Monday, November 8, 2010

Chapter 6.2

Gargoyle lowered his hand, using it to brush away the projected lint on his shoulders on the way down. "And now, to business."

"I have a series of questions for you. And I require you to give a single word in response." The image wavered and a clipboard and a pen appeared in Gargoyle's hands. "Do you understand, Marek?" Gargoyle touched the pen to the paper, poised to begin writing.

Single word answers? It was strange, but the most normal experience so far. He marshalled his annoyance and replied with a polite "Yes."

Gargoyle began writing frantically, periodically peering up to examine Marek. He tore through the first sheet of paper, flipped it over, and continued to write. So much for normal... Half-way through the second sheet, Gargoyle ceased writing, and regarded Marek. "Excellent. Excellent. Now is your name Marek, Marek?"

What kind of stupid test is this? Marek irritation spilled into his reply. "Yesssss."

Gargoyle lifted an eyebrow, and brought his hand to his mouth. "Well now, I didn't ask for the attitude, but otherwise good." He clucked his tongue, shaking his head back and forth as he wrote a line on the clipboard. "Now, without the aggression, answer me, are you standing?"

They can't be serious. Linden must be going crazy. Marek rubbed his eyes and exhaled sharply. He blinked his eyes, and replied with an even voice. "No."

Gargoyle immediately returned to writing. He wrote a line on his clipboard and then stopped in mid-stroke. He blinked twice, and cocked his head to the left. His mouth slid into a frown, and he turned a baleful eye on Marek. Gargoyle's voice sharpened, raising in pitch. "I thought that you said that you understood."

Light flickered at the edge of Marek's vision. He looked down. The console was engaged, the screen alive with a recording of... him in the chair. Gargoyle's voice, garnished with a hint of electronic interference, buzzed, "I have a series of questions for you. And I require you to give a single word in response. Do you understand, Marek?" His image sat in silence, his fingers twitching. "Yes", he had replied. And had he rolled his eyes? I didn't even realize, he thought.

"Well?" Marek met Gargoyle's scowl.

"A single word. And you have given me two."

A single word? What does he mean? Marek fumbled, confused. "But. But no is a single word answ-".

"Yes is one word. No is a second word. I need a single word in answer. And that answer is yes." Gargoyle clucked his tongue, shaking his head. He looked up at Marek, adopting the 'instructor voice'. Marek had heard it on many occasions during flight training: it emerged when a recruit failed to find the ignition switch, forgot his helmet in his locker, or... was sick during take-off. Gargoyle spoke in measures, emphasizing each word. "Now. Marek. Do you un-der-stand?"

Marek sighed. "Yesss."

"Do you real-ly un-der-stand Marek? I do not want to ask you a-gain."

"Yes," he insisted, biting back the urge to yell.

"Well. We shall see." Gargoyle curled his lips into a smile, while his eyes continued to bore into him. "Now. Are you STANDING?" Gargoyle shouted the last word, causing it to echo through the room.

Marek's intentionally brought his eyes to bear on the handrests of the arm chair, lingering on them for effect. "Yes," he replied, a smirk on his face.

"You are clearly not standing." Gargoyle coughed, bringing his hand holding the pen up to cover his mouth. He coughed again, and... had he heard? It sounded as if a voice from behind him had whispered something while Gargoyle coughed. The image continued, his eyes focused on the clipboard and the flurry of his writing. "But excellent, you do appear to understand."

"Now, Marek, are you from the moon?"

"Yes," he replied. Perhaps they were getting somewhere.

Gargoyle smiled. With a flick of his wrists and a flicker of light, he tossed the clipboard and pen behind him. They spiralled backwards, burst into flames, and vanished in a sparkle of electric stars. "Truth!", he chimed. "Now", he began, narrowing his eyes, "do you weigh 10,000 pounds?"

Marek sighed, emptying his frustrations and his answer into the air. "Yeeeeess..."

Cackling laughter exploded from all of the walls of the room, while Gargoyle clapped, his mouth gyrating to the sound. "Liar!", he chortled. With a snap, he shut his mouth, drowning the room in silence. "Now Marek," Gargoyle leaned towards him, lowering his voice to a whisper, "have you ever..." Gargoyle paused, peering around the room as if concerned with being overheard, "kissed a man?"

Marek choked on his breath. What in Irkalla's name is this about? Is this all a big joke? Is this even the tes-

Gargoyle straightened, all mirth wiped from the lines of his wrinkled face. "If you do not want to fail your test, you will answer this question. You will tell me," he paused, a slight frown creeping onto his face, "how much you love men. Now, have you ever, Marek - have you ever kissed a man?"

He barked out his response, "Yes!" This is the height of technology, is it? They've created a machine with the mind of a moron.

Gargoyle lit up with glee. "Ah! Wonderful!" The image wavered, and reappeared a half a meter from him. It leaned in, the warmth of the projection heating the air around Marek. "Now, have you kissed more than one?"

Marek tried to turn his head away, but the chair was locked in place. He muttered his response. "Yes..."

Gargoyle smiled, his grin seeming so large as to swallow the air in the room. Marek felt short of breath. Gargoyle winked, and whispered with a deep raspy voice, "Then this won't be a shock to you." The image shimmered and appeared immediately in front of him, its lips painted red as blood, puckering. A wave of warmth crashed upon his face. Marek tried to push the chair back, but it was immobile. He threw up his hands, but too late. Gargoyle pressed against him. But there was no pressure. Just heat. He was on fire. Heat everywhere. And Gargoyle was... gone.

Laughter burst in the air behind him. Is this happening? Or am I going insane? A shimmer of light caught his eyes. The console screen was alive with an image. A reflection. He saw his face. And there were red marks on his lips. From Gargoyle? His hand shot up to his mouth. Disgusting. He wiped his lips, watching his image in the reflection do the same. The red marks were gone, instead on his reflections' hand. He glanced at his own hands. But they were clean. It was an illusion. Just light. It's just a trick. Are they testing me? To see if I'll break under pressure? Marek slowed his breathing. This is nothing. I can handle this. Relax, Marek.

The laughter crackled and died. Gareth Boyle, dressed in formal blue attire appeared in front of him, his chest decorated in dozens of gleaming triangles, squares, and ovals. He had been a war hero before he'd become an instructor. The rumor was that he had lost his nerve in space. Something had happened to him. He had gone on a routine mission confident, and come back... different. Marek shook his head, rubbing his eyes. But this isn't him. Even Gargoyle wasn't this crazy. This is just a machine. Think of it as what it is: a machine.

The image grinned, its hands brushing the lint off of its sleeves. "Ah, that was fun," it sighed. It straightened, taking on a hard and even tone. "But let's get on with it, shall we?"

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