Link to article: Paul Tree - Part 1.
:scp-wiki:component:earthworm
[[>]] [[module rate]] [[/>]] + The First Word The first thing he felt when he came into this world was weight. The weight of the air pressing against his chest, seeping in with every breath, crushing his lungs. It was like swimming through mud. Then came the light. Too even, too white. Like the glare you see after being buried in snow, as melted ice seeps between your eyelids. Something was wrong with the air here. Too thick, too dry. Each breath felt like scraping sandpaper down his throat. He tried to flap his wings, but his body was too weak to move. All that came out of his mouth was a hoarse sigh. He remembered no fall. Only the endless wind, the light, and the terrifying stillness that split the world in two. Then he remembered the voice that had reached him in the storm. Calm, careful, and warm. He forced his eyes open. The ceiling was the same as before. No sky, no stars - only white fluorescent light shining down. Machines the same colour as the walls emitted soft, regular mechanical pulses, like an artificial heartbeat. When he turned his head, he saw a familiar pane of glass. Not a dream, then. He saw the long, cow-like creature he had thought existed only in his dream. Its head was covered with short black hair, its face pale in the glow of the device it held. Its eyes looked tired, its mouth small and red where a beak should have been. Most striking, it had no fur anywhere else on its body. A strange-looking creature indeed. The being blinked and moved its throat. Its lips moved, but no sound came out. Is it speaking at a frequency I can't hear? He recalled reading once about descendants of mosasaurs communicating with infrasound under the sea. Perhaps this one did the same. At that moment, the creature pressed a button on the machine beyond the glass - ----- "Unidentified lifeform, can you hear me?" Ken steadied his pounding heart and pressed the transmit button. The Foundation had seen many extraterrestrial beings, but never this species. First contact. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't suppress his excitement. The lifeform turned its gaze toward him, and their eyes met through the glass. Then it opened its beak and made a sound. "Un... i... den... ti... fied...?" The old saying came to mind: repetition breeds learning. It could definitely imitate speech. Ken felt a rush of triumph - and a flicker of unease. It had never heard English before, yet repeated it perfectly. There were parrots on Earth that could mimic speech, yes, but this creature's learning speed was astonishing. Pushing aside the fear, Ken spoke again. "Unidentified lifeform, can you hear me?" "Un... i... den... ti... fied... life... form..." Ken nearly fainted from shock. He quickly recorded notes on his PDA. > The subject has learned a new word. > Displays mimicry ability beyond that of parrots, likely possesses higher cognition on par with primates. > Further research recommended. ----- The next few days passed in a blur. Hearing new sounds, repeating them, over and over. He felt like a parrot, but it didn't matter. To survive here, he had to do whatever it took. Like a hatchling raptor tilting its head, he tried to absorb every sound he could hear. Whenever the long, cow-like beings spoke, he strained to mimic each phrase, each tone. At first, his voice was rough, like scraping pebbles by hand. Later, it softened - almost like a song. The language of this world became song, and song became meaning. The long creature who called itself "Ken" came nearly every day. He would stand behind the glass, jotting notes, muttering to himself, and occasionally speaking to him. Once a figure to fear, Ken was now one he could trust. There was resonance in his voice. Warmth. Courage welled up in him. He decided to try a greeting in this world's language. "Good morning." Ken froze mid-note, eyes widening. Then he smiled. "Good morning!" Ken's voice was bright with excitement. Across worlds, across species, joy had found resonance. "Good morning." He echoed the words back. "You remembered," Ken said. Remembered. A strange word. I should remember it. ----- > The subject spoke for the first time. The phrase was "Good morning." > Demonstrates comprehension and memory, not mere mimicry. > Displays high-level intelligence comparable to humans. > Further research recommended. > @@ @@ > Note: Who knew the words "Good morning" could feel so new. ----- @@ @@ + Name, Resonance, Paul Tree About a week later, the new containment chamber had a window. As was typical of the Highlands, the weather was gloomy almost every day, and since the Foundation facility was in a remote area, the view offered little more than trees - but it was better than being surrounded by white walls. Two of them still were, but that was fine. Sitting on the strange perch (the long creatures who called themselves "humans" called it a "chair"), he found comfort in watching the hazy world beyond the one-way glass. He had many complaints, but if he had to choose one, it was how they addressed him. Some called him "the subject," others by strange numbers, and the most important one, Ken, called him "unidentified lifeform." It meant "a living thing not yet known," apparently. He didn't like it. When he fell, he had forgotten his resonance - the name someone once called him with affection and song. Perhaps it was due to his injury. Just then, Ken entered the room with another human in heavy gear. Do they think I'm armed or something? ----- Ken had been visiting regularly to check on the creature's condition, granting several requests along the way. He had moved it to a chamber with higher ceilings, installed lights with a solar spectrum, diversified its diet beyond grains, and even allowed a foggy window view of the outside. Under the label of "behavioural study," he wanted to offer as much comfort as possible. After all, even zoo animals received some measure of care. But one thing was still missing - what to call it. They couldn't keep referring to it as "Anomalous Entity 414," "Unidentified Lifeform," or "Subject." Today, he intended to ask. Ken entered the chamber with the guard. "Good morning." "Good morning." It was already past noon, but repeating their first shared greeting had become a small ritual between them. "It's twelve-oh-three, sir," the guard interjected. "Right," Ken replied curtly, turning back to the creature. "So, how are you today?" "Not much different from yesterday. I do like this strange perch, though. It'll be useful until my wings heal." The unidentified lifeform saw the chair seat as a set of steps and the backrest as a perch. "But there's something that bothers me..." "Go on." "My resonance." "Resonance?" "In your words... what was it again? Name?" "That's exactly what I wanted to talk about," Ken said, taking out his notebook. "We can't keep calling you 'subject' or 'unidentified lifeform.' Do you remember any name?" The creature thought for a long time. "My resonance... I don't remember. It was a beautiful one my mother gave me, but it was lost in the sound of the wind." Ken found the phrasing poetic but decided not to comment. Then, as if on cue, the guard spoke up. "How about Poultry? You know, bird meat." [[footnote]] Author's note: In English slang, "fresh meat" is used for new recruits or inmates. "Poultry" means domesticated birds or their meat.[[/footnote]] Ken shot him a sharp glare. "Some things you don't joke about." "I was just kidding..." The guard floundered. The creature tilted its head. "Poultry? Meat? What does that mean?" Ken sighed and explained. "Sorry, he's tactless. It's not a nice term. It refers to birds raised or eaten as food." The creature blinked slowly, lost in thought. "Food... bird..." It seemed to sink deep into its mind, half-closing its eyes in contemplation. Ken glared again at the guard, who shrank back. Finally, the creature spoke. "...In our world, there's a saying. 'Even the smallest wing feeds the whole sky.' To eat something is to make it part of the world. It's often said when a child dies as a phrase of respect and remembrance. It's not a bad meaning. It carries memory." Ken started to speak, then stopped. Silence lingered. The creature's words had weight - and dignity. "Still..." Ken said carefully, "If you'd prefer another name, that's fine too." The creature's expression changed. Its eyelids narrowed, and the edge of its beak curved slightly upward. A smile, perhaps. "Poultry." It repeated softly. "Paul Tree." It said again, rolling the sounds around its tongue. "Does that sound like a name?" Ken sighed in disbelief. "Close enough." "A name with roots," the creature said with amusement, thumping its chest. "Paul Tree. That's me. I am Paul Tree." Paul Tree seemed quite pleased with the name. Ken turned to the guard with a look of weary resignation. "Congratulations. You've just named him - and dodged a disciplinary report." ----- > The subject has chosen the name "Paul Tree" for itself. > Though the name originated from an inappropriate joke, the subject took no offence and accepted it positively. > Therefore, disciplinary action against the guard is not requested, and the chosen name is to be officially registered. Ken filled out both the registration and non-disciplinary forms with a rueful smile. Through the camera lens, inside the chamber, the being now called Paul Tree perched on the chair's backrest, gazing at the rainy world outside and singing. The voice was astonishingly beautiful for something that looked so much like a chicken. "Paul Tree..." Ken murmured. A man's joke had become another being's name. The world, truly, was full of wonders. [[include :scp-wiki:component:earthworm first=false | last=false | hub=yes | previous-url=/paul-tree-0 | previous-title=Prologue | next-url=/paul-tree-2 | next-title=Part 2 | hub-url=/paul-tree-hub | hub-title=Hub |]]