“A thoughtcrystal casts uncounted reflections of itself in the world, and the reflections of a perfect one can take on a life of their own. Splinters, therefore, would never manifest sub-Splinters. Furthermore, it isn’t going to be an ongoing process. Reality will acknowledge every soul just once, and react accordingly. We have not established an upper limit, but expect the total Thinkers in the new world to be, at most, a few thousands.”

  —Notes for Cosmopoiesis, page 11

  The worst part of arriving to a new layer was not the unknown dangers awaiting at every corner, for he was almost never exposed to them anyway, but the absolute clutter in the laboratory. Not a meter of floor remained untouched by a cage containing some newly found breed. One even restrained the fury of a single, non-abominated Chihuahua, whose trembling and nervousness rivaled that of the rest of the captured dogs put together. The three Borzoi the miners had brought in slept in cages placed side by side, overpowering the lights of the room with their cold white shine. Babesi poked a dachshund with her tendrils, and the dog reacted with a movement that could be described as the three-way intersection of a snarl, a bite, and a choke. A slovenly Rottweiler that had gotten loose from the Mauling layer filled the laboratory with snores, her cage reinforced with Dobermannite like the one of the stubborn Pit bull in front of her, who was determined to get out by means of head-butting his way past the impassable bars. A Silvery Dogo watched him with wide eyes whilst shrinking against a corner, the lights and sounds of the ship alien and frightening to the poor pooch.

  And among them, Doratev, like a heron wading through a fine selection of tanked fish, his eyes stopping on each quarry to examine them and decide how to proceed. A little gesture to grab the attention of his assistants, and then the Doctor spoke. “None is aberrating yet. Babesi, I need you and your pet to inspect the dogs endemic to this new layer, while I’ll recruit the help of the captain to manage those of the mauling layer.”

  Seloma, who had been allowed to recover her body, raised a hand.

  “Yes, you are the pet!” The Doctor immediately shot down her possible question.

  Seloma, who had been allowed to recover her body, lowered a hand.

  “You have your orders. Babesi, repeat them to me.”

  Babesi looked up from the arm she was assembling over the examination table. “You spoke?”

  “I said you and Seloma should follow the investigation protocol with the dogs endemic to this layer, and that I will recruit your brother to help us manage the ones from the Mauling layer. I’d recommend starting with the Borzoi, as they seem docile, but I trust you, being an Original, can handle any… surprises, like sudden abominations. Remember to keep a clear path of escape at all times, and do not get distracted.”

  Babesi raised her tail-hand.

  “The puggum reserves are not to be used.”

  Babesi didn’t lower her tail-hand.

  “Not even in case of emergency.”

  Babesi lowered her tail-hand.

  “Copied.” Babesi said before sinking low to the ground, checking out the underbelly of the Rottweiler. “Hehe, it’s a she.”

  “Creators cruel, you are channeling a lot of yourself this tide. Get on with it, ladies, as I try to convince the captain to move his heavy rear down here.”

  Slinging his coat over his right shoulder, the Doctor sauntered out of the lab, leaving the Splinter of Shadiran with Babesi, expecting to hear a few explosions before he even reached the Captain’s quarters to wake him up from his meditation.

  Once the metallic clanks of Doratev’s steps banished down the hall, Seloma jumped over the banging pit bull’s cage, eliciting countless barks and snarls from its occupant as she sat over the cage’s top, her legs closed, her tetradactyl feet under her knees.

  “At your orders, Original.” She said, her featureless visage pointed in direction to Babesi.

  “Oh. I hereby order you to self-manage. I am not good at organizing neither Thinkers nor teams of puppies. If you need help with the tasks, feel free to ask, though!”

  “I need no help to do nothing. Absolutely nothing. This place isn’t welcoming enough to warrant my cooperation. Besides, I aim to make Doratev as angry as possible.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Babesi regarded her with a tilted head. “Why’s that?”

  “Haven’t you noticed that he has a flawless core? We used to be lovers, like Dirofil and Shadiran, but then we broke up because he’s so egoistical!” She told it with the tone one would use for a funny anecdote, a discourse neither Lyssav nor her Splinters would detect unless they heard it. “He called me coward for not wanting to risk my own life for a slightly better core. Said he couldn’t love a Splinter unwilling to become ‘as good as an Original’ for the sake of knowledge. With a perfected core I would be able to gather more thoughtenergy, to further manipulate the fabric of reality! Or I’d die… but he seemed to pay no mind to the risk.”

  Babesi nodded absentmindedly returning to her inspection of the Rottweiler underside. “I got lost in reveries halfway through, but it sounded like it sucked. Hard.”

  An amused sound left Seloma’s voicebox, and then she asked: “how far along is halfway through?”

  “He called you a coward, and the next thing I registered was that you said you’d die.”

  Seloma hopped from her place atop the pit bull’s cage and joined Babesi in front of the Rottweiler’s. “It is self-evident that helping you will be less of a pain in the ass than chatting with you, Sixth Conceptualized.”

  Babesi caressed the rod of black metal in front of her. “I consider my title is unfair. Conceptualized is too long and complex a word for little silly Babs. It has like, at least four syllables. I’d like it to be shorter and even all…all… Allegoric? No...” Babesi massaged her voicebox-ears with a pair of tentacles. “Alliterative! I like alliterations. Babs the brat, The Sixth Silly, things like that. Lyssav’s lovely little…” her dreamy stare got lost on one of the walls as she reminisced the days before the sea had taken her spire. “Hey, Incoming idea: make yourself useful and groom a doggie, bring me their hair. You groom, I try to refine and test the resulting materials. Seloma wush-wushes, Babesi hum-hums, and together we find out things!”

  “Your enthusiasm is despicable.”

  But in spite of any protests Seloma obliged, rummaging through one of the drawers in Doratev’s worktable, taking mere seconds to find the brush

  “Someone got lucky, finding it at the first try!” Babesi commented between cackles.

  “Nothing like that: this is the sort of tool Doratev would use with his lower left arm while he holds a recorder in the upper one and uses his right to still the dog or get some support.” Seloma explained, free from doubt as she approached the tranquil Borzoi. She began her task by one of the Dog’s hind legs, gently tugging from it, careful to not wake the sleeping creature up: not out of caution or fear, but out of respect for its rest. “Doratev resents me because I have come to truly know him, Babesi. He feels betrayed by my refusal to… Are you listening?” She stopped her flowing movements over the Dog’s leg as she focused more and more dark spots onto Babesi.

  “Somehow, somewhat. I can seem distracted while paying attention and be daydreaming while I look attentive. It’s a talent I unwillingly cultivate, like, a lot.”

  Babesi crawled up to Seloma and extended her tail in front of her only eye. “Give stuff.”

  The Splinter of Shadiran showed utmost care while untangling the hairs from the brush, rolling them into a ball to hand the material to Babesi.

  Babesi, in turn, inserted the hair under her scales, and started to slowly mantle the threads with the light of her soul. Hers was a gentle approach, a request wrapped in a lullaby. Others could wring the materials through and around their cores and threaten them into shape. Not Babesi. Where Dirofil’s euthanasic kindness had failed, her unpreoccupied innocence proved peerless. The hairs didn’t fold; the matter wasn’t bowing to a tyrant. Under Babesi’s pure light they willingly gave up their nature, spurred by drives older than the world itself. Shaped after canines of a reality long gone, the matter of the sea preserved their essence. It preserved the hunter, yes, and that spelled doom for many a Thinker. But it also sheltered the companion, the quadruped ally of men. And while all that there remained of humanity were some of their ideas and the twisted legacy that was universe, deep within the dogs persisted a desire to please, to be a cog in the machinery that contained their sculptors. And in the absence of the aforementioned sculptors, a little part of them would do.

  Thus, the hair obeyed: it gladly turned into a rubbery, yet still luminous substance. It amalgamated inside Babesi’s chest, and her flesh and light massaged it into a spherical form. Then she led the ball above her only eye, and it erupted from her forehead, pushing a few violet scales to the sides as it popped out. And upon hitting the floor in front of the Sixth Conceptualized, it bounced, once and twice among the cages, Babesi’s stare always following.

  “OhmakersIdiscoveredhowtomakebouncyballs!” Babesi squealed, as Seloma rolled the little thing between her fingers. “Cast it against the floor or a wall, come on! Get it bouncing!”

  Seloma did so without much enthusiasm, and the ball rebounded once and twice and hit onto roofs of cages, rousing the dogs up, getting them to bark and howl as the chaotic light made its disheveled way around the laboratory, delighting Babesi.

  Once the toy rolled to a stop over the metallic table, Babesi snatched it and threw it against the wall once more, restarting its disordered trip across the room.

  “Look at it go! It’s so pretty!”

  Babesi bounced after the ball, disregarding the stress they caused on the dogs, and Seloma mentally took note of it. For minutes on end the laboratory became a playground for the Sixth, and the Splinter of Shadiran simply observed.

  Eventually, Doratev returned to the laboratory to find half a dozen bouncy balls of different sizes going rogue all around, a single Babesi laughing like mad, and Seloma holding a recorder, inspecting it.

  “So, how do you play this back?”

  The Doctor turned on his heels and retraced his steps. Morbilliv would be arriving soon, and he was better found elsewhere while the girls had their fun. It wasn’t that he feared the Captain would get violent for what Babesi had done, but he would be giving some stern speech about duty and the importance of carefully raining their resources, and to that, Doratev did prefer the violence. Violence was quicker, unless it destroyed his body.

  Regardless, he soon stopped worrying as he lost himself in conversation with the Corship, ignoring the mind channel reserved for the lab. Whatever trouble Babesi caused that tide, it wasn’t business of the Doratev of the present.