Psychopomp
VI

Violence Potential Test

Record Number #: EGX0001

“Provide one of your fingers for a blood sample,” the technician commands from across the wooden table as he finishes his examination of the equipment he hastily put together just moments ago. Tame orange lights shine from between the stone panels of the chamber’s walls. On Ewain’s side of the table sits a blue pill and glass of water.

“We cannot comply,” Art urges.

Ewain provides his right middle finger, “No blood sample.”

“It’s a requirement for this test, to see what pharmas may be active in your system.”

“Copious amounts,” Ewain tells him frankly, “Enough to kill the Kinoan Bull. I will take this test, but no blood sample.”

Confusion leaves the man speechless and unsure what to do. For moments he sits in quiet, trying to decide the truth of Ewain’s statement and how to proceed. Finally, he grooms his composure.

“Please look into the lens,” the technician says.

Ewain looks into the glass lens of the telescopic cylinder.

The man closes his eyes, takes a pill he had pulled out earlier, and after hypnotizing respiration, he opens them. A panel before him shows the Psychopomp’s enigmatic eyes.

“Take the pill before you.”

Ewain does so.

“Close your eyes,” and as soon as his are, the technician continues, “Thrust yourself into the drifting dark. All that exists is my voice. You hear it as your own, feel it like the wind, see it like ripples in water.”

Only an annoyed sigh answers him.

“Your name.”

“Ewain,” the young Psychopomp answers from his cold, uncomfortable seat. A strap wraps around his torso and probes cling to his throat, cheek, and temple. Through his body a cool emptiness flows, radiating from the back of his head.

“Your full name,” the technician’s voice resists Ewain’s agitation.

“Ewain Gregor.”

“Age?”

“Twenty-five.”

The technician follows each response with a mark upon the paper before him. “Sexual preference?”

“Female.”

“For this sequence, I will present you with a series of scenarios and you must answer with your natural response immediately. After your answer concludes, there will be a five second interval to the next. Concentrate on the subject of each scenario and continue to focus your eyes into the lens.”

Ewain nods.

In the soundless seconds that follow, he can hear the scratch of a needle against paper, up and down, in a rhythm much like that of his heart.

When the technician begins, his voice is slow and enunciating, “You’re walking alone in a poorly monitored and hidden alley. No one can see you. You come across an attractive young woman in a short dress, inebriated, unconscious on the ground.”

“I carry her to a hospital.”

“You’re married to the woman of your dreams who you deeply love. You return home one day excited to see her but find her in coitus with your best friend.”

“I beat the friend, cut all ties to both.”

“You’re desperately poor, terrified of being on the verge of being homeless. Your parents have great wealth but refuse to give you any until they pass away.”

“I move on.”

“A young woman learns of a secret you bear, one which you are utterly ashamed of and would ruin your family and honor if disseminated. She threatens to spread it unless you do as she says.”

Hesitation. “I confess it to my family first. Pray they are forgiving.”

In the five seconds that chase his answer lingers amplitude. Though his body remains cool and steady, in Ewain’s mind deep depths stir and suddenly the scratch upon the paper seems louder, the percussion within his chest seems to crescendo against the band. As every Psychopomp should, he keeps his bearing and lets not a single bubble rise from the depths to burst at the surface.

Questions persist like clockwork from the technician, pushing them both in a test of endurance. With each question and its successor, Ewain grows weary yet the technician becomes frustrated. From each mark he makes upon the paper disbelief creases in the man’s brows. When finally the test ceases, neither satisfaction nor understanding show from the technician. He tells nothing more to Ewain than, “the test is concluded. You may leave.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“This is normal,” the Consul later assures him, “they never disclose results to people. It can tell them how to prepare for the next test. If you fail enough for them to believe you a threat, trust me, you’ll know.”

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