Lark managed an insult of his own—.
“The … Rothen … are … pigs.…”
Rann snarled and tried to bite his ear. Lark swung his head aside just in time, then slammed it back into Rann’s face, breaking his lip.
Abruptly, a stench seemed to swell around their heads, filling Lark’s nostrils with a cloying, sickening tang. For an instant he wondered if it was the Danik’s body odor. Or else the smell of death.
Rann managed to free a hand and used it to pummel Lark’s side. But the pain seemed distant, and the blows vague, unsteady. Vision wavered as the awful smell increased … and Lark grew aware that his opponent was being affected, as well.
More so.
In moments, Rann’s iron grip let go and the man collapsed away from him. Lark backed up, gasping. Through a haze of wavering consciousness, he noted the source of the stench. The wounded traeki ring had climbed onto Rann’s shoulder and was squirting yet another dose of some noxious substance straight into the star god’s face.
Should … make it … stop, now, Lark thought. An excess might not just knock Rann out, but kill him.
Life had priorities, though. Fighting exhaustion and the tempting refuge of sleep, Lark rolled over to seek Ling, hoping enough life still lingered to be coaxed back into the world.
Blade
“… THE MOST EFFECTIVE WARHEADS WERE THE ones tipped with toporgic capsules, filled with traeki formula type sixteen an’ powdered Buyur metal. Kindle beetles were useful in settin’ off the solid rocket cores. A lot of the ones that didn’t use beetles either fizzled or blew up on their launchpads.…”
Blade listened to the young human recite her report to an urrish telegraph operator, whose keystrokes became fast-departing beams of light. Jeni Shen winced as a pharmacist applied unguents to her singed skin. Her face was soot-covered and the left side of her jerkin gave off smoldering fumes. Jeni’s voice was dry as slate and it must have been painful for her to speak, but the recitation continued, nonstop, as if she feared this mountaintop semaphore station might be the first target of any Jophur retaliation.
“… Observers report that the best targeting happened in rockets that had message-ball critters aboard. Usin’ ’em that way was just a whim of Phwhoon-dau’s, so there weren’t many. But it seemed to work. Before everything blew up, Lester said we should reexamine all the Buyur critters we know about, in case they have other uses. …”
The stone hut was crowded. The missile assault, and subsequent fires, had sent refugees pouring through the passes. Blade was forced to wade through the tide of fugitives in order to reach this militia outpost, where he might make a report of his adventure.
He found the semaphore already tied up with frenzied news — about the successful downing of the last Jophur corvette … and then the failure of a single rocket even to dent the mother ship. That night of soaring hopes crashed further when casualties became known, including at least one of the High Sages of the Six.
Yet a low level of elation continued. Bad news was only expected. But a taste of victory came amplified by sheer surprise.
Blade recalled vividly the fiery plummet of both burning halves of the ruined starship, setting off firestorms. I’m glad it only landed in boo, he thought. According to the scrolls, Jijo’s varied ecosystems weren’t equal. Greatboo was a trashy alien invader — like the Six themselves. The planet was not badly wounded by tonight’s conflagration.
Me neither, Blade added, wincing as a g’Kek medic tried to set one of his broken legs.
“Just cut it off,” he told the doctor. “The other one, too.”
“But that will leave you with just three,” the g’Kek complained. “How will you walk?”
“I’ll manage. Anyway, new ones grow back faster if you cut all the way to the bud. Just get it over with, will you?”
Fortunately, he had managed to land on two legs spread apart at opposite sides of his body. That left a tripod of them to use, dragging himself from the fluttering tangle of fabric and gondola parts. The moonlit mountainside had been rocky and steep, a horrid place for a blue qheuen to find himself stranded on a chill night. But the beckoning glimmer of flashed messages, darting from peak to peak, encouraged him to limp onward until he reached this sanctuary.
So, I’ll be able to tell Log Biter my tale, after all. Maybe I’ll even write about it. Nelo should provide backing for a small print run, since half of my story involves his daughter.…
Blade knew his mind was drifting from thirst, pain, and lack of sleep. But if he rested now he would lose his place in line, right after Jeni Shen. The station commander, hearing of his balloon adventure, had given him a priority just after the official report on the rocket attack.
I should be flattered. But in fact, the rockets are used up. Even if there are some left, the element of surprise is gone. They’ll never succeed against the Jophur again.
But my idea’s not been tried yet. And it’d work! I’m living proof.
The smiths of Blaze Mountain have got to be told.
So he sat and fumed, half listening to Jeni’s lengthy, jargon-filled report, trying to be patient.
When the amputation began, Blade’s cupola withdrew instinctively, shielding his eye strip under thick chitin, preventing him from looking around. So he tried pulling his mind back to the time when he briefly flew through the sky … the first of his kind to do so since the sneakship came, so long ago.
But a qheuen’s memories aren’t strong enough to use as a bulwark against pain.
It. took three strong hoons to keep the leg straight enough for the medic to do it cleanly.
Lark
A SECOND STENCH MET HIM WHEN HE WAKED. The first one had smothered cloyingly. When it filled the little room, the world erased under a blanket of sweet pungency.
The new smell was bitter, tangy, repellent, cleaving the insensate swaddling of unconsciousness. There was no transitory muzziness or confusion. Lark jerked upright while his body convulsed through a series of sharp sneezes. All at once he knew the cell, its metal floor and walls, the cramped despair of this place.
A greasy doughnut shape — purple and still covered with mucus — sent a final stream of misty liquid jetting toward his face. Lark gagged, backing away.
“I’m up! Cut it out, dung eater!”
The room wavered as he turned, searching … and found Ling close behind, wheezing at the effort of sitting up. Livid marks showed where Rann had throttled her, nearly taking her life.
Lark turned again, scanning for his enemy.
In moments, he spied the Danik agent’s bare feet, jutting from beyond the rotund bulk of Ewasx.
Ewasx? Or is it still Asx?
The ring stack shivered. Trails of waxy pus trickled from twin wounds on either side, where the vlenned rings had made their escape.
I could try to find out.… Try talking to—
But Lark saw an orderliness to the trembling toruses. A systematic rhythm. Almost regimented. Warbling sounds escaped the speaking vent.
“H-h-h-alt, humans.… I/WE COMMAND … obedience…
The voice wavered unevenly, but gained strength with each passing dura.
Ling met his eyes. There was instant rapport.
Asx had gone to a lot of trouble to provide gifts.
Time to give them a try.
“STOP THAT!” Ewasx adjured. “You are required to … desist.…”
Fortunately, the Jophur’s limbs were still locked in rigor. The lowermost set shivered with resistance when the master ring tried to make them move.
Asx is still fighting for us, Lark realized, knowing it could not last.
