Serial
65: No limits
February 4th, 33 S.D. 15:04 Navaran, Henron
A wave of water crashed upon Losha’s head, quickly dousing her face. The cold wash jarred her to her senses. Though she’d been subdued by sleep, she sprang to life in an instant. Lurching forward, however, Losha found herself tightly restrained. Ever familiar shackles bound her wrists together, side-by-side. They’d put her in a chair, securing her to the back via straps around her chest. She had nothing on her legs, however. Blinking away the water, Losha looked about. No longer in her cell, she occupied a small, square, windowless room. Above her, an electric light hung, shining harshly. It hummed along in a low, buzzing frequency. Three men stood before her, Sansat and two guards.
“Did you sleep soundly?” the doctor asked with a grin.
“Nothing but nightmares. Your ugly face kept showing up.”
“I see that mouth of yours is the first thing to start up...” he said. “You can thank Suvla the Olta Fox for that little nap. She may be dead, but she left behind so many interesting chemicals for us.”
“Heh, looks like I can thank her for a lot of things these days,” Losha muttered.
“What was that you said?”
“I said chug a dick,” she spat. Being like Faima was starting to come a little too easily for her. As long as it threw the Henron off balance though, it was worthwhile to maintain this guise. Sansat reddened a bit as he scowled.
“Gentlemen, leave her to me. I need some answers, and for that, I need privacy.”
“Ver Romos,” one of them said. “We cannot let her go unsupervised outside of her cell. Orders from Govan himself.”
“And it was Govan himself that gave me permission to interrogate her.”
The guard mulled his thoughts over before unholstering a pistol. “Take this, doctor. We will be right outside.”
Sansat sighed as he took the gun by its grip. “You all worry so needlessly. Very well. Now, off with you both. I assure you this will not be long.”
The guards walked off behind Losha, opening and closing the door with a noisy clang. From the sound of it, the exit seemed notably thick; she could hear nothing on the other side.
“Shall we begin?” Sansat asked as he walked over to one wall. A wooden table had been propped on its end. “That was rhetorical of course. You have no say in the matter really.” He flipped the furniture onto the ground with a thud. Pushing it across the floor, Sansat positioned it in front of Losha. After grabbing another chair for himself, he pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and threw it down.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked, taking a seat opposite from her.
“About as much as anyone can be in my place. I must tell you, however, that I am not keen on these straps. They are far too... kinky for my tastes.”
Sansat looked up at her for a second, then he wiped his hand over his face. “Do at least try to be serious, Ver Holvate.”
“Why? Is that a threat?” Despite the measures used to hold her, Losha rocked her body forward, scooting her chair closer to the table. She bumped the edge as she leaned in. “You still think I am vulnerable?” she questioned him directly.
“You can get the others to be wary of you, but I am not so lightly impressed. Now, we must begin.” Sansat flipped the book open and thumbed through different selections.
“What do I care for whatever you want to know?”
“Oh, there is room enough for both of us to learn,” he mused as his fingers all at once stopped. Swiftly, he whipped out a pencil, steadying the tool over a particular page. Once again, he smiled; his hand poised itself to write. “You could learn all about the things Nabel Viska has done, the secrets he keeps, and what he intends to do soon.”
Losha’s eyes widened at the mention of that name. How did this man know of the original serialist? What, if any, was their connection? Even though her heart surged, even though her mind shook with curiosity, she reserved a healthy amount of suspicion.
“Ah, surprised to hear that name, are we?”
“More like sickened,” she grimaced. “But you are too late on your offer. I already know all about him. He told me everything.”
“So he did...” Sansat frowned but nevertheless proceeded with his work. “I need to ask you something important. I need to know where you stand. First, allow me to recap a few items. Serialization is performed by guiding seras to perform a specific action. One can use seras in a converted form: heat, light, force or movement, electricity. One can also use seras directly. Am I correct so far?”
“You can surely answer that on your own, sa, doctor?”
“Indeed...” he said to little amusement. “The basis of all serialization, however, revolves around the manipulation of seras, the soul’s own energy. But just what is seras? Where does your soul gather it from? Can we find it elsewhere?” Losha merely stared at Sansat in silence.
“I do not suppose you ever considered these mysteries, have you?” he asked.
“Perhaps I already know. In either case, my knowledge is not something I would share with you.”
“So very stubborn, just like Nabel. Both you and he are quite careful concerning what you reveal to the world about this wondrous art. I should hope you are more reasonable than he is. After all, you and I more or less share the same vision of what will come in the days ahead.”
Losha chuckled and shook her head. “Not exactly. In my future, I am out of these cuffs and pummeling you.”
“Hmph! Stow that tongue of yours away for a moment and listen,” Sansat said. “I too think the world deserves the gift of serialization, that the Continent could benefit from it. If even a fraction of what you have shown us in warfare could be applied to other things, humanity would rise to a new age, an era of not only enlightenment, but empowerment. Serialization is the use of our souls to shape our surroundings. It is a right we must reclaim from dogmatic scholars who would deny us its possibilities.”
“It is those same possibilities that end up hurting people, hurting them far worse than anything I have ever done.”
“And,” Sansat retorted. “Is that enough withhold such potential from everyone?”
“Not, it is not. But that simply means the art must be carefully managed to ensure we use it in peace.”
Sansat grunted as he shifted in his seat. Spreading his elbows on the table, he joined his hands together, delicately steepling his fingers. “Losha, what I want from you is this: to spread the art of serialization. You enjoy teaching, do you not? It is a passion that cannot be removed from your heart. I can give you an opportunity to do what you want. A school for serialists, trained to your very own regimen.”
Though the rest of her was constrained, Losha pulled her head back, raising one side of her brow. “And why do something like that?”
“Let us be clear; this war means nothing to me. I would let you end it here and now. I want but one thing: serialization for everyone. I had always fantasized about such an art, all throughout my life. In this pursuit, I hunted down legends and myths alike, dabbled in realms scientific and spiritual until at last I found something, something I felt that we had all lost. When I first heard of serialization, it was like remembering a great dream. I knew my search was complete. And then you appeared, a serialist.” He looked at Losha straight in the eyes.
“Henron. Sventa. Asten. Gandian. Race and ethnicity. Clan and creed. None of them truly interest me. I have but one aim, one ideology that governs my life and purpose. I want to see the rise of serialization. I want us to be a world of serialists, free to use our souls as we please. Any cause, any desire, any aspiration: we will use serialization achieve whatever we yearn for. Losha, you can be the one to show us. Think of its ability to bring people everywhere to a new height of prosperity. This art will revolutionize the way each of us lives, forever.”
Losha frowned a bit. “Serialization can change the face of the earth, but how so? Will it be by burning mountains to the ground, or by raising new ones? You wish to have serialization set loose, unconstrained by limits, yet its power is a fickle thing to balance. Serialization does not just consist of possibilities; it carries consequences as well.”
“And those are consequences we must be willing to accept,” Sansat said firmly, grinning widely. “If we feared every single advancement, where would we be? If our ancestors had refused to light the first fires in the days of old, where would we be? You cannot reject something on baseless apprehensions. It has been centuries, eons in fact, and yet we have so far failed to incinerate the planet.”
“Maybe we simply have not built a big enough bonfire for that. Some things, however, do not deserve to be spread to people at large. I shall not teach the violent, destructive series that I have employed in battle. They have no place in the art.”
“You must be willing to realize all of the outcomes of a serialized society, even the less glamorous ones. You can try to keep things hidden, obscure the truth of whatever you think may be hazardous. But eventually people will learn. They discover for themselves. Are you not a prime example of this principle? Did anyone tell you how to turn serialization into another facet of war?”
For a moment, Losha hung her head down, however, she soon raised it, cocking it to the side. “Let me ask you this then. Do you honestly think some series, some applications of serialization should not be prohibited? That we should blissfully ignore the danger they hold?”
“We have to let people serialize as they choose. After all, is is their soul. It is the only way to properly gain the fullest of serialization. Only when we have the liberty to use serialization as we see fit can we gain its highest bounties. Any hardships we incur upon ourselves is just part of the process of internalizing new technology. Wars will happen. People will suffer. The Continent may become a troubled land. But not forever. We evolve, growing wiser and stronger, eventually reaching a point where serialization brings stability rather than chaos. It can only be disruptive for so long. This is what Nabel has always failed to comprehend, that we can overcome all the terrible things that might arise from the art. All humans need are time and freedom. Perhaps you can see differently than he does, however. If you are around to watch things, you can guard against the most egregious of evils, ensure that peace is something we never stray too far from. So, what do you say? Will you lead us to a serialized world, unburdened by boundaries?”
Losha huffed, narrowing her gaze. “If Nabel believed that people were incapable of handling serialization, you too easily assume the best of them. The real path forward is somewhere between your view and his. Everyone should have the opportunity to serialize, sa, but the moment that power goes unchecked, we invite a host of problems to come forth. Maybe the answer is not merely to dictate what one can and cannot learn, but the answer most certainly cannot be to let everyone just do what they want.”
“So, you decline to lend me your aid then?”
“Ksh, absolutely. Whether or not either of us agrees with Nabel, the task of spreading serialization is mine alone to decide. I will find a way to make it work, a way that does not fall prey to your short-sighted foolishness, or Nabel’s for that matter.”
Sansat exhaled slowly as he pushed himself back from the table slightly. “I was afraid you would say that. Fortunately for us, we do not need to rely on someone like you.”
“You intend to find the precepts of serialization for yourself then?”
“I had planned on doing so all along. Asking you has been something of a formality. It would have been nice to have had your assistance to move things quickly, but not necessary. With the proper amount of patience, I can wield serialization for myself.”
“I figured you really did not require me. Your words earlier, how you spoke about not being as strong as I am today. You were going to have it your way, eventually. You were not going to let me stop you.”
“For all the sass you dole out, you are an incredibly observant woman. But you are too much like Nabel, too wrapped up in any of the negative side effects serialization might have, too scared to see the reward that comes from such a risk.”
“I have to worry about that. It is my responsibility. It is what I inherited.”
“Sorry to intrude on your little wishful wonderland, but soon serialization will no longer be exclusively yours to understand. We are on the verge of uncovering its mysteries for ourselves. All thanks to this.” He pulled a black stone from his pocket, the same one he’d demoed before Govan the other day. Losha scrutinized the rock, however, she said nothing.
“With this, we can claim the art on our own. We can use serialization to whatever end we chose. The best chapters of history will be written once we pry the secrets lying inside. You can still be a part of it all, or you can await your execution.”
Losha continued to stare at the dark object in his hand, however, her sight shifted past him, over his shoulder. “What the hell... is that?” she asked aloud, squinting as her mouth opened slightly. Losha tilted her head to the side to get a better angle.
“Hmm? What is what?” Sansat demanded.
“That thing! It is moving...” Losha nodded, indicating something behind Sansat. Though it was one of the most basic tricks of misdirection, Losha’s act played upon essential human nature: curiosity. Sansat turned around to the back wall, and by then it was all over. Suddenly, Losha leaped into fighting. With a single heave, she threw herself backwards, rearing the chair on two legs. Swinging upwards, Losha kicked the table as she lifted up. The table itself was cheep and fairly light, but one side quickly bashed into Sansat’s head.
“Goffpt!” he spat as the wood slammed across his cheeks. He fell onto the floor as the table clattered on top of him. Losha put all of her weight forward, bringing her chair back on its legs. Sparing no instant, she pushed herself to her feet. She could stand, but awkwardly so. It were as if she were a crab or some sort of hunchback. The chair forced her to stoop, but she could still move.
“You b***h!” Sansat growled. With a swift toss of his arm, he threw the table aside. He raised himself, rubbing one side of his face. Yet, as soon as he’d come upright, Losha charged at him. In a rush, she lowered her head, ramming it straight into his gut. The blow knocked him against the wall. He coughed as she pinned him, sputtering in pain. She pulled away, and Sansat slid to the ground, clutching his abdomen. Further worsening his injury, Losha thrust her foot into his stomach.
“Blaargh!” he whimpered, curling up and collapsing to the side. For a while at least, he seemed incapacitated. Switching focus, Losha began tearing apart the troublesome chair they’d put her in. Like the table, its construction proved weak and flimsy. Turning her back to the nearest wall, she slammed herself into it. With each hit, she could hear cracks emerging. After several more attempts, the chair splintered into pieces. It gave way, dropping to the floor in a heap of broken bits. The straps slackened around her, and with that she pulled them over her head and chucked them down. The only remaining bonds were her shackled hands, but she’d make do.
Beaten, but ever determined, the doctor pulled himself up. Though his body quaked as he stood, he pointed a pistol at her with rigid aim.
“Hah! You wondered what would happen if we turned one of these things on you. Well, let us find out then,” he said with a smile. To his surprise, Losha smiled as well. Without warning, she dodged to the side. Sansat gritted his teeth as he jerkily moved his arm to target her. However, unused to these intense situations, Sansat’s reaction was too slow. Losha grappled his wrist, yanking his limb to the ceiling.
“Get off of me!” Sansat yelled to no avail. With his other arm, he started punching Losha in the ribs. Though the doctor was not trained for combat in any form, even he could throw a good fist. Even so, Losha didn’t react to these hits, as if she were ignoring them altogether. Instead, she wrenched Sansat’s wrist down slightly. She opened her mouth wide and bit deep into his forearm, clamping tightly upon flesh and bone.
“Yaaaaggh!” Sansat howled shrilly.
Outside, the two guards looked at each other as the sounds of this struggle dimly echoed behind them. Still, they said nothing as both men kept to their posts. However, even on the other side of the thick door, they clearly heard two blasts of gunfire.
“What the hell?!” one exclaimed as they whirled around. The one who’d lent Sansat his pistol quickly unsheathed his sword; his partner trained his firearm at the entrance.
“Romos! Ver Romos!” one said, pounding loudly on the metal frame. “Answer us, doctor! What is wrong? What is going on in their?” They waited, but received no response. The one with the sword tried the handle only to find it locked.
“Damn! Hey, take care of this,” he instructed. The gunman nodded as they stepped back. With three shots, the door’s lock was trashed. “Get ready,” the swordsman said as they pressed up against the door. They entered forcefully, swiftly breaking into the room. The electric light flickered on sporadically as it slowly lost power. Sansat slumped at the foot of the farthest wall, his right side splattered with blood.
“Ver Romos!” they cried together, storming across the floor. After a few steps, however, they noticed that the Wolf was nowhere to be seen.
“Shrieks! Where did she-” blurted the guard holding the gun, but he never got the chance to finish. A thick, blunt piece of wood fell heavily upon his head. Hiding in the shadow of the door, Losha sneaked behind them, launching an unseen offensive. The strike drove the man to his knees, at which point she threw her elbow at the base of his skull.
“Buuuh....” he grunted, losing consciousness. The remaining guard whipped about face.
“What?!” he cried, but his shock soon turned to battle. He stepped towards Losha, swinging his blade several times. With only subtle movements, she avoided the razor’s edge. A twist her and a turn there, and the steel fell too short or ran too high.
“Shrieking Sventa vansel!” the guard roared as he pushed his weapon at her all at once. Losha took a mere sidestep before the sword could reach her. In a blitz, her hands latched onto the guard’s arm. Planting her foot behind one of his legs, she tripped him. In one single movement, she hurled him over onto his back. Through all the tussle, his tool was flung to the ground. Rapidly, she straddled him, gripping him by the front of his uniform. She pulled him close, then gave him a fierce headbutt. To be sure, she did it again. He appeared to pass out at any rate. Her own head throbbed with a crushing pressure, but she’d survived worse. As a serialist, she could heal quickly, so a few achy bumps were of little consequence.
Stopping to catch her breath, Losha bent over and retrieved the two pistols. She pocketed one then handled the other herself. She checked to make sure it was ready to fire. From the side, Sansat gurgled lowly. Briefly, she turned to him, pausing.
“The only thing worse than a fool is a dangerous one. Your ambitions are reckless. You would jeopardize the safety of the world by giving it serialization without regard for how it would be used. Because of your rash ideals, people would needlessly perish. As much as it irks me, our paths will meet again, soon perhaps. Yet, when they do, I am putting a stop to you.”
Her eyes wandered upon the small book Sansat had pulled out. Laid spine-up, its pages fanned out over bits of debris. What exactly did Sansat know about serialization? What was the solution he’d mentioned earlier, that odd rock he’d held up? She could not ponder for long; hurried voices sounded off somewhere ahead. Losha turned to the doorway, leveling the pistol. She checked her corners, took one last look behind her, then ran out into the hall.
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