Both the Flagrantians were naked, well-muscled and dangerously armed. They were also perpetually catching fire. Patches of their bright orange skin would simply ignite. This did them no visible harm. These little conflagrations had no apparent cause, other than their moods.
Their moods were mostly belligerent. Presently the two were beside themselves with rage over their foes, the blue-shelled Crabulons. They were also violently exuberant over their latest hunting kill: some monstrous beast of their planet called “the myriatoid.”
It lay at their feet, multiple legs twitching. Ochre fluid leaked from a pair of bullet-shaped breaches in its exoskeleton.
The maleling continued to draw a bead on it with his shiny black killgun.
“Twas last of its kind,” he said, in a solemn yet self-congratulatory tone.
It wasn’t fully clear if the animal was indeed last of its species or whether the maleling was just boasting.
“This animal has five more auxiliary hearts,” said the nano-computer, bursting in on his bubble of attention. “It will likely survive its wounds.”
The nano-computer’s prim voice threw him off. He hadn’t fully recovered from hallucinations in the fungoid cave. Distractions like this taxed his still-scattered concentration.
The Flagrantians seemed impatient for him to say or do something.
“They want you to compliment their kill,” said the nano-computer. “They will take offence if you don’t. In their society, taking offence can trigger violence.”
He shot a startled look at the Flagrantians. They wouldn’t hear the nano-computer, which was deep inside his ear. But they were so hyper-vigilant he felt, irrationally, they must hear it anyway.
The femoid noted his reaction: like to something said offstage. Her interested gaze locked on him.
She towered more than two metres, slightly shorter than the maleling. Flames fluttered on her cheekbones and danced furtively across one thigh. A bayonet’s point gleamed on the muzzle of her killgun.
Like her partner she spoke with ludicrous formality.
“Wizard, what counsel doth thee take from unseen things?” she said. “My love, doth he treat with invisible servants?”
After a beat, he realized she meant him.
“Verily, he might, my love,” the maleling answered, right bicep sleeved with fire.
“They often identify off-planet travelers as wizards,” explained the nano-computer. “It’s a workable analog for them. Next they’ll ask you for the secret of space travel or for weapons to eradicate Crabulons. Put them off, if you can.”
It offered no specifics on how.
“Doth he parlay with the mushroom?” the femoid mused, pointing as she spoke.
Where she pointed sat a large fungoid. At a glance, he knew it wasn’t exactly a fungoid. Its tipped-over, top-heavy form meant it was the shape-changing oddity that seemed to determined to travel with him. Unlike most mushrooms, it could move. At least the stringy mycelium at its base was moving. Spread out like web of white capillaries, they contorted in a frantic struggle to pierce the canyon’s hard clay. Their tips attempted to grow points like the myriatoid’s horn-shaped feet.
The creature had grown quickly since its larval stage. It had gained significant mass during its short stay among the fungoids, the whole time imitating them. Once the size of a cat, it now came up to his shoulder. But it seemed like it might starve in this harsh place.
The creature-mushroom’s heady smell threatened to re-trigger his hallucinations. He wrenched his eyes from its fleshy, fluorescing body, but bright tracers followed.
He locked eyes with the Flagrantians as they stared back at him. Deadly interest marred the pleasing symmetry of their faces.
“What doth thy mushroom counsel?” the femoid demanded.
“One moment, let me finish,” he said, in a hasty attempt to stall. “Is that what you people do: bother wizards while they converse?” he blustered, feigning haughtiness he didn’t feel.
He turned away from them in a hopefully convincing huff and turned turned back to the creature, truly hoping they could communicate somehow. He thought it might have happened once. Of course he might have just been hallucinating.
The creature’s ripe, earthy smell seemed to change. It became dank and acidic. Somehow, this suggested distress.
Other smells around him changed. The ground smelled metallic, bituminous and cruelly, ungenerously dry. The Flagrantians smelled acrid, angry and slightly sulfurous.
This was more than his own senses could ever tell him. It was scent as something diagrammatic, even linguistic. It was scent keen enough to know the contours of objects in space. That way it was almost sight.
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Sulphur began to overpower overpowered other smells as flame engulfed the maleling’s annoyed face.
“Wizard we lose patience,” cautioned the maleling.
“One moment. One more!” he stammered.
“He doth delay,” said the femoid. “Careful of the wizard’s wiles, my spouse.” Her enchanting eyes narrowed.
“Indeed, m’love,” said her mate. “Wizard, tell us now: what powers can thee lend ‘gainst the vexing crab-folk, that their unsightly race perish?”
“Tell, wizard,” urged the femoid. Flames sprang from her shoulders, like wings.
Her eyes suddenly widened with alarm. “Behold!” she exclaimed. “The wizard’s servant transforms!”
What was it doing now?
The creature no longer looked anything like a fungus. It was multi-legged, low to the ground and armoured, like the myriatoid.
“What devilry be this?” uttered the maleling.
“Methinks our quarry is not last of its kind after all,” quoth the femoid.
“This one here is even better, methinks,” said the maleling. “Methinks it may be first its kind.”
The two raised their killguns.
At that instant, with great commotion, Crabulons came in their tanks and airships, battle-paint on their blue shells, antennae twitching with rage.
“War is upon us,” gushed the maleling. Flames swelled around the beginnings of his erection.
“Indeed, my heart,” the femoid all but sang. “We two alone, with our captive wizard, face this army.”
“Nay, look, my love. Our fellow fighters come.”
One Crabulon airship exploded. The Flagrantian floater which gunned it down sailed soundlessly over. Others of like design followed.
One floater landed. Fighters debarked, aflame like torches. Crabulon soldiers immediately charged, with their gauntleted pincers and shell-mounted cannons.
Flagrantian gunners blasted the Crabulon war tanks from their floaters. Semi-living Crabulon tanks, in turn, shot those down.
The couple facing him forgot the myriatoid, which limped cautiously away.
But they were still focused on him, or else whatever they saw behind him.
Air rushed wildly into what felt like a tunnel at his back. This was the Worm’s mouth, he dearly hoped. He never in his life wanted more to get away from a place.
“The wizard tries to escape,” cried the femoid. “See his portal.”
“Escape, thee shall not!” bellowed the maleling. He fired his killgun in near-unison with his mate.
These dire actions seemed to be slowing down as he watched. As the Worm engulfed him, time slowed to a crawl.
At sluggish speed, two kill-bullets spiralled toward him. He watched them with prolonged, paralyzed dread.
(Next: Bullets Between Worlds)
