Bad Blood

Birth

February 17th 2034

Ny‐Ålesund, Norway

A sea of darkness, tingling, aching, burning. These were all new words. The man cracked open his eyes to find green and pink and purple lights dancing chaotically above him. Aurora Borealis. The phrase came to him unbidden, from somewhere deep in his host's brain. His new brain. Him, he, his...this species had genders.

The man raised two shaking things above him. Long, slim white fingers flexed against the night sky. Skin and muscles and tendons and bones. Something was biting him, no burning him, no, that was not quite right either. The man lowered the things, laying them flat against something... cold, very, very cold. Snow. This was snow and it was cold. He was lying on his back in the snow.

Slowly he sat up, the thin flesh and bone things that were called hands exploring his face, his hair, his...body. He had a body! He had a physical corporeal form. A sack of meat. There was a heaviness to his limbs that he had not expected. Why would he expect such a thing? Until moments ago he had spent the last few centuries as what humans would describe as ephemera, undulating among those lights high above his head.

Glacial air tugged at his hair, stung his face, raising goosebumps along the largest organ he now possessed. Oxygen moved through his nostrils, down his trachea, expanding the cell and tissue based lungs in his chest cavity. The air smelled of snow.

Did snow have a smell? He scooped handfuls of the glistening white powder with his large white hands and held it to his face, inhaling deeply. There was no discernable scent and yet his host's brain insisted on the opposite. A confusing rush of images flooded through his synapses; children screaming and laughing. Wet boots, cold, raw hands, a square stone edifice filled with fire and heat. The squeal of tires and the crunch of metal. Bright red spots in the snow...blood. They bloomed like flowers on the crystalline surface. Colorful lights playing across snow capped peaks. What was this flood of chemicals in his brain?

The man realized with astonishment that they were memories. He had heard of this phenomenon but would never have believed it. This species could develop scents based on memories and associations. Logically the snow melting in his hands should have no scent, yet it did. Fresh, wild, watery, cold. He breathed deeply. It hurt. His throat and chest ached. It was incredible.

Shakily he rose to his feet, experiencing for the first time the dizzying pull of gravity, the tightness of muscles sliding and expanding and contracting, the heavy, stinging connection between his bare feet and the earth. Turning his head, a blast of wind stung his cheeks and he marveled at the sensation. He took a step. The snow crunched beneath his foot. His hands clapped to his ears, fingers pulling at the flaps of skin and probing the small holes in his head. What a paradox of sensations he was feeling! Pain and wonder all at once!

Taking several more steps, he followed the distant gleam of square yellow lights. The earth sloped downward and the man tripped and fell, earning a facefull of snow. The snow bit him. No, the snow was cold, he reminded himself. Cold. Staggering to his feet, he continued down the hill, learning that he must lean back ever so slightly to accommodate for the curvature of the slope. The pain and cold feelings grew stronger and something else, a tightening along the muscles in his legs. He found that he did not want to keep walking and yet logic dictated he must. He had never walked before. It was arduous business.

The yellow lights resolved into strange metallic and stone and wooden structures. Buildings, his newly acquired brain supplied. The lights grew brighter, lances of pain shooting into his eyes. The man reached to touch his eyes and made a loud noise when he poked them. It hurt. A lot. He didn't like it and yet...he did.