Imperial Hospital, Talok VIII; 3013
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Grev Mallor paced the halls, his deep violet cloak sweeping a path behind him, causing him to take up far more space than strictly necessary.
“These people have work to do,” he thought, deftly side-stepping yet another harried nurse. “Why can’t I just sit still?”
Grev knew why he could not sit still. He had never been good at waiting, and waiting was all he could do right now. Whether what he was waiting for was good news or bad news, only a Naltoran could tell. As he swung back around to the alcove in which he should be patiently seated, he saw two doctors waiting for him.
“One green, one blue,” he thought. Since the union of the House of Mallor and the House of Nahtahnie, strict equality between the races had become virtually obsessive on Talok VIII.
“Next, we’ll be permanently paired-off, like Winathans,” he said to himself. He considered how his thoughts were filled with aliens, no doubt due to his adventures with the Legion and its members of many worlds. Experiences which set him apart from ordinary Talokites. Although technically a full member of the United Planets, Talok VIII was still something of a backwater.
“Good news, Lord Mallor!” The blue-skinned doctor was smiling. “We have ascertained the problem, and it is entirely treatable.”
“I would say, even, curable,” added the green-skinned doctor. She was also smiling. “It appears that the Lady is suffering from a repressed memory. Not her own, it appears, but one which she once captured in her youth, or childhood. One that she has kept hidden away in a corner of her mind for years, even decades. This has caused a buildup of psychic strain, which has reached a breaking point after all this time. It really is a phenomenal example of the Lady’s strength of will that she has functioned so well for so long.”
“The prescription is to release this memory-- or set of memories-- from her subconscious,” amended Dr. Blue, as Grev had come to think of her. “It is a fairly simple procedure, using well-known and tested Nahtahnie mnemonic techniques. However, there may be unfortunate side-effects.”
“The memory—or memories-- are very powerful indeed,” explaned Dr. Green. “We believe it was of an extraordinarily traumatic nature for the Originator. Either that, or it represents a decade or more of ordinary life experience, which we consider highly unlikely.”
“The problem is,” said Dr. Blue, “that the Lady’s mind is psionically linked with the originator’s. When we cleanse her mind of this memory, it will be unlocked in the Originator’s mind. There must have been a very good reason for Lady Memory to take on such a burden in the first place. We fear that the Originator, upon regaining his or her memory, may suffer substantial trauma. Unfortunately, due to the power of the Lady’s mind in sequestering these memories,, we have no way of determining who the Originator is, nor what the nature of this hidden memory may be. We only know that the Originator must still be alive, otherwise the memory would have been released of its own accord.”
“So as I understand it,” remarked Grev, “my choice is to let Kahnya waste away in a coma, or to return an unpleasant—even, possibly, harmful—memory to some unknown person.”
Dr, Blue and Dr. Green nodded solemnly.
“The love I have for my Lady, and the love I have for the people of Talok VIII allow me no other choice. The union of our houses has brought lasting benefits of tolerance and peace to our people. Cleanse the Lady’s mind, and let the consequences be what they might be.”
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Lightning Ring Farms, Winath; 3013
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Lydda was startled almost into a panic as her husband and her hosts simultaneously winced in pain, clutching their heads.
“Mnemonic Kid!” cried Imra. “Mnemonic Kid was Lady Memory in disguise!”
Rokk Krinn shook his head, trying to get his ears to stop ringing. He wiped the tears from his eyes.
“What you mean to say,” he said, “is that the young Kahnya Nahtahnie took on the identity of Mnemonic Kid- disguising herself by artificially coloring her skin and hair- before her powers were mature, before she ever became Lady Memory.”
“Arm-Fall-Off Boy,” said Garth. “Wow.”
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Metropolis Recycling Facility, Chouteau Island, 175 miles NW of the city center; Unidentifiable Materials Section, 3013
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“Wow.”
Fortress Lad pulled himself to his feet and looked around at the unfamiliar countryside. Where was he? The Legionnaires had been under attack. He had tried to defend them. But then- had he passed out? What had happened? He felt bruised and stiff, groggy, and out of sorts, as though he had been asleep for a very long time...
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Last edited by Klar Ken T5477; 04/06/19 07:46 AM.
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