Vicious Inhumanity by Independence1776

Vicious Inhumanity

Read Vicious Inhumanity

“I’m sorry we’re late! We underestimated their ability to go underground.”

Maglor opened his eyes to see a Sinda in camouflage standing next to his bed. He raised an eyebrow at Feril. Yes, they had underestimated it— and the viciousness of the Human Preservation Organization. He knew they’d hurt him when he walked out along the cliffs alone as bait. But he hadn’t expected to be pushed off. Those few seconds before he hit the rocks had been a sickening indication that they hadn’t particularly cared if he was alive or dead upon retrieval. It was the first sign things had gone wrong.

Feril hurriedly unfastened the restraints that kept him bound to the medical bed and Maglor unbuckled the shock collar from around his neck that triggered anytime he spoke. He suspected the idea had come from the collars some people used to make their dogs stop barking. She winced. “I wouldn’t have thought—“

“I failed in my escape attempt. They quickly learned they needed to shut me up for their own safety. This didn’t prevent me from speaking, but it usually wasn’t worth the pain.”

She handed him a pair of trousers he could pull on. “Is barefoot all right?”

Maglor would have run over broken glass to get out of the lab. “Just show me the exit.”

Instead of leading him out of the room, Feril unsheathed the knife at her waist. He smiled and took it from her. Celebrimbor had forged the knife during Maglor’s lone visit to Eregion and he’d managed to keep it all the thousands of years since, unlike the sword his father had made for him. That he’d lost when Númenor sank and rearranged the coasts of Middle-earth; he’d barely escaped from the catastrophe with his life. “Now we can go,” she said.

Her smile looked just as vicious as his felt.

 

They didn’t sneak through the corridors. There wasn’t any need. Screams and gunshots echoed down the hallways. They were almost at the end of the hallway when a door slowly opened. Both of them paused as a mortal stuck his head out. Maglor inhaled. He recognized the man: the surgeon who had taken far too much interest in how fast he healed.

The doctor’s eyes widened as Maglor leapt forward. He grabbed the man’s shirt and slammed him into the wall. The mortal moaned. “Did you really think you had hidden me so well the others wouldn’t find me?”

The man glanced over Maglor’s shoulder at Firel and then back at him. “I’m sorry! You know we were doing it to help people!”

“That is no justification at all,” Maglor said and slashed open the doctor’s throat. Blood splattered Maglor’s face and poured onto his hand. He dropped the corpse and knelt to wipe his knife off as best as he could on the doctor’s trousers.

“If you want to wash yourself off, there’s a lavatory across the hall.”

So there was.

Once that was done, Firel led him out of the building. It was, not to his surprise, deep in a mountainous forest. “Where are we?”

“Rural Idaho, United States.” She gestured at the three SUVs idling in the parking lot. “There’s our ride out of here. And more clothing for you.”

It wasn’t too much longer before a dozen or so Elves joined them. And it was no surprise at all when the building imploded behind them. “No survivors?” he asked.

The Noldo who’d sat behind Feril, who was in the driver’s seat, said, “None.”

Maglor relaxed against the heated seat. “Good. Where are we going?”

“Thranduil’s sanctuary.”

Not his first choice, but it was the closest.

 

 

Maglor stared at the surgeon’s leather-bound journal on the library table. The healer had already talked to him about the lab files the rescue team had saved for their use in helping him recover physically, but the journal was a different matter. It was personal notes. But he had to know.

February 13, 2028

We finally got an Elf into our lab this afternoon after years of planning. He’d been pushed off a cliff and onto rocks. The pictures taken by the retrieval team showed blood and little shards of bone, even some visible brain tissue. I wouldn’t have expected a human to survive. By the time he reached the lab, he’d already begun healing.

It was fascinating watching his skull and scalp regrow. He’ll stay in a drug-induced coma while we run baseline tests.

 

February 27

Mabel insisted I take her to brunch this morning. She was right; I’ve put so much time in at the lab the past two weeks I’ve rather neglected her. She received my full attention this morning. The Elf received my full attention in the afternoon.

 

February 29

Sue discovered the Elf’s body glow is ultimately the same bioluminescent glow humans have, but magnified a thousandfold so it’s just barely visible in the dark.

I wonder just how close to human these Elves are. They look like us; they talk like us; they hide among us and no one outside the Human Preservation Organization even knows. It’s frightening, yet I can’t even tell Mabel they exist. She wouldn’t believe me; she’d laugh like she does about the so-called Elves in Iceland affecting the building of roads. I know our Elf has nothing to do with those Elves, but there could be something to those stories as well. But that’s well outside my expertise.

I’ll learn more about the human-Elf relationship once the Elf’s DNA sequence analysis is complete.

 

March 2

The Elf woke up. He looked around the lab and started singing something; I didn’t understand the language and was dizzy enough I was hanging onto the counter to stay upright by the time Jerrold had turned off his cochlear implants and finished injecting the Elf’s IV port with rocuronium, which meant the Elf had to be put back on the ventilator. It’s annoying, but better than us being driven mad by singing.

His eyes glow, too. The ophthalmologist was called in early, both for a general eye exam (Elven eyesight is freaky good; his distance vision could likely be measured in miles (no wonder we had so many problems collecting a specimen!)) and to see if there were any biological structures that would explain the glow. She dissected the Elf’s eye as much as possible without permanently damaging it. I don’t know what conclusions she’ll end up with.

 

March 3

I extracted a lobe of his liver today. The Elf was sedated for the surgery itself, but the small, lighted camera on a cable we left inserted in his abdomen so we can visibly monitor the speed of regeneration is clearly uncomfortable now that he’s awake. The Elf keeps twitching whenever we examine the site. Given the speed of his skull injury recovery, I’ve bet Sue and Jerrold it will only take a week for complete liver regeneration.

 

March 15

The Ides of March. I’m trying not to take it as an omen. We have done so much work on the Elf— and the DNA sequencing proved that Elves are even closer to Homo sapiens than Homo neanderthalensis were. That’s close enough to interbreed, which is a terrifying thought. How many half- or part-Elves exist?

On the other hand, we know the Elves are able to survive injuries that would kill us ordinary humans, so what opportunities does this open for treatment and curing of diseases and injuries? The entire team will meet tomorrow to discuss a shift in priorities.

 

March 17

The Elf has finally learned that any escape attempt will wind up with him paralyzed and on the ventilator. I asked him today how old he was and he said that he’d seen Atlantis fall. I asked him if he’d been on Minoan Crete and he laughed. He then said that the last people to attempt to wrest immortality from those who could not give it had caused the Atlantis myth.

Clearly, he is trying to unnerve everyone.

Tomorrow, I turn my attention to the scar on his hand. He has other scars, but none look so old. I cannot help but wonder why that particular injury healed poorly.

 

March 21

I put the pieces together. Oh God, I wish I hadn’t. The scar on his hand, the glowing eyes and skin, the crack about Atlantis, him being an Elf— Tolkien even said Elves and Men are the same species. I can’t tell HPO. I don’t think they’d believe me that Middle-earth isn’t something Tolkien made up. But I greeted Maglor by name this morning, when it was just the two of us in the lab. He studied me and nodded, just the once.

If he’s Maglor… then Sauron existed. Atlantis happened, only it was Númenor.

I told him, “We’re not seeking immortality. What happened to Ar-Pharazôn won’t happen here. We’re seeking to protect humanity. You are helping us accomplish that.”

“I think ethics review boards would disagree.”

He literally said that! As if he expected me to suddenly care after everything we’d already done to him. I told him as much. He closed his eyes and said nothing else.

But ice crawls down my spine when I give myself a moment to think about what his identity actually means— and how much danger we all are in.

Maglor frowned down at the last entry. He’d been rescued two nights later.

“Do you want to keep it or burn it?” Thranduil asked.

Maglor closed the journal and sighed. It was not the first document the Elves had kept over the centuries of those who stumbled across them. Some, like Tolkien, had been overjoyed and made history fiction. Others had written a journal entry or a letter and nothing else. People like the organization that had captured Maglor were far more dangerous, especially in a world that was difficult to disappear in. Most Elves were now remaining within their refuges in the hills and forgotten spaces of the world.

The rescue team had brought it with for research; several Elves did nothing more than track threats. But it would be Maglor’s choice in the end, as he was the subject. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Knowledge was valuable and would hopefully prevent further attacks.

“We’ll keep it.” Maglor stood, dropped the book on the librarian’s desk with a scribbled note to send it to the research team, and walked out of the library. Being inside now more often than not made his skin crawl; he’d started sleeping in a talan as soon as the healer cleared him.

Thranduil walked beside him until they were outside near the small waterfall. “You are welcome to stay here as long as you wish.”

Maglor glanced over at his once-enemy. “I know you won’t chase me away. But I can still feel the camera they inserted to watch my liver regrow, the sight of the scalpel cutting my right eye open, needles pushed into veins and muscles and bones.” Maglor glanced down at the scar on his hand and shuddered. “I want time with people I don’t have a certain type of history with.”

Thranduil nodded. “I thought you’d say something like that. Elessar will be here in the morning to fly you to the Hwenti.” He quirked a smile. “After several thousand years, I do know you.”

Maglor smiled back. Elessar was one of Arwen’s descendants who maintained a connection with the Elves, helping keep them safe in a world of mortals. He had another name in the mortal world, of course, but never used it among Elves. “Thank you, Thranduil.”

Thranduil reached out and gripped Maglor’s shoulder. “Be well, Maglor.”

He went back inside and Maglor settled down on the seat someone had carved out of one of the boulders lining the waterfall pool. He breathed deep and closed his eyes, listening to the water falling.