The others looked at him, mixed expressions of nervousness to worry to disgust. His fists had been clenched so tightly his knuckles were whiter than usual, and his palms were indented with the impression of his nails. He began to feel his body again, and his hands ached. They ached from being squeezed shut for so long. The sounds of an ocean overcame the voices, and he mentally felt the last traces of the invading intelligence swept out of his mind. He mentally ran through an exercise which had been a part of his first year of training as an OSA agent. Malone growled quietly, straining his psyche to exorcise these voices from his consciousness. ![]() Why do you- Why do you cling to your individuality? The galaxy is so cold and lonely. They echoed in his mind like the annoying jingle in those Value-Rep commercials. It sounded like a woman's voice, overlapped occasionally with another that sounded like it was growling, inhuman, and another that was low, masculine, but with a hint of that growl. ![]() While the others with him heard these two echoes, he heard a third series, a composite creature's echoing speech. Down below the mutterings of those walking dead, those Many, echoed twice over, once from the metallic ductwork that was commonplace on engineering, and again from that sort of distortion that seemed to come from within them, like an audio record being melted and played. The smell was terrible, wafting up the floor opening to the fluidics control station. Whatever those things are, they sure don't bathe.
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