumping behind my ears, and my hands clenched into fists. The machine beside me reported that my heart was beating faster, and there was a response in the room: the screeching sound of the hunter's shoes hitting the ground, slowly approaching me, mixed with a lighter heavy footsteps, this Must be the therapist. "Welcome to Earth, rover," said the woman's voice.