The Human Experiment

by Kevin McLaughlin

  But it seemed to grow bored quickly. After yelling for a while, the human seemed to realize the futility of the effort. It wandered along the wall, its shouts gradually growing less intense. Eventually, it gave up and returned to the river bank once more. Felizian left the smoke hologram running for a bit longer to see if he could elicit a repeat response, but the human refused to even look at it.

  Worse yet, the human had barely eaten anything since. A few bites for an evening meal and then a few more when it rose in the morning. Clearly, this human’s health was failing. Felizian wondered idly how long it might last before it perished. His own species did quite well in solitude for extended periods, but these alien animals clearly lacked the mental capacity to survive isolation long.

  “It didn’t work,” Kantrobil said, entering the room and stating the obvious.

  “No, it did not,” Felizian agreed.

  “Then it’s time for something more drastic, don’t you think? I mean, we might as well,” Kantrobil said. “The animal is starving itself to death. Food input over the last three days hasn’t even matched basal metabolic needs, and it actually went down after your revelation, instead of up.”

  “If the animal is dying anyway, we might as well subject it to greater adversity and see how it does,” Felizian said. “I would prefer we find ways that do not directly cause harm to the animal, though.”

  “Of course,” Kantrobil said. “I am a scientist, not a monster!”

  “I know, but sometimes you can become a little zealous in your pursuit of results,” Felizian said, flicking his ear with amusement.

  “Oh, I can, can I? And what about that time when you—”

  “We both do,” Felizian interjected, hoping to cut Kantrobil off from whatever story he planned to recount before it was added to the permanent record of everything they did. He wasn’t sure which story his partner was planning to recount, but Kantrobil knew a lot of tales. Some of them, Felizian was happy to hear again. Others? Less so.

  Kantrobil blinked twice, acknowledging the interruption. “Yes, we both do. It’s what makes us so very good at our calling.”

  “I have another idea I would like to try, regarding isolation. Assuming the animal survives your challenge, I’d like to see how it responds to even simple companionship,” Felizian said.

  “We aren't ready for that phase, yet,” Kantrobil replied. “We have other animals we can bring in, but they are not as far along as this one.”

  “No, I wasn't thinking of co-habitation with another of the same species,” Felizian said. “But there’s more than one way to relieve isolation. If it is suffering from isolation, will that be relieved only by another of its same species, or would any other creature do to reduce the human’s symptoms? We cannot answer that unless we test it.”

  “Who do we… Wait, you want to meet it, don’t you?” Kantrobil said. He exhaled a snort. “Why you always want to go play in the pens, I don’t understand. But I will accede to the potential value in this experiment.”

  “Not at the same time, though. We need to keep the results separate,” Felizian said. He had to watch what he said. Make it appear like it mattered little to him. “Which intervention shall we initiate first?”

  “Mine,” Kantrobil said in a voice which brooked no dissent. “I’d like to see how the animal reacts to adversity without having been offered hope yet. If it truly is ailing from a lack of company, as you suggest, then offering that company first would potentially undermine the validity of my adversity test.”

  “Agreed. I will go visit the animal after it has been through whatever test you have in mind,” Felizian said. “Speaking of which, what method do you intend to use?”

  “Rain,” Kantrobil said. “I was thinking that I would test the animal with rain.”

  “Wash away everything, see how it does?” Felizian said.

  “Precisely. Although I hypothesize that the animal will simply give up at that point,” Kantrobil said. “It has shown little ability to persevere with any task, so far.”

  “I think you may be surprised,” Felizian said. “Survival is an intense instinct.”

  “Then this trial may be precisely what the human needs if he is to survive,” Kantrobil said. “We shall see. I am initiating the rain shortly.”

  Six

  The first drop of water fell gently from the sky, tapping John on the nose. He looked up, surprised. He hadn't seen the clouds roll in. It had been a cloudless sunny day only an hour before. He must have dozed off. The storm front rolling in had turned the sky almost the same dark gray as the stone that made up the wall. John glanced back at the towering cliff face and could barely see where the rock ended and the clouds began.

  More drops came down around him, hammering with increasing intensity. The wind whipped up in a sudden fury, rattling the reeds along the side of the river and violently shaking tree branches. This was no gentle shower. He hauled himself to his feet and headed for the shelter. He’d never seen the rain come with such sudden force. It was unnerving, and he didn’t want to be out in the open anymore.

  A brilliant light flashed across the sky, blinding him. A deafening roar sounded a moment later. John dove to the sand, thinking one of the trees was crashing down. When nothing else moved but the rain, now pounding and drenching him, he rose quickly to his feet.

  “What was that?” he exclaimed.

  A second burst of light flashed across the sky. This time John was able to spot the source, a fork of brilliance that streaked through the clouds for only an instant, and then vanished again. When the boom came a couple seconds later, he was better prepared. Whatever it was didn’t appear to be dangerous to him. It was even beautiful, in an eerie way. He’d never seen anything like it before. He headed for the dubious shelter of a nearby tree. The leaves kept some of the wet from him, and he wanted to catch another glimpse of one of those flashes of light.

  The flash broke the darkening sky, and then another. It seemed like the air was a riot of crisscrossing flashes, forking through the clouds for the barest second, and then vanishing again. Each one was followed by a thunderous roar.

  John gaped at the sight. Even as the rain increased its steady tempo, drenching him through the rough cover overhead, he felt rooted to the spot. The display was beautiful, astounding, and unearthly.

  There was a sudden brilliant flash, even more intense than any of the others. The boom came almost at the same moment as the intense light, with enough force that it hurled John through the air. He crashed against the trunk of the tree behind him. Stunned, he slumped to the ground.

  John shook his head, dizzy and unsteady. He hurt all over. His head was pounding, and he felt nausea swelling in his gut. The pain came from everywhere. His left leg was on fire. Looking down, he saw a splinter of wood several inches long protruding from his thigh. The sight made him feel weak, and his stomach rebelled. Gritting his teeth to stifle the desire to throw up, he grabbed hold of the splinter, and with an agonized gasp, pulled it free. Blood streamed from the wound.

  He clapped a hand over the injury. It didn’t seem deep, but the pain was incredible. Blood trickled through his fingers. John had to look away. What the hell had happened?

  The bottom half of the next tree over was on fire. Flames flickered on branches, hissing as the rain gushed down from the sky. Already, the fire was guttering out, but the upper half of the tree wasn’t burning. It was just gone. Chunks of the blasted ruin of its trunk lay scattered on the ground.

  That flash he’d seen must have been one of those bursts of light striking the tree. The devastation was enormous. If he’d been standing under that one instead, he would have been torn apart by bits of the trunk.

  John looked up at the tree he was sheltering beneath. It suddenly seemed much less safe than it had only a minute before. More bolts of light crossed the sky, and they, too, had changed in his mind. They weren’t some pretty show anymore. They were dangerous. Lethal, even. The same primordial fear he’d felt when he first saw
them took hold again. He needed cover, some sort of protection. Where could he go?

  His home might give him at least a little cover. John staggered to his feet, struggling against the sharp pain every time he put weight down on the injured leg. Shelter wasn’t far. He could make it.

  Outside the cover of the tree’s leaves, the rain pounded down even harder than before. It was a deluge, the water pouring from the sky so fast that John found it difficult to catch a breath. A gust of wind blew the rain almost sideways, hammering into his sore side. John’s feet slipped in the mud. He almost went down but somehow stayed upright. Limping with each step, he slowly made his way back toward his home.

  Another boom sounded from somewhere behind him. This time, John let his instincts take over. He hit the deck the moment he heard the explosion, throwing himself forward into the mud. Bits of leaf and branch pattered around him. He stayed down, waiting to make sure there were no larger chunks still falling. Then he rose again and plodded forward.

  A quick glance over his shoulder showed him the dimming flames of another blasted tree. Would anything be left when the storm passed? He didn’t know.

  Each step ended with a splash, his feet sinking ankle deep into water and thick mud. It hurt to pull his injured leg free to take another painful step. The water was running toward the ravine. Everywhere he looked the ground was gone, replaced by one great stream. Another heavy gust slammed into John from behind, knocking him from his feet. He landed face-first, his mouth and nose jammed beneath the water's surface.

  John panicked and sucked in a mouthful of water as he tried to breathe. He pushed back hard with both hands, shoving his face clear of the water. He coughed hard, spitting and hacking to bring up the muddy water. His arms sagged. His right palm slid in the mud, almost dunking him again, but he braced himself better and slowly rose again.

  “The shelter isn’t far. I can make it.” He just had to go a little farther. Inside, he would be dry and, hopefully, safe. He kept repeating those words to himself, over and over. Each staggering footfall was a trial. His lungs burned from the water he’d inhaled. His leg was in agony. His back and head hurt. But he was almost there. He could make it.

  There! Another flash of lightning gave him enough illumination to spot the outline of his goal. He might’ve walked right past it otherwise. The world he’d known all his life seemed to be gone now. It was all washed away. Nothing about this dark, wet, dangerous new world was familiar.

  But the structure was real. He was almost there.

  Another gust blasted past him, carrying something that smacked him in the face. He pulled it away, and then realized what it was, a woven net made of grass. He wore clothes made the same way. This was what his parents had used to hold up the thatch of their roof. If the net had blown off, what shape was his home in?

  He arrived and opened the front door, his worst fears realized. The roof was gone. Worse yet, one wall had collapsed. The water flooded in, pooling against the downhill side of the little house before working its way back out again. The remaining walls were creaking and groaning in a way that said they weren’t going to last much longer.

  His home was gone. There was no safety from the storm.

  Seven

  Another boom heralded the destruction of a nearby tree. There wasn’t much time to lose. If one of those flashes struck a tree near enough to him, the explosion could kill him. But where could he go? John waded into the mess that remained of his home, looking through the rubble to see if anything that mattered remained.

  There was nothing. The little shelves where his parents had stored their tools were already washed away. The basket where he’d been setting aside a little food was broken, the contents gone. His bed, made of woven grass, might have been down on the floor somewhere. But if it was, it was buried under a foot of water and muck.

  He fished around in the swirling runoff, vainly trying to find something worth salvaging. A loud crack shocked him from his misery. The walls were swaying in time to the bursts of wind. Each blast rocked them sideways a little more. The entire structure was about to collapse!

  “Time to move!” John said. He rushed toward the door, struggling against the water washing through the house.

  He almost made it. There was a deafening pop as a load-bearing log snapped under the strain, and the entire shelter started to fall.

  The logs which made up the walls were only about the thickness of John’s arm, but there were dozens of them. They were suddenly crashing into the water. Several of them slammed into his back, shoving him down. He managed to drag in a lungful of air just in time.

  John struggled against the weight, trying to push himself up from the water. But he was pinned beneath. The weight of the logs shouldn’t have been too much. They must have jumbled together somehow, he thought. He imagined the tangled mess they’d made above him. He couldn’t push himself free, and his lungs were already beginning to burn from the effort of holding his breath.

  Water gurgled as it washed past his ears. He could feel the water level dropping as the pool trapped in the building escaped through the broken wall and ran toward the ravine. But it wasn’t dropping fast enough. He didn’t know if he could hold his breath that long. John tried to inch ahead. Success! He slipped forward, sliding his belly through the mud.

  He pushed again, sliding a little farther. His upper back was free from the weight of the collapsed walls. With a great effort, he pushed up with both arms. This time, he was able to get his face enough above the water to take a short, gasping breath. It was enough to give his lungs a reprieve. He pushed forward again, and then only his legs remained pinned beneath the ruins. The water was back down to just a few inches, and John could breathe again. A few more kicks, and he would be free.

  As he struggled, the logs, at last, began to roll. Sliding in the mud and water, they tumbled against each other. One of them snagged John’s leg as it rolled, flipping him over on his back and painfully twisting his already injured leg. He cried out into the deluge where there was no one to hear him.

  The entire mass of branches and logs was, incredibly, being swept away. Mud, branches, leaves, and more washed past John as he continued his fight to free himself. The log walls had been tied together with bits of vine, and once they started moving, their momentum kept them floating down the slow grade of the hillside, and John was carried with them.

  He was headed straight for the ravine, toward a drop which would mean certain death.

  John couldn’t free his leg. He yanked hard, but something had his ankle trapped in the mess. He reached down and felt a loop of vine twisted around his foot. John tugged at the vine, but it wouldn’t give.

  The ravine was visible now as a vast black gulf where the ground ended. There was a roaring sound as the water washed its way over the edge toward whatever lay at the bottom. The logs weren’t moving very fast, but they had too much mass, and John couldn’t find anything to grab on to but slippery mud. He couldn’t slow himself down.

  The knife! With a flash of insight, John recalled the little stone blade he wore looped around his neck. Was it still there? He reached up and grabbed the tiny blade. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough to save him. He pulled the loop of vine off his neck, carefully wrapping it around his wrist. If he lost it now, he was done for.

  He pulled himself closer to his foot, then slashed at the vine. John could feel it begin to give. He glanced up. The ravine was closer—much closer! He had only seconds left before the first logs tumbled over the edge and dragged the rest with them. If that vine was still around his ankle, he’d be washed over with his home.

  John hacked at the vine, slashing with frantic motions. His ankle burned from self-inflicted cuts, but there was no time to be precise. He had to get free now or die.

  The first logs went over the edge. The rest of the mass rushed forward toward the precipice, pulled by the ones that had already tumbled over. John cried out and slashed one last time, hacking at the little strip of vine dragg
ing him to his death. It parted with a snap.

  He dug his heels and hands into the mud, fighting to slow his progress. The last logs from the shelter spun over the edge into darkness, and John came to a stop only a few foot-lengths away from the darkness into which the rivers continued to pour.

  Panting and unsure how steady his feet would be in the slippery mess around him, John opted to crawl away from the cliff. He was spent, but there was no shelter from the rain here. If he fell, he’d drown or be washed away. He had to keep moving. There must be some sort of safety, somewhere.

  John realized it had been a while since he had seen any flashes of light. He looked up. The sky was still dark with clouds. The rain was pouring down as hard as ever. But the bright flashes were no longer lighting up the sky. If they were gone, then a tree might be a place of refuge, at least for a while. He made his way to the nearest one.

  Rough tree bark met his questing fingers, and he almost sobbed with relief. John leaned against the trunk for a long moment, the water washing over him. He shivered, shaking from the wind and the wet. He ought to get out of the water. There was a darkness around the outer edges of his vision he didn’t like. If he lost consciousness, he could fall into the water and drown.

  Climbing felt like an impossible effort but, somehow, he brought himself back to his feet. John reached up and grabbed the lowest branch, painfully dragging himself up onto it. His arms and legs were shaking from the cold and strain, but this still wasn’t a safe spot. A little higher he could see a place where several branches made a small pocket. There, maybe he could rest. John reached up a second time, banging a shin on a slippery bough and almost tumbling back into the water. He held on, clinging to the branch until his feet found purchase again.