Chapter Two, Scene One
"You're overthinking it, Ripplehop. Their brains are simple. Essentially the same as a badly organized toolbox."
"Should we poke him again?"
"No more poking! He's not a jellyfish."
Hyperion kept his eyes firmly shut. The cold that had grabbed him when he fell through the ice had been replaced by a warm blanket executing the restless movements of a hyperactive ferret, scooting, bunching, and occasionally performing interpretive dance across his torso.
The smell hanging about reminded him of the ocean during its yearly performance review, mixed with notes from his grandmother's spice cabinet (which remained under lock and key following The Great Paprika Disaster that had temporarily dyed three cats orange and caused the neighbor's prize petunias to sneeze for a week).
What caught his attention most, however, was the gentle humming of equipment around him. Unlike hospital machines he'd heard before, these sounds held conversations. A rhythmic beeping to his left reassured him his heart rate was fine. Another device nearby clicked in a pattern reminiscent of Morse code, but somehow he understood it monitored his temperature.
"I think he's pretending to be unconscious," said the second voice. "His breathing pattern changed."
"Ooh! I know what to do!" The first voice grew excited. "EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! PATIENT EXPERIENCING CATASTROPHIC EXISTENCE FAILURE!"
Hyperion sat up. He immediately wished he hadn't.
