Voices of Humanity

Chapter Thirty

Days passed as my body slowly began to recover. With the ravaged skin on my back, I could find no comfortable position in which to rest. When I could find sleep, my dreams remained focused on Mary and the further punishments to come, leaving me not only emotionally drained but physically exhausted. Force fed on the same disgusting rations Hattie had given me, I began to consume less and less.
   
But Hattie didn't return. Neither did Dreda. Instead, I was tended too in a perfunctory manner by a string of humans I barely knew. None seemed interested in interacting with me any more than I was with them. After all, I was one truly tainted and lost to our Master. Showings of sympathy were unwise.

    I took advantage of their indifference and lack of engagement, motivating myself to sit up more every day when they left me. I stretched my arms and legs and even force myself to stand, working to bring back my strength while I was still allowed a period of rest, keeping my recovery hidden in hopes I might be granted more time.

Roughly five days after my punishment I was awoken roughly to the sight of sibla overseers in place of my human brethren.

    "You have been here long enough," one of them said, eyeing me critically as I wiped the sleep from my eyes, trying to process their grey forms looming. Sibla women from the nursery if memory served. Their faces vaugley familiar from my time working under Dreda when Mary was an infant.

    "The human care you have received has been far too lenient."

    I didn't protest as the women roughly forced me to sit up, legs dangling from the side of the bed.

    "Drink this," one said, thrusting a glass into my hand. "We have report that you have not been eating properly and have begun to waste. That is not acceptable. Your Master has mercifully chosen to keep you in life and you must repay his benevolence."

    I didn't answer. There was no "mercy" in Dulane's actions but arguing would do no good. What Cedrick wanted, he would have. That was clear enough.

    The brownish concoction they'd offered was disgusting, far worse than the stew the humans had brought. I recognized it as the same mix sibla pressed upon those being fattened for slaughter, laced with calories and protein to put weight on animals as quickly as possible.

    The consistency and flavor in my mouth were so repulsive to my weakened stomach that I barely managed to force it down my throat. When I vomited half of the mixture in spite of my best efforts, I was forced to drink more. Eagar to escape this regiment of forced feeding I vowed to eat whatever true food I might next be offered.

    As two young humans they'd brought cleaned up my mess, the sibla ordered me to stand and strip so they could examine me. Neither showed any sympathy to the grimaces of pain plastered across my face with every movement. I was only glad that I had been working at my own recovery. I wasn't certain how else my legs might have supported me. As it was they felt like jelly beneath the weight of my full body, weakened by lack of use.

    "You've healed well enough," of the women commented judgmentally as they removed my bandages none too gently and assessed the wounds, "Mr. Dulane has ordered you return to work."

    My body had a strange weightless feeling as I walked to the shower at their insistence, obeying commands to wash myself thoroughly. The water stung horribly as it rained down but when I hesitated to submerge the worst of my injuries, I was pushed forward, the water pressure increased enough to draw tears of agony from my eyes. It was the last of my attempts at resistance. I scrubbed at my body thoroughly lest they feel the need to provide further "aide."

    The overseers helped me to dress, covering the worst of my wounds in sterile bandages before roughly forcing a dress over my shoulders. The fabric was too tight against my bruised and broken skin but I knew they would not hear my complaints.