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Inversion © John H. Evans, August – October 2018

“Today, you catch me at a very difficult time,” said Spadraye into his head-mounted video camera. “My relationship with Hahnirets has broken down irretrievably and now we’re separating our belongings. I have a few bruises on my left footle-cap which will become larger later, although I am reluctant to show them off to all and sundry....”

“Are you vittin NARRATING this?!” screeched Hahnirets, climbing into the room. “Give me the vittin camera right now!” She reached over and grabbed for it. Spadraye swung away so that she missed and nearly fell on the floor. As Hahnirets recovered her stance, Spadraye snatched up a bag of her belongings and thrust it into her midriff. She caught it with three hands and looked at it, seeing that it was hers.

“You can only have YOUR stuff!” barked Spadraye. “I’ve had ENOUGH of you taking my things without even asking. You took and took until I saw that you were a no-good leech.”

“It’s only because you didn’t care for me enough!” replied Hahnirets, her voice full of anger and anguish. “There was an emotional void that I wanted to fill. Your stuff was basically trivial but it was all I had!”

“Don’t you dare claim that!” protested Spadraye forcefully. “I was here nearly every vittin night for you, providing for you, listening to you and doing what I could to sort out your piffling little issues!”

“You made me sell my craboid collection!” whined Hahnirets. “They were a vital part of my childhood but you said they were just obstacles!”

“Didn’t the credits make you happy?!” Spadraye pointed out. “We went to many fun places. We had a great time!”

“Haven’t you even heard of seller’s remorse!” continued Hahnirets. “You’re so ignorant! Give me those other bags. I’m going to load the cloudrifter and leave here as soon as I can!” Spadraye handed her the other bags roughly. She only just managed to carry them all at once. They glared at each other and then Hahnirets climbed back out of the room.

“I nearly broke my neck, tripping over those damned craboids!” said Spadraye loudly, for the benefit of Hahnirets and the camera. “I’m glad that they went. My patience with your ridiculous attitude has been well and truly exhausted!”

“Go and footle yourself laterally!” shouted Hahnirets as she hauled her belongings to her cloudrifter vehicle.

“This has been the worst vittin day in the last three years!” muttered Spadraye into the camera. “It all came to a head. We’ve both reached boiling point simultaneously. To be honest, it’s about the only point that we’ve reached simultaneously for months, if you know what I mean.” He sorted out a few more belongings but then looked out of the window. Hahnirets was trying to cram too much into the left cargo pod. She closed the lids but they sprang open again. She pushed down harder on the bags and closed the lids again but with the same result.

“VITTIN SNARG WRANGLERS!” she cursed wildly.

“Are you alright, Miss?” asked a kindly passerby.

“No, I’m leaving this pit of MISERY!” she yelled. “I’m going back to my real friends so that people like you can’t GAWK at me anymore and my idiot vittin ex up there can’t keep making horrible documentaries about my so-called crimes!” She pointed up at Spadraye, who retreated from the window. After that, she moved some items from the left cargo pod to the right cargo pod.

“Sorry Miss, I’m in your way,” said the passerby, walking carefully away. “Sorry I bothered.” Hahnirets continued to load the cloudrifter while Spadraye bagged her remaining possessions. He didn’t make an effort to protect them from damage but he did throw in a few fairly expensive items that had been bought jointly. He reasoned that it was time to clean house. It was better to reduce his hoard rather than argue over a few knick knacks. Soon, Hahnirets had everything due to her and drove herself away. She was sensible enough not to speed when she was quite distraught. Spadraye was left alone with his disturbed thoughts. He watched some broadcasts. He thought about the good times. He did some cleaning and tidying. He thought about the bad times. He listened to some music. The clicks, clonks and whistles therein caused him to think about the injustice of the situation. He shouldn’t have let it go this far. He’d tried hard but he’d still neglected certain things. He didn’t like to admit it but it was true. When he’d done enough for the day, he hung himself on the pad-wall and let the sadness and regret course through him. His footle-cap ached. His footles had been empty for weeks. The emptiness itself was a different kind of pain; a worse kind of pain. He had to stop it. He felt a fierce new resolve build. He would search for new partners as soon as he could. He would fill his voids, both physical and emotional.

* * * * *

“Hello stranger!” said the waitress Gienetur the next day as Spadraye climbed through the door. “Your face seems familiar, though. Have we met?”

“Yes Gienetur but please hold the jokes,” replied Spadraye as he clung to the counter-wall. “Sorry that I haven’t been here for a while. Hahnirets didn’t like this restaurant, so I took her elsewhere. Now, I’m glad that I can come back.”

“You look sad but a little angry,” observed Gienetur as she watched the other diners. “I’m guessing that you broke up with her but you’re not the type to stay single.”

“Sure, I’m back on the market,” said Spadraye. “You can put the word out if you like. However, there are complications. Hahnirets and her family and friends have turned against me. A few of them are threatening me. My family and friends are warning them off. I don’t know what’ll happen. I’m trying to lie low. This is a good place for that, I reckon.”

“It sounds serious,” said Gienetur. “I’m sorry to hear about it. Would you like to move house for greater security? My brother has a place to rent in the Shortcliff area. It’s less than five hundred credits per year. Are you interested?”

“That’s actually a great offer,” said Spadraye, surprised at this potential good fortune. “Give me his contact details. I’ll get in touch with him soon.” Gienetur did so and then served a few diners their next courses.

“What are you doing these days?” asked Gienetur, returning to the counter. “The last I heard, you were doing some construction work and sales algorithms on the side.”

“I’m between jobs at the moment,” said Spadraye. “That was part of the problem with Hahnirets. I had become unproductive and was getting into bad habits. I should’ve pushed harder to find work. This morning, I realised that I can sell off some of my stuff to raise money.”

“Work is hard to find right now,” said Gienetur sympathetically. “You might have to move to a new area entirely, unless you fancy a monotonous job in the recycling plant on the river flats.”

“Heh, if I can’t sort out my own life, I probably shouldn’t sort waste!” said Spadraye. “I’d end up throwing rusty metal into the ceramics hopper and vice versa. I’ll look for something else, thanks.” Gienetur was the same good-natured soul as always. It was a shame that she was married.

“Are you looking for sustenance or just chat?” asked Gienetur. “I’d recommend the special today. It’s extra sour.”

“You always recommend the special but who am I to argue?” replied Spadraye, grateful for this friendly establishment. “I’ll sit in slingbooth three as usual and you lay it on me. Don’t worry: I have just enough cash to cover it. Tomorrow, I’ll have to go back to mooching off the family.”

“I’m sure that you’ll get through this rough patch,” said Gienetur. “You always have before. Oh, here comes another favourite customer. His name’s Amihaif. Perhaps you two can sit together and talk?”

“Why not?” said Spadraye. “Send him over.” He looked at Amihaif, who seemed friendly and jovial. This was much better than facing his ex’s scorn.

* * * * *

“Careful with that spray,” said Spadraye. “You nearly got it in my secondary eye cluster.”

“I’m sorry,” said Amihaif. “At least we’ve neutralised the tear spice. Your softorns should return to their normal colour within half an hour. They won’t stay inflamed for days. That would have been a bad look.”

“Thanks for treating them,” said Spadraye. “The trauma of this break-up was severe enough to release my tear spice. I could have applied the spray myself with the help of a mirror but you can reach the softorns better than me.” Amihaif removed his hands and let Spadraye raise his head to an upright position once again. He used another hand to put the tear neutraliser spray back in his pocket.

“I’m not surprised that you were so upset,” said Amihaif. “It wasn’t the drevai juice; it was the whole situation of the past few years. I’ve thought about it for a few minutes. The events that you describe were probably a natural progression or just random but they could be interpreted as sabotage.”

“I was about to say that when tears welled up on my softorns,” said Spadraye. “It feels like someone or something was behind that sequence of problems. I don’t know what or who. I’d love to find out.”

“I hate to say it but I don’t think that you will,” said Amihaif. “It’s best if you focus on healing yourself, mending your broken hearts. All will be well again in time.”

“The spoilt meat, the food poisoning, it led to the sick leave and the failure to hear the work news,” said Spadraye. “I didn’t learn about the new cable tie procedure, which caused the safety complaint and then the investigation. I can’t believe that no one thought to keep me updated about that procedure! My construction work was stopped after a few weeks. Word got around and then my other boss didn’t want me writing sales algorithms either. I guess that he found younger, cheaper labour to replace me.”

“How did that meat become spoilt?” wondered Amihaif. “It was in your freezer the whole time. Perhaps it was already off when you bought it? Whose fault was it: the shop, the distributor or the supplier?”

“Who can say now, nearly a year later?” said Spadraye dejectedly. “You know, you’re so nice. You’ve been listening to me spout on for at least an hour.”

“I think that you needed to do it,” said Amihaif. “Anyway, I’m now a lot more familiar with your life with Hahnirets. It must have been difficult living with someone who did a sun dance on the roof-wall every morning, even when she was sick or inebriated!”

“All the neighbours thought that she was an eccentric yokel,” said Spadraye. “Several times she fell off the roof-wall and I had to go out and pick her up from the street. She was lucky not to be badly hurt. I was so embarrassed but I hid it quite well. I was trying not to wreck the relationship with arguments over a legitimate religious practice.”

“What happened after you brought her back inside each time?” asked Amihaif.

“Invariably, she’d want to get back up there and continue,” responded Spadraye. “She’d try to clamber over me. There’d be arms and legs everywhere. I’d hold her back. Soon, she’d relax. I’d tell her that she could continue the next morning. She’d be happy with that reassurance. We’d footle around for a minute or two. It wouldn’t be very satisfactory but it would be familiar and comforting. She’d inevitably fall asleep. Sometimes, I’d have to remove her long stalks from my footles unaided, without breaking them. It was such an ungainly procedure but it didn’t matter because I loved her. I’d put her on the nearest long hammock and she’d sleep for a while. I’d watch her as I did my chores around her.” He went quiet as he thought about what he’d lost.

“If I may be so bold, how did the relationship breakdown start?” asked Amihaif. “I’m not clear about it.”

“I regret that quite badly,” said Spadraye. “I went out one cold day to feed food scraps to blegnugs when I came across a very lurid multi-forn book that someone had left on a ledge. Naturally, I didn’t want the book to be ruined in the rain, so I brought it inside. Time went on and my eyes were opened by the graphic pictures inside. To cut a long story short, Hahnirets came home early one day and found me ‘using’ the book. She wasn’t pleased. She took exception to all the ‘perversions’ shown on those glossy pages. That was the beginning of the end for us. It was my stupid fault.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Amihaif. “If she’d tried to be more open-minded, you might still be together. Also, can’t we blame whoever left the book on the ledge in the first place?”

“It’d be great to blame that person but he or she was almost certainly innocent,” said Spadraye. “I mean to say they had no intention of derailing our partnership. They wouldn’t have been innocent about multi-fornal matters.”

“And now neither are you!” said Amihaif. “Poor, unfortunate Spadraye!”

“It’s not going to get me down, though,” said Spadraye. “I’m going to get another partner. I’m absolutely determined. I’ll show her!”

“What spirit you have,” commended Amihaif. “However, you must keep your strength up. Did you have enough to eat back at the restaurant?”

“Actually no,” replied Spadraye. “The portions were fairly small. Also, I’ve burnt plenty of nervous energy recently. I’m still hungry. I’d better go home and eat again.”

“Is it wise to go home when Hahnirets’ folks are threatening you?” Amihaif reminded him. “Why not spend the night at mine instead? I have a large stock of food. My sister’s family was supposed to visit and eat that food last week but they cancelled.”

“You’re quite right,” said Spadraye. “I accept your offer. Afterwards, I’ll have to leave the old place.”

“It’s been a welcome change to sit outside and chat,” said Amihaif as the two of them rose and set off. “The air’s a little chilly but I prefer that to the stuffiness of the restaurant after it filled up with customers. Also, we can see the stars. I heard something interesting about the stars last week. I’ll tell you back at my house.” The two men grappled their way swiftly through the maze of fractured, rocky ridges that dominated the local landscape.

* * * * *

“I don’t see how this affects us at all,” said Spadraye, shrugging some of his shoulders. “So the stars are twinkling ever so slightly less these days. We can only detect it with our most powerful telescopes. It’s much too distant to worry me.”

“I understand your point of view but these tiny reductions might be indications of unnatural planetary movement,” said Amihaif. “At least two hundred star systems have been affected lately. What made them all change within the last few days? I find it alarming.”

“Amihaif, my new buddy, stop fretting!” said Spadraye. “Life’s too short and pleasures are fleeting! Enjoy yourself while you may. Have another pack of fuj or something. I promise you that the stars of heaven won’t ruin this splendid late-night feast!” He drained his fourth drink in a few seconds. Then, he looked around for something else to eat. He saw an appetising morsel immediately in front of Amihaif.

“Say, bring your tubeling over here,” said Spadraye. “It’s so cute. I want to try it.”

“Are you sure?” queried Amihaif. “Not everyone can tolerate them. They’re an acquired taste.”

“I think that I’m ready now,” replied Spadraye. “It’s time for me to be bold, to experiment.”

“Alright but don’t say that I didn’t warn you,” said Amihaif, bringing the little tubeling over. “Bon appétit.” Spadraye watched the tubeling for a moment as it twitched slightly in Amihaif’s hand. Then he leant forward slightly, took the tubeling in his mouth and started to suck it slowly, just as he had seen others do earlier. He ran his tongue over it and under it, savouring the slightly salty and sweaty taste. He continued to suck rhythmically as he held the back of the tubeling with two hands. With each inhalation and lick, the tubeling grew until it was at full length. Spadraye looked up and gazed into Amihaif’s eyes for a moment. The object of his suckling was now completely engorged. The front orifice opened and the tubeling’s juices began to spurt out. Spadraye’s gag reflex nearly activated but he overcame it. The tubeling’s inner fluids weren’t as caustic as he’d feared. He angled them into the side wall of his throat and kept sucking to drain the tubeling as dry as he could. It was a kindness. When the pulsed flow finally stopped, he pulled the shrivelled corpse out of his mouth.

“Very sensuous,” commented Amihaif. “What did you make of that?” The dead tubeling husk dropped onto a plate.

“Tricky to master first time,” replied Spadraye, gulping down the tart dregs. “I liked the taste, though. It seems nutritious.”

“It certainly is,” said Amihaif. “The farmers breed them specifically as delicacies. They feed them high quality diets. That’s why they cost so much.”

“I heard that they came originally from the swamp lands of Phlassyo,” said Spadraye. “They used to be parasites, millennia ago. Now, they’ve become a cash crop.”

“True,” said Amihaif. “Now, shall we footle around for a bit?”

“Well, this’ll be my first time for that too,” said Spadraye. “Still, in for a cent, in for a credit.”

“It won’t be quite the same as with Hahnirets, I’m afraid,” said Amihaif. “I don’t have stalks as long as a woman’s.”

“I’m sure we’ll cope,” said Spadraye. “At least you’re willing, unlike that frosty female.” Stalks came out, footle-caps popped open and the action began.

* * * * *

The next day, Spadraye was woken by an unwelcome call. A cousin named Ebalo apologised for rousing him fairly early. Ebalo and his two brothers Torink and Vulli had been staying in Spadraye’s house to guard it. Shortly before dawn, persons unknown had pelted the house with dan kakul, a very foul-smelling chemical. The three cousins hadn’t witnessed the attack but had certainly smelt it several minutes later, when the odour had wafted steadily through the house. They’d been roused from sleep and forced from the house by the intolerable stench. They’d summoned a specialist clean-up squad and now Ebalo was giving Spadraye the bad news.

“It was probably Hahnirets’ niece Hetcha,” said Spadraye. “She’s hot-headed and has been known to use dan kakul before. I hope that the cleaners do a quick and thorough job.” Amihaif was listening into the call. He grimaced as he heard Ebalo’s report. The call ended.

“This is bad, Spadraye,” said Amihaif. “The smell will cling to your possessions and linger for days. Your house will be uninhabitable for weeks. If only you’d moved out yesterday.”

“Was this foreseeable?” wondered Spadraye aloud. “I knew that something might happen but my desire for good company was stronger than my urge to defend territory. Maybe my judgment isn’t the best but she’s not going to ruin my life. I’m going to move out today.”

“But what about the dan kakul?” asked Amihaif.

“My father has gas masks, a flatbed truck and an empty barn,” replied Spadraye. “I’ll recruit some relatives, move my stuff and air it out in the barn for as long as necessary. We can handle this. We’re not helpless.” He climbed over to the dresser and started slapping his thermal protectors onto his body. They adhered naturally as usual.

“Oh, you’re going right now?” said Amihaif. “I suppose that’s best. My partner will be home at noon.”

“You have a partner?!” queried Spadraye. “I didn’t realise. I was wrapped up in my own issues. I’m such a fool. Why didn’t I see all her possessions around here?” He slapped his forehead with one hand, berating himself.

“To be fair, she’s nearly the same size as me and our tastes in clothes are fairly similar,” said Amihaif. “Also, it was dark last night. You couldn’t see much in here. You realise that we won’t be able to meet up too often in future. You got lucky last night. She doesn’t go away a lot on business. Now, I’ll have to tidy up before she comes home.”

“Hah, you’d better Ami!” said Spadraye. “I don’t want to destroy two relationships in two days!”

“Don’t worry,” said Amihaif. “By the way, you were great. I look forward to the next time.”

“I can’t promise anything, I’m afraid,” said Spadraye. “If I get myself a new long-term relationship, I’ll have to prioritise it. Still, this turned out very well for a first-time, occasional thing. You’ve helped to turn back the darkness in my life.”

“I’m happy to do it,” said Amihaif. “We were in the right place at the right time.” He hid his conflicted feelings of pride and disappointment. He helped Spadraye in little ways until the youngish man climbed out of the door. Clearly, Spadraye’s mind was in turmoil, since he was having a very eventful time.

* * * * *

Shortly afterwards, back at Spadraye’s rented house, there was further drama.

“Ah, dammit!” cried Spadraye, in shock and anger. “I can’t see! There’s something covering my mask lenses. It could be paint.”

“Yes, someone just threw a paint bomb at you,” said Ebalo. “They scored a direct hit. Torink and Vulli are chasing them now.” Spadraye could hear a commotion as his cousins pursued the attacker across the rocks around the parking lot.

“Don’t take off your mask, whatever you do,” warned Ebalo. “The dan kakul stink’s very persistent. Hold still and I’ll wipe your lenses.” He did so with an old rag from Spadraye’s shed.

“My clothes are probably ruined, between the paint and the dan kakul,” said Spadraye. “I’ll have to chalk it up to the transition process, moving from one life to another.”

“I’m getting worried, man,” said Ebalo as he continued to wipe Spadraye’s gas mask. “These attackers mean business and they’re hard to catch. I’ll have to report this to the security services again. It could easily escalate from ‘pranks’ to something worse.”

“The police have already warned Hahnirets’ family but they denied any involvement,” said Spadraye. “I really hope that my imminent move will put an end to this. Did the paint get on anything else?” Ebalo stopped wiping and looked around.

“I don’t believe it,” replied Ebalo, dismayed. “They hit your electric body scrubber. The paint’s gone into the motor and the filter chamber.”

“So, they’re trying to make it as personal as possible, are they?!” said Spadraye. “That’s some very inconvenient and expensive damage. Maybe I’ll have to make them pay somehow.”

“I wouldn’t go feuding with them, if I were you,” said Ebalo. “The consequences for the whole family could be disastrous. Let the authorities deal with it, man.” Spadraye shrugged. Feuding wasn’t at the top of his agenda.

“Anyway, back to the task in hand,” said Spadraye. “Thanks to you, I can see again. Let’s load up the last few things and get out of here.” They finished in a few minutes, just before Torink and Vulli returned.

“We lost him but at least we drained his energy in the chase,” said Vulli. “He’ll think again before trying another paint attack.”

“I caused this,” said Spadraye. “Once again, I apologise for all the trouble. Now, let’s get on the road.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t wear those paint-stained clothes in the cab,” warned Torink. “Your Dad doesn’t want another cleaning bill. You could ride in the back.”

“That would make me a target again,” said Spadraye with a sigh. “I have a better idea.” He peeled off the affected thermal protectors, bundled them into a sack, slung the sack onto the back of the truck and then climbed into the cab. His cousins followed and they all drove to Spadraye’s father’s barn. Spadraye was cold and felt slightly foolish but the cab was kept reasonably clean.

* * * * *

“Is it my imagination or are these rocks less comfortable than before?” asked Duenichar as he tried to find an acceptable sitting position. “Last month, I braced myself right here almost perfectly.”

“There was a swarm of micro-quakes, ya divot!” said Brafileur, who’d found his own niche in the jagged field of ‘blade spines’. “The ground has changed a little. You have to be more flexible. Don’t be a baby, be adjustamatic!” He waggled his protruding abdomen; the musculature rippled and then shaped itself to the rock faces once more. Duenichar kept searching for an adequate seating arrangement. At least his awkwardness was hidden from the world by the surrounding low ridges.

“We wouldn’t have to come out here if our family was less dysfunctional,” said Posipun. “Great Uncle Zund is a closet loon. In public he’s all nicey-nice but behind the scenes he keeps stirring things up. I think that it’s getting worse.”

“Have you guys felt a change in the atmosphere?” queried Duenichar. “I’ve been feeling a bit more apprehensive over the past few weeks and I don’t know why. My situation hasn’t changed.”

“Something’s not right at the old homestead!” said Brafileur in a rough, mocking accent. “I can feel it in my waters! By the way, did you know that I’m a whacked-out old codger? I’m thinking about competing in the Dementia Games next year!” Posipun laughed at Brafileur’s cruel impression of Duenichar.

“I’m not surprised that you didn’t feel the change, you blockheads!” said Duenichar.

“Manners, little D!” said Posipun. “We don’t have to stick with you.” Duenichar didn’t say anymore about it. He wanted to stay friends with these two in-laws. Finally, he found a reasonable perch for himself and settled down.

“The only thing that troubles me is the police presence,” said Brafileur. “I don’t want to be at home when they come around. My record isn’t clean. These last few weeks, they’ve been visiting a lot of my other hangouts. At least we can still sit here safely.”

“The heat is on and it’s rising,” said Posipun. “We have to stay alert or else they’ll find an excuse to put us in chokey.”

“My parents spent two hours searching for me a few days ago,” said Duenichar. “They’re becoming much more worried about me.”

“Well, we’re helping you to cut the family ties,” said Brafileur. “The more that you stay out here with us, the less you’ll be a hopeless wuss.” Duenichar stared at him for a few seconds and then looked away. How many more insults could he take?

“Hey, I can hear voices calling us,” said Posipun. “They’re quite far away.” He climbed carefully to the top of the east ridge and peeked over the top. From his vantage point, ten metres above the others, he could see a few people with torches in the distance. They had a small, civilian vehicle.

“It’s Brafileur’s aunt and two friends,” he reported in a whisper. “They want you back, Brafileur.”

“How did they find out about this hideout?” wondered Brafileur. “Perhaps one of the local kids blabbed. Those brats follow me around sometimes. I’ve been betrayed by my own popularity.” The three young men waited in silence, drinking their sour-pops. Several minutes later, the seekers left.

“Aunty Dreno wants you back in her clutches!” said Duenichar with a chuckle. Brafileur poked Duenichar hard in the side of the head.

“Hah, that’s unfortunate!” said a woman sitting behind Duenichar and Brafileur. “Always try to avoid Dreno’s clutches, lads!” The three men were startled. Duenichar and Brafileur turned around rapidly. Posipun almost fell from the ridge. He decided to climb down for safety.

“Who is it?” asked Posipun, approaching the others.

“I’m sorry missus but I’ve forgotten your name!” said Brafileur.

“Er, are you Halfset?” ventured Duenichar.

“Cheeky!” said the woman. “I’m Hahnirets. Don’t worry; I’m not with Dreno’s search party.”

“Well, what brings you out here?” asked Posipun.

“Mainly sadness and anger,” replied Hahnirets. “My life’s kind of a wreck right now. This used to be one of my hiding places, years ago. I know how to get in and out of here silently, so I could sneak up to you undetected.”

“I had no idea that this was, like, your old territory,” said Brafileur. “Did you value it as much as we do?”

“Well, it was a refuge but I didn’t always have fun,” replied Hahnirets. “Now, I feel like I need a refuge again. I split up with Spadraye and I’m bereft. I’m just roaming around, looking for solace anywhere I can find it.”

“Wouldn’t you be safer at home?” said Posipun. “You might run into some really bad characters out here at night.”

“I appreciate your concern but presently I don’t care,” said Hahnirets. “Besides, if some rogue tries anything, I’ll vittin EVISCERATE him (or her)!” She slashed one arm and one leg through the air to emphasise her point.

“Wow, you’re really spitting webs!” said Brafileur.

“You need soothing, obviously,” said Posipun. “Would you like a sour-pop?”

“If you’re offering,” said Hahnirets. “That’s very kind.” She took the novelty-shaped bottle from him, flipped off the top with a deft flick of her middle claw and chugged down the sour-pop in one swig.

“Ah! It’s not high-class but it’s honest,” she said, looking at the empty bottle afterwards. “It’s actually a bit better than the stuff I used to drink here.”

“Tell us what’s been happening to you,” said Posipun. “Who knows, maybe we could help in one way or another?”

“Can you help? That remains to be seen!” said Hahnirets. “Can you be better than stupid old Spadraye? Can you avoid rationing your love? Can you be open with me? Can you strive to be more considerate? Can you keep me in your hearts and not get distracted by horrid multi-forn?”

“Oh, um ....,” said Posipun, hoping that no one mentioned his own multi-forn collection.

“There were many things that irritated me beyond endurance,” continued Hahnirets. “He didn’t put his clothes tidy in the evenings. He spent much too long out with his work buddies when he knew that I was sitting waiting at home like a prize malloon. He did hardly any cleaning around the house. He had a secret cash account with seven thousand credits in it. He spent far too long with his many gadgets. Sometimes he flirted with my sisters and even my mother. He slapped me lightly all over and said that it was a new type of foreplay. That was unnatural and utterly moronic. It only annoyed me further.”

“We heard that you’re back with your parents,” said Brafileur after dredging his memory. “Is the situation improving now?”

“In some ways it is,” replied Hahnirets. “Unfortunately, my family’s unstable at the best of times. Mum and Dad are furious with Spadraye and his family. They’re scheming against them. I have too many bitter, spiteful relatives. They’re gearing up for a fight. I hear them arguing and plotting, even when I’m in my separate apartment. I had to get out of there and cut loose.”

“You should be fine here for a little while,” said Duenichar. “What did you used to do when you came here years ago?”

“We mainly sat around and talked, just like you,” replied Hahnirets. “Sometimes we sang songs and drummed on the rocks. There were food, drink and occasionally recreational substances. Now and then, we played games like ‘flick-in-the-crack’. If we were brave enough, we’d footle around. It was so thrilling with the right sort of boy! One time, Nyliex managed to reach my third rendi-cluster and I absolutely GUSHED. It’s incredible that I didn’t conceive.” The three young men looked at each other. They hadn’t expected this kind of talk tonight.

“Umm, I guess you miss that,” said Posipun. “I’m sorry that Spadraye let you down.”

“The worst thing is that he could have made more effort,” said Hahnirets. “He could have been a great partner but he chose to be mediocre. He frittered our love away. It’s riling me up so much! Now, to add insult to injury, my family’s madness is intensifying.”

“It’s a shame that we can’t help much,” said Brafileur. “Your folks don’t listen to us. They’re too proud.”

“You know, perhaps you can help a little,” said Hahnirets. “Remind me, how are we related?”

“Erm, we’re not blood relatives,” replied Brafileur. “My Dad’s Klelavis. He’s married to your cousin Phranot but my real Mum lives overseas, in Fonsibure.”

“I was adopted by your cousin Mahzipun and her partner Eyklayr,” said Posipun. “My real parents live somewhere in the Silver Shore Archipelago, on the other side of the world. I’ve never met them.”

“I’m the illegitimate son of Clethis, who lives with your cousin Brykley,” said Duenichar. “I don’t know my real father. No one will tell me his name.”

“That’s tough, kid,” said Hahnirets. “Still, I might be able to make you feel better. I could do with a good footle and there’s no question of incest here. All of you show me your stalks and I’ll choose one of you.” The three young men were taken aback and felt very nervous. Hahnirets’ footle-caps vibrated and popped open. Slowly, her own long stalks unfolded from her back and undulated above her head.

“I’m showing you mine, now show me yours,” she said. “Brafileur, you’re up.” Although he was entranced by the sight of her elegant, super-flexible stalks, he was bold and alert enough to respond by unfurling his own stalks. Hahnirets looked at them for a few moments, assessing them thoroughly.

“They’re lovely, Brafileur,” she said. “They’re very shapely. However, they’re not developed enough for me. I fear that you’re too young. Next year you’ll be ready. You can put them away until then.” Brafileur felt deflated but hopeful for the future.

“Where are you going, Duenichar?” demanded Hahnirets. “Stop trying to slip away. Be a man!”

“Yeah, don’t be a cringing doofus all your life!” agreed Brafileur. Duenichar slunk back to his seat, dread mounting in his mind.

“Posipun, how about you?” requested Hahnirets. “Oh, you’re already out! Well, hello big boy! Those are really impressive aren’t they? How long are they? I estimate two metres ninety. They’re nearly my length! Duenichar, can you beat that?”

“No, definitely not,” said Duenichar. “I’m not even close. That’s why I tried to escape.”

“At least let me see,” said Hahnirets. “Looking at stalks really cheers me up when I’m down.”

“I’d rather not,” said Duenichar. “I’m inadequate. Just leave it at that, would you?”

“Brafileur, hold him,” ordered Hahnirets. “We’ll see what he’s got!” Brafileur grabbed Duenichar long enough for Hahnirets to take hold of him as well. Posipun had folded his stalks away and now joined in the fray. Duenichar struggled but wasn’t strong enough to break free. Hahnirets used her stalks to tap and stroke Duenichar’s footle-caps. In an inevitable reflex action, Duenichar’s stalks unfolded from his back and waved jerkily in the air. The others looked at them and were shocked.

“That’s disgusting, you’re seriously deformed!” said Hahnirets. “They’re so short and they’re covered in swollen lumps.” She reached up and grasped one of them, pulling it close. Duenichar grunted loudly with the pain.

“These lumps keep oozing stuff and bleeding,” observed Brafileur. “Vittin lorks, D, this is just tragic!”

“The other one actually has a little extra stalk growing off of it!” noted Posipun. “D, you’ll have to get that cut off surgically!”

“What in blazes happened to you, sad lad?!” asked Hahnirets harshly. “Is it contagious? Should I wash my hands?”

“No, it’s genetic,” said Duenichar. “There was a mutation. Let me go, you creeps!”

“Yeah, we should,” said Hahnirets, releasing him and tossing the stalk over his head like a piece of garbage. “You’ve got nothing for me there, boy.” The others also let go. Duenichar put away his deformed stalks very quickly. His world was falling apart.

“I don’t want you to hang out with us anymore,” said Brafileur. “You’re Mr. Freaky Stalks, aren’t you?!”

“You turn my stomach, man,” said Posipun. “I can’t handle it. Go to hospital and get it fixed.”

“It’s not that simple!” said Duenichar. “My male and female chromosomes are mixed up somehow. I’ll never be normal. Surgeons can’t fix me properly.”

“Just go,” said Brafileur. “I can’t stand you anymore.” Duenichar turned slowly away, climbed through a gap in the encircling ridges and picked his way home through the maze of sharp rock formations. He’d just lost two ‘friends’ and would probably lose more as gossip about him spread. This was a very low point indeed. It would mark him for many years to come.

“Posipun, let’s go back to your place,” said Hahnirets. “I want you to footle me silly. Pay special attention to my rendi-clusters.”

“Can do!” said Posipun, pleased with his good fortune. “See ya, Brafileur!” Together, Posipun and Hahnirets climbed out of the hideaway and departed rapidly. Brafileur was abruptly abandoned but he took all the remaining sour-pops before he went home alone.

“Do you mind if I do my sun dance on your outside wall tomorrow morning?” asked Hahnirets as she leapt from rock to rock.

“Of course not,” said Posipun. “You can join my family. We all do a sun dance together every morning. There’ll be eleven of us on that wall, hooting and waving our arms at dawn.”

“Sounds like fun!” said Hahnirets.

“Just don’t whip out your stalks,” warned Posipun. “That’s beyond the pale and Grandpa might have a seizure.” Hahnirets nodded.

* * * * *

There was an indefinable feeling in the air that problems were imminent. Zund did his best to pay extra attention to his surroundings. Due to old age, his eyesight was deteriorating and his hearing was increasingly sensitive. Consequently, the town centre bustle was a strain on his nerves these days. Also, he didn’t like the trend for larger flat spaces in town. It wasn’t natural for those on foot. Whenever he could, he sought areas of rugged paving that felt safer and more stable. One of those areas ran right next to his vehicle in the parking lot, so he marched swiftly along it. He looked for his car in the appropriate spot but it wasn’t there. Instead of the blue-grey Eldsmoby there was a light green Fleater Special. He waited for a few minutes to see if someone would bring back his Eldsmoby. He wandered around the lot searching for his car but found nothing. He called some relatives and asked if they’d moved the car with their spare keys. They hadn’t but they promised to search in likely places. He walked along a few streets nearby but continued to find nothing. He asked a few passersby if they’d seen the car being taken but they hadn’t. He called the police to see if the car had been impounded but there was a constant busy tone. He called the police emergency number but was berated for misusing the service. He decided that the only thing to do was go to the police station himself. It was on the other side of town.

He cursed the inconvenience of the situation. As he sat at the public transport depot, waiting too long for a speedy-cab, he called his frail, elderly wife and told her that he’d be very late for dinner. She knew then not to cook for him until later. He wondered who would be desperate enough to steal an unfashionable Eldsmoby. Eventually, a stale-smelling speedy-cab took him to within walking distance of the police station. He struggled along the flat cement path to the station door. The building itself was of traditional construction with rough floors and hand holds, so Zund could climb in and walk through normally and easily. There was a queue, so Zund waited in the lobby with a few other people to see a duty officer. One of the women there was filling in a form, in preparation for her meeting with the officer. Zund could read some of the form from where he was sitting. There was information such as:

Time of incident: 82.5.13 Martunary
Date of incident: 435th, 20,778 Year of Herbit
Place of incident: Outside ‘Sweet Wiggler’s Spot’, Roughenough Road, Unim Town
Category of incident: Criminal damage
Description of incident: Several garden plants torn up and stolen, three garden ornaments smashed
Estimated cost of incident: 59 credits, 72 cents

This incident sounded very familiar because he’d planned it. He decided to keep quiet about it. He stopped reading the form and started perusing a magazine from a ledge next to him. He used the magazine to hide his face. The minutes ticked by and the queue shortened. Zund hoped that the woman would make her report and leave without seeing him. She was about to be called to the desk when an arrested man was brought into the station. Zund glanced at him. It was Difra, one of his great nephews. Difra scanned the room and spotted him.

“Uncle Zund, could you help me?” called out Difra. “Tell them I didn’t do it. I was in Aya Minei Village that day, wasn’t I?!”

“Zund, you’re here?!” said the woman suddenly, turning around and seeing him. “You no-good vittin puppet master, I’ll sort you out!” She rose and advanced on Zund. The duty officer saw what was happening and warned the woman to leave Zund alone.

“What’s the problem here?” asked the officer, coming forward into the waiting area.

“This old geezer Zund has been causing many problems for my family, particularly in the last few weeks,” said the woman bitterly. “You’ve got most of those cases on file.”

“Don’t touch him!” shouted Difra.

“Zund hasn’t been linked to any crimes around here, as far as I know,” said the officer. “People keep making accusations but nothing sticks.”

“That’s because he uses relatives to do his dirty work,” said the woman. “There’s one of them, in your custody.” She pointed at Difra.

“I’ve done nothing!” protested Difra.

“They have a code of silence,” explained the woman. “They won’t inform on each other but I know what they’re doing. I’ve seen it for many years.”

“Careful with those accusations, Bnishku,” said the officer. “We can’t take any actions without evidence.” Zund thought it best to leave the station and go home. He rose and moved toward the exit.

“You’re not going to slither out of this, Zund!” said Bnishku. Her patience had snapped. She launched herself at the old man and pushed him down to the ground. He fell on the uneven floor and felt a stab of pain. An arm and some ribs had been fractured in the fall. He yelled in agony as the duty officer restrained Bnishku and other officers came to help.

Hours later, Zund was in hospital. His broken arm had been reset, splinted and bound. His three broken ribs were so badly shattered that they’d have to be removed in an operation the next day. Several of his relatives were visiting but he couldn’t talk much on account of the broken ribs and the risk to his lungs.

“I promise you that we’ll punish Bnishku and her family,” said his son Yarx, when the doctors were out of earshot. “We can’t let up on them. They’re scum!” Zund groaned quietly and closed his eyes. He was worn out and the painkillers were dulling his senses.

“Did you find ... my car?” asked Zund quietly.

“Yes, it was where you left it,” replied Yarx. “At least that’s one piece of good news!”

“I could have sworn it ... wasn’t there,” said Zund. “I searched. Check the cameras. Someone must’ve messed with the car today.”

“I’ll try, Dad,” said Yarx. Zund fell into a deep sleep. Yarx and the other relatives hesitated for a minute and then saw that it was time for them to leave. Zund wouldn’t talk to them again for a while. They prayed silently for his recovery.

* * * * *

Officer Shrupley’s nerves were on edge this afternoon; more so than usual. She was heading to the Operational Gathering Chamber (OGC) for her 686th meeting since she joined the police. As she skittered down the familiar corridors, she heard various significant noises from the streets outside. There were shouts, house alarms, vehicle horns, clan chants and occasional screams. She couldn’t help but be disturbed ever so slightly by the urban cacophony. In recent weeks, it seemed to be ramping up slowly and steadily. Most people would dismiss it as coincidental but not those like her. As usual, she controlled her anxiety and approached the OGC. She went in, sat down and waited for the rest of the team to arrive.

“Did you go and help at the siege of Ifamerel Heights last night?” Shrupley asked her colleague Penvala, who took his seat in front of her.

“No, I was in the middle of dealing with a bad driver,” said Penvala. “The bozo knew that she’d been speeding and overtaking recklessly but denied it loudly for twenty five minutes. She was becoming threatening and abusive so I had to stay and deal with her properly.” Shrupley was concerned about Penvala’s priorities. She looked at Penvala’s partner Dubrieni, who was sitting to his left. Dubrieni shook his head as if to say that Penvala’s explanation was bogus.

“You’re supposed to respond to a major incident if you’re within range,” said Shrupley. “Two of us were injured at the siege.”

“I was almost out of range,” said Penvala. “If I’d have gone there, I would only have caught the last three minutes. Besides, don’t the roads need to be free of jerks? That woman could have killed people if I’d let her drive on.”

“Alright, perhaps you made the right call but you have to be careful,” said Shrupley. “Next time will probably be different.” Penvala met her gaze for a second and then turned toward the front once again. Being critiqued by colleagues wasn’t his favourite part of the job.

“This meeting will have to be very quick,” said Sergeant Graivsond, addressing the room from the front. “The overall situation out there is worsening, so we have to spend more time dealing with it and therefore less time in here. We’re seeing many more clean skins joining the criminal set. We must maintain our vigilance. There seems to be a general upsurge in petty crime. Many reports say that the perpetrators are acting out of character, as if they’ve suddenly stopped caring about social rules. Their friends and families are very concerned. The side effect is that those friends and families are panicking and causing further trouble inadvertently.”

“Word on the street is that there are more sub-criminal arguments and conflicts going on too,” said Officer Skiyo, who was sitting in the back row. “They’re fanning the flames. Clan wars may break out again.”

“I heard about it,” said Graivsond. “Unfortunately, we won’t be receiving additional help from the government. The problem is nationwide, if not international. I’d love to have more auxiliaries, counsellors, social workers and such on hand but there won’t be any. We all have to just do our best. Some non-essential leave will be cancelled. Skiyo, you and your partner Gurtsh will have to do some overtime in District 35.” Skiyo cursed under his breath.

“A few clans are already attacking each other,” said Officer Nopar, who was sitting next to Shrupley. “Do we come down hard on them?”

“Yes, where possible,” replied Graivsond. “However, we definitely won’t have time in every case. We’ll have to keep chewing away at the problem. If you can’t find the justification to arrest a perp for one crime, try to find it for another crime. Snag them by hook or by crook.”

“The prisons are nearly full,” Shrupley pointed out. “They should reach capacity in a few months.”

“That’s beyond our jurisdiction,” said Graivsond. “The politicians will have to handle it. They could double up in cells or reopen some of the mine jails.”

“I don’t like those options, Sir!” said Shrupley. “They’re too harsh. There’ll be prison riots.”

“That’s reality,” said Graivsond. “We have to get used to it or find some other radical, cheap solution. If any of you find out what’s causing the upsurge, we’d all be very grateful indeed. Is it drugs, the media, the weather, a secret craze, traffic pollution or toxic mould? Send answers to my office as soon as possible, please.”

“In the meantime, we can increase our pursuit of fines for minor crimes,” said Officer Tchaploe, who was in the second row from the back. “We need the cash now more than ever.”

“Again, do so wherever possible,” agreed Graivsond. “Now, I’m going to give you the new duty rotations. I want some of you to spend time patrolling neighbouring areas, to seek out new leads and angles.” Graivsond rattled through the list, answered half a dozen little questions and then sent his officers back to their duties. Shrupley braced herself mentally for whatever the next few weeks might bring. She wondered if there would be ways for her to limit her workload. If she could make some major arrests, the crime rate might drop in her area. Alternatively, she would have to pace herself. Penvala might have been right, she conceded. As she walked down the corridor, she looked out of the window. The red sky was mostly clear but there were large, dark purple clouds in the distance. It was worrying how the weather seemed to comment on her situation sometimes.

* * * * *

Spadraye sat on a ridge-bench not far from his local high street. This new area was becoming more familiar to him. After he’d moved into the house recommended by Gienetur, he’d had to explore the area in order to find the necessary services. Today, he’d been touring local businesses and the employment exchange, seeking work. He’d filled in some applications but now he couldn’t do any more since business hours had just ended. He was contemplating what and where to eat. His funds were dwindling, so he thought it wise to find a cheaper option. Where was a cost-effective place for a good meal? He was still thinking when an attractive woman in a business suit sat down next to him. Her breathing was fairly heavy and she looked tired after a day of work. Immediately, Spadraye saw an opportunity.

“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” he said in an upbeat tone. “Are you catching your breath before you go home to your delightful family?”

“Oh hello,” said the woman. “I am catching my breath but the family is yet to materialise.” She smiled at him. Her eyes were sparkling. Spadraye found them captivating.

“So there’s no one to cook for you except yourself?” he asked. “I was just wondering where to get dinner. Perhaps you’d like to join me? It’s my treat.”

“What a generous offer!” said the woman, her smile broadening. “I don’t normally do this but I like your charm and chivalry. What did you have in mind?”

“The ‘Two Fly on the Twig’ restaurant is close by,” said Spadraye. “I’m Spadraye and I’m new in town. I’m trying to get to know the place and the people.”

“I’m Tokise,” said Tokise, offering her hand. “I’ve been here for a few years. I like that restaurant. I’d be happy to share your company.” Spadraye shook her hand.

“Well, this is excellent,” he said. “I’m glad that I offered. Shall we go there now? I could carry your bag for you.”

“You’re so kind!” replied Tokise, handing him her weighty bag. “It’s been a trying day at work. There’s been a lot of pressure. Supervisors watch me most of the time. They seem to place many obstacles in my way. There’s not much I can do about it, though. I simply persevere and think positive.” Spadraye smiled as his left arms strained to hold the bag, which was firmly closed with straps and buckles. What was making it so heavy? He would try to ask about it later. They walked to the restaurant and ordered a meal. Spadraye wanted to spend less but found himself doing the opposite. Tokise selected some expensive courses. Spadraye didn’t want to appear too poor so he chose courses with average prices.

The meal and conversation went very well. Clearly, they had picked good options from the menu. Tokise was very well-mannered and also knowledgeable. She and Spadraye talked about a wide range of topics, such as work, unemployment, family matters, social unrest, money, holidays, books, broadcasts and styles. Spadraye minimised mentions of his previous partner because that was a known turn-off. Although the lighting in the restaurant was on the dim side, Tokise’s eyes continued to glisten as much as before. It was uncanny. Just before the final drink of the night, she excused herself to use the lavatory. Before she went, she gave Spadraye a book to flick through, asking him to give her his opinion on it. She’d liked it and hoped that he would too. It was a mass-market, flimsy printing but it was an absorbing novel about weird aliens ‘shluking’ and banishing other aliens. He became engrossed in the page-turner and several minutes passed before he realised that Tokise hadn’t returned. He continued waiting and reading. Presumably, Tokise’s ‘duty’ was greater than expected. After twenty minutes, he asked the waiters and waitresses if they’d seen her. They told him that she’d left quietly about fifteen minutes ago, while he’d been reading. Apparently, she’d told a waiter that she had to go and collect her husband from a long-distance transit hub. Spadraye’s hearts sank.

“She gave me her business card,” he said as he paid the bill. “She was so pleasant. I never thought that she could be deceptive.” A waitress looked at the business card.

“Hmm, this says ‘Tokise’ but last week she was called ‘Moudemai’,” said the waitress. “I was here. I saw her with another man. He didn’t complain about her, though.”

“You should warn people about her!” said Spadraye as he turned to leave.

“We’ll do our best, Sir,” said a waiter, although he didn’t mean it. Restaurant staff members were supposed to serve, not tattle on valuable customers. As he walked home sullenly, Spadraye rang the number on Tokise’s card. He reached voicemail and started to leave a message.

“Tokise, I know that isn’t your real name,” he said. “I just found out that you lied to me. I thought that you were unattached but then you said that you had a husband. I’m very disappointed ...”

“Wrong number, Mr. Stumble Fingers!” said a different woman, cutting in on the voicemail. “Don’t you lecture me about husbands and lying. It’s incredibly rude and I don’t want to hear anything else from you. My husband’s four metres tall and bad-tempered.” The call cut off. Tokise’s number had been a lie too.

“Damn it all!” muttered Spadraye loudly. This was yet another thing to chalk up to experience. What had been in her bag, though? He remembered feeling the outside of it and the probable answer flashed into his mind. The bag had been full of stolen clothes, complete with the shops’ hangers. She was more of a serial offender than he’d realised!

* * * * *

“Ganylerr, please could you fetch your parents for us?” begged Vnex through the front door. “We’d like to end the grudges and the attacks. We want everything to be better for both our families.” The young Ganylerr stared at Vnex and his wife through the door. She hated the sight of them and was reluctant to help them, even if it might benefit her. They’d probably been involved in the mistreatment of her sister Hahnirets, if only indirectly. Her sister’s break-up was now having greater effects on her family and the wider neighbourhood. After a few moments, she called for her father. She didn’t hurry and neither did he. Gondil shuffled slowly to the door and opened it.

“I’m happy to see you, Gondil!” said Vnex. “Would it be alright if we came in for a short while to discuss a resolution to our discord?” Gondil glanced at them. His emotions were complex. His normal dislike of Vnex and Lopotym was there but also relief that here was a chance of a ‘peace settlement’. At the same time, he was still a little concerned about Hahnirets’ break-up’s after-effects. Also, he was saddened by a crisis in his own relationship. Still, he felt that it was time to put an end to the petty fighting between the two families. He beckoned Vnex and Lopotym inside and led them to the sitting room.

“Please sit down while we fetch you a little drink,” he said, trying to smile but hardly succeeding. “Ganylerr, bring the well-aged Drevai juice and four glasses for us. Please don’t make a scene. Just do it, there’s a good girl.” Ganylerr cast him a withering glance and went to the pantry for the juice.

“Why four glasses?” she asked as she went. “Mum’s left home and I abstain.”

“Now she abstains!” said Gondil quietly to his guests. “What was she drinking last night, then? She’s just trying to look superior.” Vnex and Lopotym smiled briefly.

“You know, your timing’s impeccable,” Gondil continued. “You come here with your proposal exactly when my life’s been pushed further into chaos. I’m afraid to say that my wife Triana has gone away. It’s supposed to be for a week but I strongly suspect that she won’t come back. We had a short, sharp argument last night. I haven’t told anyone except you and my daughter.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Vnex, holding up the mask of civility firmly. “I never expected it. Are you willing to elaborate?”

“She’s tired of the feuding and the resultant problems,” replied Gondil. “I guess that we finally went too far. She’s gone abroad for a solo vacation. I was going to accompany her but she refused. After a week in Rilinazy, she’s going to stay with relatives up North. I’ve no idea if she’ll return, except to fetch her belongings.”

“At least you have time to discuss things with us now,” said Lopotym. “We’re hoping to avoid more incidents like the one with the dan kakul and the paint.”

“That sort of thing has got us nowhere,” said Gondil. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was overcome with anger after seeing Hahnirets so distraught. Now that Triana’s gone, maybe forever, it’s clear that we must stop any hostile actions against each other. I’ll tell my brood to cease and desist.”

“We’ll do the same with ours,” said Vnex. “Not that we’ve done much in that regard lately. It hasn’t seemed worth the effort. My boy Spadraye is going through his own turmoil. We don’t want any trouble with the authorities. I’m sure you’ve noticed the increased police presence.”

“Yes, we’ve had a few brushes with the law these past few weeks,” said Gondil. “The youngsters were lucky to escape with only cautions.” Ganylerr came into the room with a rack of glasses and juice bottles.

“Thank you dear,” said Gondil. “Now, I want you to sit down, have a drink and stop lying to our new friends. The good relations start now and I don’t want any back-sliding, is that clear?” Ganylerr was surprised to be spoken to this way by her father in front of guests but she knew that he meant well, so she complied. They all had a conversation about the change in the air these last few days. Many people across the region were reporting that certain activities seemed increasingly pointless, so they were being halted forthwith. Later, Vnex and Lopotym went home with much greater optimism. Gondil felt foolish that he’d wasted time, effort and goodwill on feuding but now he was trying to make amends and that felt worthwhile. Maybe it would lure Triana back? Ganylerr called her sister for a long, reassuring chat.

* * * * *

The two namus stared at Hahnirets in terror as she took a thin metal straw from the dispenser. They were clever animals but not clever enough. They’d been raiding crops somewhere in the west but they’d been captured and sold as live meat. Now, they were clamped firmly to small pedestals in one of the family dining rooms. They’d been gagged but their muffled screams were still fairly loud. They knew what was coming. Hahnirets regarded them with cool detachment. They looked so gangly and exposed without the stolen fabrics that they normally draped around themselves. They only had two arms, two legs and one heart each. Their skin was light brown in some areas and pink in others. They couldn’t spin webs or climb easily, so they were at a great disadvantage in the survival race. The diners gathered around, raised their metal straws and plunged them into the namus’ quivering bodies. Then, they leant forward and did their best to suck out all the namus’ blood. It was difficult since the people were packed closely together. The namus both urinated and defecated involuntarily into buckets placed underneath them. They screamed and struggled until they lost their strength and consciousness. Hahnirets’ straw was lodged under the female’s mammary gland. Soon, she found herself unable to extract more blood, so she swapped places with a friend and sucked blood from the male instead. He was a little larger and thus had more blood. Only a few minutes later, the namus were drained and dying. Their blood had been good quality, probably because they’d been quite young and healthy. The diners felt invigorated. The rota waiting staff carried the namus back to the kitchen, made sure that they were dead and chopped them up small as food for scavengers. People didn’t much care for the taste of namu flesh, only the blood.

“That was top quality, Olnivae,” said Hahnirets to the hostess. “I only wish that we didn’t have to crowd around.”

“I’ve tried the long straw method but it’s trickier,” said Olnivae. “Straws are dropped and have to be reinserted. Penetration can be insufficiently deep. Some people accidentally suck out the bowel and bladder contents. Don’t forget that it’s a big effort to suck blood through a long, narrow tube. Last but not least, the namus suffer for longer. Overall, it’s an inferior approach.”

“I’m just amazed that we can still hunt those creatures,” said Hahnirets. “They’re so weak and poorly adapted. They should have been wiped out centuries ago.”

“Apparently, the conservation projects have been very successful,” said Olnivae. “Enough people are sticking to the quotas. Poachers aren’t popular. Most people want to protect stocks of namus. I play my part by limiting myself to ten per year.”

“Have you heard anything about Uncle Zund?” asked Hahnirets. “I heard that his operation was successful.”

“He’s an old man and his energy is declining,” said Olnivae, thinking of her own advancing years. “I suspect that his lifetime is drawing to an end. His sons say that there’s nerve damage in the arm. He might not regain full function. He’ll have to protect his damaged ribcage for the rest of his days. The surgeons could fix it but the trauma of the operation is too dangerous, in their opinion. If they put in artificial ribs, there are risks of slippage, perforated lung and infection.”

“So he’ll have to slow down,” said Hahnirets. “That’s just as well given that Vnex and Dad have called a truce. We can’t go on stirring up trouble in the region forever, can we?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying for decades,” said Olnivae with a little sigh and a look of resignation. “These hot heads don’t listen to anyone. Their egos rule them. By the way, how’s yours? Are you coping with separation?”

“I think that I’m bouncing back,” replied Hahnirets. “I found a new man called Posipun. He’s nearly twenty years younger than me. He’s putting me through my paces and teaching me a few new things.”

“Oh, is he here?” asked Olnivae, keen to meet another young man.

“Unfortunately not because he had to complete a college assignment,” replied Hahnirets. “That’s what he claimed, anyway. It’s a let-down. I hope that he hasn’t got a girl on the side.”

“Try not to worry about it,” said Olnivae, who’d been jilted a few times in her youth. “Many things are beyond your control. While you’re here, enjoy the buffet. I prepared a lot of it myself. Don’t let it go to waste.” Hahnirets took her cue and went to sample the finger food. At the table, she chose a selection of manufactured morsels. Finally, she reached for a few lacid strings. She ate one and discovered that it was whitus flavour, which she liked. The second one was longer. She lifted it off her plate and saw that it was over a metre long. It was a manufacturing error. It reminded her of Posipun and their nights together. She closed her eyes and imagined him filling her footles, making all her clusters pulse and her organs hum. The memory was fresh. Her reverie was sudden and deep. It was as if he was still with her. She felt a hand on her softorns.

“You look like you’re having fun!” said a man on her left. “Have you shaken off the malign influence of Spadraye already?” She turned to look at him, feeling flustered. He was the one touching her. It was Cousin Ikyar. He withdrew his hand. He was friendly enough but a little irritating. He was only tolerable in small doses.

“Erm, I’m trying to shake it off,” she said, her voice quavering slightly. “I’d be able to do it sooner if people didn’t keep reminding me of him!” She smiled to show that she was trying to make a joke. She noticed that her voice was alternating between her normal high register and the lower one that she used with partners in private. She tried to shift completely into the higher register.

“What a klutz I am!” said Ikyar. “I should watch what I say. How’s your new life working out? Your family must be happy to see you more often.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” replied Hahnirets. “It doesn’t always work out that way with us. Dad’s been very preoccupied. He keeps sneaking off to other rooms, buildings or even towns. He doesn’t stay around me too much. Mum’s been doing the same lately, only more so. Ganylerr is happy to chat but she’s shallow and mainly focused on mundane and trivial things. She’s secretly glad that my relationship broke down. My closer cousins visit now and then. They stomp around and describe their activities bluntly. Generally, they repeat the same pastimes and don’t change much. Because of all this, I’ve been trying to stay away from all of them whenever possible. Now, I’ve found a new man. Let’s just say he’s a great improvement on his predecessor!” Ikyar could see that her softorns were flushing yellow and green as she spoke, which indicated that she meant what she said about this man.

“That’s marvellous news!” said Ikyar. “I’m so happy for you. Speaking of great partners, have you met my wife? Chrella, could you come over here and speak to Cousin Hahnirets if you’re not busy?” Chrella scuttled forward.

“I don’t think that we’ve had the pleasure,” said Hahnirets, extending her hands. “I guess that our schedules never crossed before.”

“Quite possibly, darling!” said Chrella, smiling and shaking Hahnirets’ hands enthusiastically. “I’m a very busy woman. My family life is hectic enough but I’m also deputy assistant clerical supervisor in the Rinthylab Caverns Water Board Administration Headquarters, Agriveburgh. I’ll have to tell you all about it; otherwise you won’t understand my terms of reference later on.”

“Oh, I see,” said Hahnirets, her spirits starting to sink. “I’m in the dark about those caverns and their precious water.”

“Never mind, I’m a flaming torch to light your way!” said Chrella.

“As long as you don’t drop that torch in the water!” added Ikyar. They both laughed at their pet joke. Hahnirets gave a false smile and pretended to be interested in water management. This could be a long, boring night.

Later, Hahnirets excused herself and went to the kitchen to fetch more bottles of drevai juice. She wanted to go back to Posipun but she felt obliged to stay for the small talk. If she didn’t make an effort, she’d lose touch with some relatives. She took four bottles but then she heard unusual sounds outside the kitchen. She put the bottles in a wall rack for safety and went over to see what was happening. Through the kitchen door, she saw someone at the bottom of the garden. It might have been a helper, taking out the scraps. She opened the door and called out to the person.

“Can you help me with the juice and glasses please?” she said fairly loudly. “I don’t want to drop any and break them.” The person stood up straight and looked at her. It was a man but he was very big. He was actually much taller than the three-metre plant support poles. As far as she knew, no one in Olnivae’s household was that tall. The man stared at her for a few seconds and then turned away. He stepped to the side, as if he was going to climb over the small fence into the neighbour’s garden.

“Olnivae, there might be an intruder in your garden,” called Hahnirets. “Are you there?” No one inside actually heard her over the sound of conversation and music. The man heard her, though. Something made him change his mind and charge at her. She didn’t see him coming since her head was turned away at that exact moment. In a flash, he was next to her. He pulled her out of the kitchen and threw her onto a large, thick bush. She was taken by surprise. He towered over her, glaring at her. She looked at him and was astonished. He was similar to a man but a different species. He seemed like something from an urban legend. He reached for her. She shot webs at him, trying to tangle his arms. With a snarl, he tore off the webs and stuck them to another bush. He grabbed her by the jacket, lifted her with his two left arms and smacked her across the face with a right arm. The blow was only a minor one but Hahnirets could tell that he was immensely strong. She had to surrender, so she went limp. He watched her carefully. She didn’t dare scream.

The creature calmed down quickly and then ran his fingers over her softorns. She guessed that he liked them. They’d been in good colour tonight, as she’d seen in the mirror. Just then, she saw his footle caps judder and pop open. Vittin lorks, surely this wasn’t happening! The thing was smiling and his stalks were hovering over her head. Where were her relatives? Someone had to save her! His stalks tapped her footle caps. There was no way out. She took a deep breath. She’d have to do this. Then, he might leave and hunters could pursue and destroy. She opened her footle caps and he rammed his thick stalks into her footles. Reluctantly, she put her stalks into his footles and started to search for zones that she could stimulate. As he pulsed away roughly inside her, bumping her organs and clusters in a simplistic way, she spent a minute evaluating and testing his innards. They weren’t too different to other men’s, only everything was larger. She had a sudden idea. She knew her prime target. He wriggled around like a pair of serpents in her passages, spreading seed copiously but failing to satisfy. The brute had no finesse. She stroked his serinic regions to promote calmness and elation. His smile grew. She pressed against arteries in his central heart to slow down the beat. He started to wilt and slow his copulation. She targeted a main artery leading to the brain, to knock him out. He didn’t know what was happening. A few moments later, he fell asleep and collapsed onto a bush. Swiftly, she pulled out his stalks and extricated her own from him. The latter she refolded and returned to their compartments. She’d wash them later. It was over. She could hardly believe what had just happened. She closed her footle-caps and crouched next to her vanquished attacker. He seemed to be one of the mythical ‘High Wood Savages’. They’d been seen in distant lands before but never captured. How did he get here, across the wide ocean? This was a first! She hoped that it was the only first, though. The deep recesses of her body were now swamped with his savage man love. What would it achieve down there?!

“OLNIVAE!” she yelled. “A LITTLE HELP OVER HERE!”

* * * * *

“Heh heh, what are you doing now?” giggled Hursmet as Spadraye leant across the table and looked closely into her eyes.

“You’re so beautiful, I can’t resist taking in all the amazing views!” explained Spadraye. “I love this red eyeliner and blue mascara. They’re a super-signal, alright!” He could also see that she didn’t have that weird ‘Tokise’ glow in her eyes, so she was normal in that respect.

“A girl has to use her tricks to get results!” said Hursmet as Spadraye pulled back to a normal seated position.

“Oh, you’ll get them tonight,” said Spadraye. “You’ve excelled yourself. I’m amazed how we’re on the same wavelength. We understand each other very well, considering we only met two hours ago.”

“Well, I’m so glad that we have mutual interests,” said Hursmet, gazing into his eyes. “I never knew that knowledge of hookball would hook me a hunk like you!” This was going so well. Was it too good to be true? Hursmet hoped that it wouldn’t all fall apart like the date last month.

“Even an old cliché like that sounds fresh and funny coming from you!” said Spadraye. “You’ve got a talent for presentation, that’s for sure. Maybe you can find a job soon where you can use that. I hope you can find an appropriate career where you can support yourself and find fulfilment.”

“Thank you for wishing me well,” said Hursmet. “It’s been a struggle since I had to leave my old job. Those procedures I had were painful but I healed and things are looking up. I’m considering a change in direction. I’d like to do something related to negotiations. That could be in the corporate sector, a charity or a government department. I’m wondering if I could be a diplomat...”

“Or even an ambassador,” said Spadraye. “You’ve already talked your way into my good books. It won’t be hard to do the same with others. You might be sent to an exotic country, where the nights are always above freezing. I could go with you and we’d have a fine time together.”

“We would, wouldn’t we?” said Hursmet, starting to believe that this could work. “Maybe we could take a trip somewhere together, to see how we synergise?”

“That’s an excellent idea!” said Spadraye. “I’ll be starting my new job soon. I’ll save up some money and we could take a little budget holiday in sunny Ibbet-Tha or wherever else is affordable.”

“I hope that those resorts don’t leave an unpleasant aftertaste, like this drink,” said Hursmet. “I won’t have another of these ‘Chimney Unblockers’. My next drink will have to be a palate cleanser.” She searched for cash in her many pockets but only found a few coins.

“Will there be anything else, Ma’am?” asked a waiter, who’d been ‘hovering’ nearby.

“Why yes, certainly!” replied Hursmet with a grin. “Bring me your finest ... tap water, if you please. A large glass will quench my thirst and remove the previous sickly remnants from my mouth.”

“Very well, Ma’am,” said the waiter, slightly insulted but not showing it. “And for you, Sir?”

“I’ll have to follow her example,” said Spadraye. “Money’s tight for both of us. We’re too proud to ask our families for further hand-outs.” The waiter nodded and went to fetch water.

“You’re right,” said Hursmet. “I simply couldn’t ask Daddy for extra, after the thousands that he shelled out last year. He’s such a hero to me. He went above and beyond the call of duty. Just to be absolutely clear, you do know what I had done last year, don’t you?”

“Well, I’ve seen a few little scars on you,” said Spadraye. “You’ve had some cosmetic surgery to bring your appearance in line with your amazing personality. It was a complete success, in my opinion.”

“No, that’s not the whole story,” said Hursmet. “Did you read what it said in my bio on the dating site?”

“Do you mean the awful story of your misaligned jaws and childhood bullying?” said Spadraye. “I’ll do everything I can to make you feel better about yourself.”

“But there’s more to it than that...” said Hursmet. At that moment, Spadraye received an urgent call.

“Oh, I’m sorry but this is a ‘red’ call,” he said. “I’ve never had one before. I must take it.” He connected himself to the caller and listened for half a minute.

“She’s done what?!” he exclaimed. “With whom? Oh, not whom? With WHAT?!” His expression shifted to one of great surprise and concern. Half a minute later, the call ended.

“There’s been an emergency,” he said anxiously. “My ex has been attacked. We’re not good friends right now but I should go to her, for old times’ sake.”

“Attacked? That’s terrible news,” said Hursmet. “You should go to her. By the way, I used to be a man.” She was determined to get her point across. A flicker of extra dismay passed across Spadraye’s face but then he masked it.

“Hold that thought,” he said. “I’m sorry to leave so suddenly. I’ll call again tomorrow and we can arrange further dates. I promise that we’ll have more great times in future.”

“Spadraye dear, can’t I come with you?” queried Hursmet. “I’m not a fragile china doll. I could meet some of your family and friends, although not in the best circumstances.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to get involved with my ‘odd bunch’,” said Spadraye. “On reflection, I suppose that you’d have to sooner or later. Let’s go, then. Here’s hoping it doesn’t cause us any problems.” They left the bar together and went to see Hahnirets in hospital. The waiter brought the tap water too late, so he drank it himself and cursed all the stingy customers.

* * * * *

“Are you satisfied?” said Hahnirets as she hung upside down from her own webs on the hospital ceiling. “If you’d been man enough to stay with me, this could have been avoided. Now, I have to stay here for a few days while the cryptid jism trickles out of me. You’d better hope that I don’t start having ‘hybrid savage babies’.”

“Are you always like this?” asked Hursmet, irked by Hahnirets’ hostility. “I don’t think that it’s a good time for you to vomit your bile. You need to sort yourself out first.”

“Hmm, who’ve you dragged into this Spadraye?” said Hahnirets, glancing at Hursmet. “I can tell that you’re overcompensating for something, Miss Latest Victim. Why so much make-up, eh? You look a little masculine. Your arms are skinny but the bone structure is man-like.” Hursmet felt a tap on her right footle-cap. It popped open for a moment. As she turned to see what was happening, a stalk plunged halfway into the footle channel and the tip felt her testicle.

“Yeah, you’re a man,” said Hahnirets, whipping her stalk out of Hursmet’s footle quicker than Hursmet could grab it. “I was so right to leave you, Spadraye. This is how you really are.”

“You insolent she-devil!” hissed Hursmet, swinging a fist at Hahnirets. Spadraye blocked it with two of his arms. He was dismayed that his ex was treating his date with such disregard.

“For your information, I couldn’t have fought off the savage,” said Spadraye to Hahnirets as he dragged Hursmet out of the room. “I’m too PUNY, remember?! Use your brain to THINK, not just to insult.”

“Do the same, dimwit!” retorted Hahnirets. “Choose someone who can be fertilised, if that’s what you want.”

“It’s the modern age!” said Spadraye. “There are alternatives now. In the meantime, we’re leaving you to nurse your bitterness.” The door closed. Spadraye and Hursmet trotted away down the corridor.

“Well, that was short and ghastly,” said Hursmet. “Visiting time was more than adequate. I can’t believe that you lived with ... that.”

“Let’s go and talk to her father Gondil,” said Spadraye. “He’s more civil, most of the time.” They went to a waiting room at the end of the corridor, where they found Gondil. He was trying to decide what kind of meat juice to buy from the vending machine.

“I don’t think we have to worry about your daughter’s welfare,” said Hursmet. “She’s in a foul mood and her stalks are lightning fast. It’s probably more sensible to worry about that captured savage man.”

“The infamous man-beast has my emotions so mixed up!” said Gondil as he inserted money into the machine. “When I first heard about the assault, I was absolutely petrified. I thought that my daughter had been hurt. Then, it turned out that she was basically fine and she’d rendered him unconscious with her stalks! I was incredibly proud of her. She has such courage and adaptability. Also, she’s single-handedly opened up a new field of science. The zoologists are cock-a-hoop. You should see them! I never imagined that my Hahni would be the one to capture a High Woods Savage for the first time!”

“She may have traumatic shock,” said Spadraye. “I know I would, if I was attacked by the beast.”

“Yes, you have some experience of that already!” said Gondil with a wry smile. Spadraye shrugged: Gondil was referring to his failed relationship with Hahnirets.

“I’m going to play it safe here and not laugh,” said Hursmet. “Does anyone know how the creature reached our continent? That’s the real mystery.”

“Presumably, it stowed away on a cargo ship,” replied Gondil. “There could have been piles of food onboard. If so, that would have been an irresistible draw. I imagine that it was stealing food at night when it found itself suddenly at sea.”

“It’s too much of a coincidence for my liking,” said Spadraye. “Our lives have been hit by many setbacks lately. Perhaps someone arranged this attack on Hahnirets but I can’t imagine how they achieved it. Who can control the beast once it’s loose?”

“Definitely not me!” said Gondil. “I’ve done bits and bobs through the years but a caper like this would be unbelievable, even supernatural. Besides, now I have a brother and a daughter in the same hospital at the same time. I’m too preoccupied.”

“Is there any chance of Hahnirets becoming pregnant?” asked Hursmet. “That would be freaky!”

“We don’t know yet,” replied Gondil. “Scientists are studying the savage intensively: genetically, physiologically, behaviourally and psychologically. He’s not happy, of course. He’s smashing whatever he can in his cage. He’s eating a few meals but probably not enough. He doesn’t trust some of our food. He doesn’t like our foreign scents either. He’s very unsettled. Eventually, he should be sent back home. The trouble is that no one knows where he originated. The High Woods are very large, covering thousands of square kilometres.”

“I think that Hahni’s internal defences are very strong,” said Spadraye. “We were together for a few years and she always resisted becoming pregnant.”

“One of the first things she did after the attack was hang herself upside down with caps open,” said Gondil. “When she wants to avoid conception, she does all that she can.”

“Spadraye, I think we’re done here,” said Hursmet. “Your ex is fine. She doesn’t need us. Let’s go and enjoy the rest of the night.”

“My wife Triana did the same,” said Gondil. “She visited but then departed soon after. This whole crazy incident turned out not to be such an emergency after all. I’m only staying here because Hahnirets still needs a few things brought in and I don’t have anything better to do. You kids go and have fun.” Spadraye and Hursmet walked away down the corridor.

“I wanted FRESH gankifliuw!” shouted Hahnirets from her room as they passed by. There was a splat as a parcel of vacuum-packed gankifliuw hit the wall. The food deliverer climbed out of the room and went back to the kitchens. She hated these difficult patients, who were becoming more numerous lately. A cleaner was summoned to remove the hurled ration pack. Spadraye and Hursmet left gladly.

* * * * *

“They’ve stopped to arrest a reckless driver,” said Munmith, checking his hacked camera feed. “They should still be here in a few minutes, though. I don’t like this. We’re cutting it fine.” He looked around the safe house. This had been a relatively good secret base, until the police had traced it. The heating worked and the seats were comfortable. Munmith was sad that the gang was about to abandon it.

“Two servings of troatgagher, five monnobraus, three fang-slits, two brush-edges and an unmentionable glory,” said Tokise, ordering takeaway from a nearby outlet. “Throw in fifteen grottiboos to wash it all down. Charge it to Mrs. Dooptagen, 2318 4811 9766 2817, 4155, 964.”

“Must you do that?” queried Munmith.

“Of course she must,” said group leader Avarax. “We can’t alert them to our imminent departure. We have to appear sedentary. I’m grateful that Mrs. Dooptagen is so generous, buying us so much food and drink. She doesn’t even know she’s doing it yet!” He winked at Munmith.

“I really love you, I promise,” said Netiosh, calling her boyfriend. “Tomorrow night, I’ll come round to see you. We’ll have plenty of web play. We’ll do it on every wall of the courtyard. Until then, I’m staying right here. We’re lying low.” She ended the call.

“Thanks for that, Neti,” said Avarax, rubbing her softorns seductively. “It will fool the cops even more. Now, we have to wrap it up. Everyone, get into the tunnel. Let’s go to our getaway vehicle in the next block. Tokise, you’ll be the one to hide the tunnel entrance this time.”

“No problem boss,” said Tokise, rising from her couch and beginning to rearrange furniture. “I’ll stall them really well.” She smiled confidently. Avarax nodded. Tokise was improving markedly with recent experience of gang tactics. Avarax, Netiosh and Munmith took their compact personal tech, climbed into the tunnel and scuttled rapidly to their escape point. Tokise closed the hatch, covered it with bulky furniture and placed small objects all around it, to clutter the area. Next, she climbed up to the next floor where she could see the police convoy approaching. She used her secret, special talent to hijack two small raptocopters remotely. One of these aircraft landed on the road ahead of the convoy, which was forced to stop. The other raptocopter landed behind the convoy, preventing an easy escape. The police saw what had happened and ran from their vehicles, fearing a deadly ambush. They took cover in a large shop doorway down the street and called for backup. Meanwhile, the two raptocopter pilots were unable to restart their engines and were obliged to call for urgent police assistance.

“Tell the reinforcements to stay clear of the area!” warned Sgt. Graivsond as he spoke to his control room. “A coordinated terror attack could be imminent. We need to establish a safety perimeter. The situation looks very serious.” As he spoke, a lone scooter rider weaved through the stationary traffic.

“Is that rider a terrorist or a clueless civilian?!” wondered Officer Dubrieni aloud. “There’s no time to reach them. We could try a shot.” He reached for his gun.

“Wait, we don’t know what they’ll do ...” said Graivsond. Right then, the scooter rider tossed an unknown packet into the middle of the convoy. Everyone waited. The rider zoomed past and escaped into side streets. The packet didn’t explode but a cloud of gas or smoke rose over the convoy.

“What was that?” asked Officer Quing.

“DAN KAKUL!” yelled a motorist next to the second raptocopter. “RUN!” All the civilians on the road left the area as fast as they could, some driving and others on foot. The police were left frustrated, having been outmanoeuvred comprehensively by this resourceful gang.

“You’ve contaminated our cars with that stink, Avarax!” said Graivsond, deeply annoyed. “That’ll only make us more determined to catch you and your crew.” His statement of intent was for his squad rather than the fleeing Avarax.

“This is getting a lot more serious,” warned Officer Shrupley. “He brought down raptocopters on us. What else can he do now? We need to investigate more thoroughly.”

“Yes, yes, I agree,” said Graivsond grudgingly. “That jumped-up hoodlum gets me fuming like a damp barbecue!” The convoy police went to organise part of the perimeter while back-up started to arrive. Meanwhile, two kilometres away, Tokise was monitoring local communications. She’d caused considerable congestion in the area, giving her fellow criminals plenty of time to escape. She was pleased with her performance. She scattered tyre-bursting spikelets on the road, broke a window on a light goods vehicle and then rode off to rejoin the gang at the prearranged rendezvous. Although she was nominally a gangster, her personal mission of widespread urban sabotage was still running in parallel.

* * * * *

“Posipun, please try harder,” said Mahzipun, gripping and pulling with three hands. “I know that you haven’t done this since you were a boy but it’s vitally important now.”

“Aaaahhhh, it hurts so much!” shrieked Posipun. “It’s so bruised and inflamed!”

“We know son but be brave and work with us,” said Eyklayr. “The doctors have to see underneath. If they can’t, they might miss something and fail to heal you.”

“I have anti-inflammatories and anaesthetics if you like,” said a doctor called Ophastrez. “This doesn’t have to be an ordeal.”

“I don’t think that those will be necessary,” said Hahnirets. “He’s a big boy. He can take it. We can retract this, er, sleeve naturally.” Posipun was about to object when Hahnirets stopped him with a stern glance. Ophastrez sighed and climbed out of the room to check on other patients.

“Mum, could you stop yanking on it?” begged Posipun. “You’re not positioned right. You’re hurting me very badly.” Mahzipun apologised and let go for a minute.

“We have to work together,” said Hahnirets, hanging upside down from her own webs. “I’ll pull the top side, Daddy Eyklayr can pull the left and Mummy Mahzipun can pull the right. Remember that Posipun can’t help much because of his injuries.” They all grabbed handfuls of skin and pulled steadily. Bit by bit, the reddish-purple organ tip beneath was exposed. Posipun’s hearts hammered and he tried to think calming thoughts as the stinging and pressure intensified. Moments later, he felt Hahnirets’ stalks stroking his softorns, which relaxed him. Steadily, the skin was rolled back and the organ shaft was left fully exposed.

“Ophastrez, we’ve done it!” said Hahnirets, retracting her stalks. “You can come and inspect it now.” Mahzipun had seen what Hahnirets had done with her stalks. She wanted to tell her not to use them in front of her. However, she saw that the stalks had been very useful, so she didn’t say anything.

“I haven’t seen it like this for at least fifteen years,” said Mahzipun. “It’s much bigger now: at least a metre long and so thick.”

“It’s truly the organ shaft of a hero,” commented Eyklayr. “It’s throbbing powerfully. I can’t see any obvious injuries or infections on it.” Ophastrez climbed back into the room and examined the shaft closely, stroking it to check for tell-tale lumps and bumps. He had to be most careful because it was very sensitive. As he worked, Posipun couldn’t help but react with little gasps and moans.

“Yes, the circulation is good and the damage is minimal,” said Ophastrez. “The lung area is pumping harder because of the pain, as is the central heart and the lower heart. The kidneys are fine, the liver’s got an ideal colour and the digestive tract is chuntering along normally. A little savage sperm has seeped onto the cleft at the rear tip but I can wipe that off. The small skin tear will repair itself in a few weeks.” He wiped the tip with an antiseptic cloth, which stung Posipun further but prevented infection. While he was there, he inserted a needle and took a small blood sample for laboratory testing. Posipun whimpered as one of his most sensitive areas was pierced.

“Thank you, doctor!” said Mahzipun. “You’ve been very patient with us. I’m sure that Posipun’s learnt his lesson.”

“I should hope so!” said Ophastrez. “I’ve never seen wounds quite like these before. He was lucky to escape with his life.”

“That big tarantula man turned the tables on you, didn’t he Pos?!” said Eyklayr, proud and relieved that his adopted son had survived the attack.

“Posipun needs time to rest and heal now,” said Ophastrez. “I know that you care about your boy but you should go home now, Mahzipun and Eyklayr. You can see him again tomorrow.”

“Wait, don’t go yet!” said Posipun. “I can’t push the skin back down. I need help for that as well. Please don’t leave my organ shaft dangling!” Mahzipun, Eyklayr and Hahnirets took hold of Posipun’s abdominal skin once again and rolled it back down the shaft, restoring his rear end to its normal appearance. Once more, Posipun endured considerable pain and groaned quietly. The aperture at the end of his abdomen winked several times as it readjusted after a major stretching. Mahzipun and Eyklayr waved and departed. Ophastrez continued his rounds. After two minutes of rest, Posipun hoisted himself back up to the ceiling and rehung himself upside down. Hahnirets helped with her own webs since Posipun had two broken arms and two broken legs. It took him a while to get comfortable. Hahnirets sprayed his abdomen with antiseptic-analgesic solution.

“When you’re better, we could try some exposed shaft footling,” said Hahnirets. “As long as we’re careful to avoid infection, we’ll have some extra fun doing it! Your mother was right earlier. You should retract the skin fully every now and then to maintain flexibility and clean your shaft. I normally do mine once a month.”

“I can’t footle properly for at least eight weeks, unfortunately,” said Posipun sadly. “I hate it that I misjudged so badly today. I was an imbecile!”

“You were trying to fight for my honour!” said Hahnirets. “Spadraye didn’t do anything except flaunt his new boyfriend. At least you attempted decisive action. You didn’t know how tough the savage was, did you?”

“I should’ve had help,” said Posipun. “The problem was that I was scared my friends would blab if I tried to recruit them for the execution.”

“Execution?” queried Hahnirets. “You mean killing. It’s an animal, not a political prisoner!”

“It took me apart in five seconds,” said Posipun. “Doesn’t that feat allow it respect? I shot it several times with a rifle beforehand and it still battered me senseless as easily as we catch flies. The bullets didn’t penetrate its skin, even at short range.”

“It tricked you, I suppose,” said Hahnirets. “It pretended to be dying. Also, you had absolutely no experience of fighting savages. Next time, use a bigger rifle.”

“I got past security at the research facility so easily,” said Posipun. “It made me overconfident. At the same time, I was enraged that it had violated you. I had to do something!”

“I’m impressed that you tracked down the creature, pinpointing it in a big government research complex,” said Hahnirets. “You simply underestimated its sheer power and indiscriminate libido.”

“I think that I was violated worse than you,” said Posipun. “My footles are still aching and dripping, hours later. It was such a vittin hard pumping; I thought that my footles would split from top to bottom.”

“We can violate each other gently later, to exorcise the ghost of the beast,” said Hahnirets. “Hurry and heal, lover.”

“I sprained a stalk,” said Posipun. “I hope that you can wait.”

“Yeah, of course,” said Hahnirets. “Anything for my beat-up hero!” As she spoke, she realised that she’d have to sneak away to find other men soon. Her desire wouldn’t wait.

* * * * *

“Chatbot, I have a complaint,” said Hursmet. “The Falsoppe Dating Agency provided incorrect dating information to my boyfriend. That’s a breach of our contract.” She was sitting alone in her apartment. She’d finished another job application and was now filling in time before her next date with Spadraye.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Chatbot. “Please show your evidence.” Hursmet sent the profile, as received by Spadraye, to Chatbot. She also sent the original profile that she had submitted previously. Chatbot compared the two.

“Do you see the key difference?” asked Hursmet. “Somehow, the profile was altered or substituted. Spadraye didn’t hear about my gender switch until our first date. It was quite embarrassing. Luckily, he was very accepting and we’re pursuing a relationship.”

“I don’t see a difference,” said Chatbot. “These two profiles are identical. Your gender switch is mentioned. The FDA wasn’t at fault.”

“Alright, let me look again,” said Hursmet, puzzled. “I might have made a mistake just now.” She checked the files. They were identical, just as Chatbot said. She checked the back-ups on her removable drive. They were also identical. She checked the time stamps. They were unchanged. Finally, she checked the print-outs that she and Spadraye had made. They showed the difference.

“Chatbot, I’m going to send you two new scans,” said Hursmet. “I kept paper back-ups of the profiles. You can see the difference from those.” She quickly made the scans, checked that they were accurate and sent them to Chatbot.

“These scans are identical in their data content,” said Chatbot. “Please recheck the files.” He displayed the two received files side by side on screen. Hursmet compared them carefully to her paper copies. Chatbot’s versions had obviously been altered. The job had been done very quickly and accurately. Hursmet knew that the speed of the alterations was faster than any person could achieve. There had to be a highly advanced programme changing the files in only a few seconds.

“This is extremely odd, Chatbot,” said Hursmet. “Your versions of the files don’t match mine. Also, my digital copies appear to have been altered by a specialist programme. I’d like to speak to a real person, please.”

“Oh it’s like that, is it?” said Chatbot, sounding a little peeved. “Old Chatbot’s not good enough for you?”

“You’re not supposed to get irritable,” said Hursmet. “I reckon that you’re not a machine. You’re probably a prankster. I’m terminating this chat session.” She tried to close it down but couldn’t.

“Failed!” said Chatbot, pleased with himself. “I’d like you to admit that the FDA isn’t responsible. I’ll give you ten minutes. That’s generous.” Hursmet was becoming quite worried. This could be a hate-criminal hacker at work. She pressed the shutdown button on her terminal but it didn’t work. She pulled the plug but the terminal stayed on.

“Failed again!” said Chatbot. “How about that admission? You were clearly in the wrong. Your dates with this Spadraye went well, so what’s the problem anyway?” Hursmet wondered what to do next. A top-class hacker had taken over her terminal. She decided to leave the room and call a tech support company for help. She had some numbers printed in a handy booklet, so she rang one of them.

“Hello, ‘On-The-Way Tech Support’?” she began. “I have a serious problem with my terminal. It’s been hacked and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said the company’s telephone receptionist. “Before we can help you, could you please answer this question? Is the FDA responsible for your dating mishap in any way? Be honest.” Hursmet was shocked. She hung up the call, put the ‘phone down and backed away. Although the ‘phone was supposed to be silent now, the ‘receptionist’ voice was still talking through it. Both her terminal and her ‘phone had been hacked simultaneously. The situation was escalating rapidly. Obviously, people were plotting against her. Hursmet took fright and picked up a few essential items like keys and money. She was about to leave the apartment when the ‘phone changed shape and sprang onto her head. It delivered an electric shock that made her collapse. She was stunned and immobilised. She was knocked out for a short while.

“Wake up, weirdo!” said a metallic voice uncomfortably close to Hursmet’s ear. “I’ve got instructions for you. Obedience is compulsory.” Hursmet awoke to find herself on the rough floor of her apartment, unable to move anything except her eyes. She looked at the clock: seventeen minutes had elapsed.

“You’re going to break things off with Spadraye,” said the voice. “The next day, you’ll leave the country. The first stop will be Fonsibure. You’ll stay in fancy hotels and splash out on luxuries. You’ll exhaust your modest savings and then use far too much credit. You’ll go from state to state, becoming increasingly indebted. Soon, the banks and loan companies will cut you off and you’ll start stealing to keep going. You might do other things for money too. Eventually, you’ll be found dead in a parking lot. It might be murder. It might be suicide. No one will be able to tell. Your usefulness to me is at an end.” Hursmet could only listen. Minutes later, she found that she could move again but she was under tight control. It felt like there were wires going through her skull and into her brain.

“Permission to speak?” she said quietly, standing up. There was no objection.

“Is this about my trans status?” she continued. “Is that what you hate?”

“Actually no,” said the voice. “I’m trans myself. I know about trans rights and so forth.”

“So, what if we live together?” suggested Hursmet in desperation. “I could be very useful.”

“That won’t work,” said the voice. “You won’t survive the future that’s being planned. It’s pointless for me to take on any alien help. Now, I’m dialling Spadraye. You know what you have to do.”

“Please don’t make me!” pleaded Hursmet. “You must know how hard it is to live as a transsexual, let alone get a good partner. You must have some pity: please try to find it!”

“Did the FDA do something wrong in your dating contract?” asked the voice maliciously. “Tell us what we want to hear!”

“Is ... is that still relevant?!” asked Hursmet shakily. “You’re going to kill me!”

“Answer the question,” said the voice. “I’ll be kinder if you do.”

“It’s my right as a transsexual not to be bullied,” said Hursmet. “I have to resist, don’t you see? I’m not answering.”

“Of course,” said the voice. “However, I’m a different kind of trans and I do what I like.” Hursmet felt the wires growing in her brain and controlling more neural clusters. She was losing influence over her every function. She saw alien shapes moving around next to her. They were metallic and sharp-edged. It looked like they were armed with blades and possibly guns. As she was forced out of her own brain, she saw that there was no hope left without a miracle. She knew then that this was the end for her. Using her last scrap of control, she made her left legs fold under her. She fell onto some of the alien blades. They pierced her vital tissues and she screamed in pain. The blades were withdrawn swiftly from her but the damage was done. Blood poured onto the floor from several deep punctures and slashes. The aliens were capable of repairing her body and saving her life but it wasn’t worth it. They abandoned her, ripping their wires from her brain. She had no means of calling for help. The metal aliens moved on to another target.

* * * * *

On the road outside the hospital, Hahnirets was being pursued by several journalists. She turned around briefly to see how close they were. Immediately, one of them fired a large strand of web at her. At the last second, she ducked to the side and avoided it. She continued to run, zigzagging to avoid other snares. She was very worried that she wouldn’t make it to the rendezvous. These news people were intent on capturing her. They wanted her ‘sensational savage encounter’ story. She looked around for her date’s car but couldn’t see it. She was thinking about abandoning the whole thing and finding an escape route but then a large truck approached. She glanced up at the cab. The driver was staring at her intently and gesticulating. He wanted her to go behind the truck. As the heavy vehicle rolled past, she saw that there were hand-holds on the back. Abruptly, she darted to the left and went behind the truck. A few seconds later, the journalists reached the spot and looked for their quarry but found no one. They cast their eyes around the street. Hahnirets had disappeared, apparently. The truck rolled away. None of them could see its roof. Hahnirets lay there as still as she could, given the slipstream wind. The truck proceeded a few more blocks and then pulled over into an empty lot. Hahnirets saw an area of flat, gravelly ground surrounded by vestigial rock ridgelets. There were hundreds of straggly weeds all around. As the truck came to a halt, she searched for signs of pursuit but saw none. She felt safe enough to climb down and meet the driver, who had left his cab and was waiting for her.

“Vittineck, that was dramatic!” she said, still breathing heavily after her exertions. “An unbelievable save, you might say! Thank you very much indeed!” She hugged the man gratefully and he hugged her back.

“I heard about those packs of journalists,” said the driver. “I couldn’t let them get you. They think that they’re above the law.”

“This was supposed to be a secret date,” said Hahnirets. “I thought that I could escape the pack but they’re incredibly alert and watchful, even late at night.”

“They’re on awareness-enhancing drugs,” said the driver. “They can monitor you continuously for several days if necessary. Unfortunately for them, the drugs cut their life spans by up to thirty years.”

“Serves them right,” said Hahnirets. “Still, they’ve screwed up my date. How can I spend time with Cradrym without them hacking my ‘phone and tracking us down? I didn’t think this through. I didn’t know that I was such a target. My parents should have told me. They saw the journalists earlier, camped out next to the hospital.”

“In your position, hardly anyone could have foreseen it,” said the driver. “It’s a good job that I brought my truck. I should introduce myself. I’m Cradrym: very pleased to meet you!”

“Oh, you’re him?” queried Hahnirets, looking at him carefully. “Your dating picture’s different. You don’t sound the same either.”

“That’s an old picture,” explained Cradrym. “My face has more lines now and my skin’s darker because of all the truck driving I do. As for my voice, I have an old ‘phone that makes my voice sound rough and distorted. I can demonstrate if you like.” Hahnirets relaxed as she compared Cradrym to his picture. He seemed to be telling the truth.

“Don’t worry, I know about old ‘phones,” she said. “Some of my relatives have them. They sound like evil robots, especially in stormy weather. For security, tell me the date password.”

“Operation: Ward Break!” replied Cradrym. “Is it really that bad in hospital?” The password was correct.

“No, truthfully it isn’t but I don’t want to be cooped up right now,” said Hahnirets. “I want to be out and about, meeting new people like you. How did you know to bring your truck?”

“I didn’t,” said Cradrym. “I would have brought my car but I was stuck in traffic for two hours total, spread over five separate jams. There were two sets of road works as well as a brawl, a serious injury and some escaped livestock. I ran out of time.”

“Oh, those delays must be so annoying!” said Hahnirets. “I couldn’t put up with them for long.”

“Luckily, I’ve learnt to cope,” said Cradrym. “I listen to documentaries, sing along to music and think about what to do after work, such as going on this date.”

“Any ideas about what we can do?” asked Hahnirets.

“Well, I did have a bistro in mind but perhaps you don’t want to be cooped up there,” answered Cradrym. “Also, I’d rather walk around after a long day of sitting down. I don’t want to end up unfit like some of my older colleagues. Are you up for a little exercise?”

“Definitely!” said Hahnirets. “I’m quite sporty anyway and a few days in hospital have had me champing at the bit. Where would you like to go?”

“I was thinking that we should go to Bletstur,” replied Cradrym. “I know some surprisingly good walks and climbs there.”

“Isn’t that town rather run down and dangerous?” asked Hahnirets, slightly anxious.

“Some parts are but I lived there for four years in my youth,” said Cradrym. “I know the safe areas. You’ll be fine with me. We’ll only stay for a few hours anyway. I’ll take you back to the hospital before the first rounds of the morning.”

“I guess that media reports exaggerate the danger, as usual,” Hahnirets ventured. “I hate how they keep making us scared of everything.” Cradrym chuckled.

“What I really don’t like is that they make innocent truck drivers sound like serial killers!” he said with a smile. “They’re such low lifes! Come on, let’s go. Time’s a wasting!” They both climbed into the cab. Cradrym started the engine and brought it humming up to driving power. He released the brakes and they headed off toward the expressway. Hahnirets was excited to be going to a new town in a novel form of transport. She opened the window and hollered at pedestrians, through pure exhilaration. After that, she looked around the cab. She found a bag under her seat and pulled it out.

“What’s this?” she enquired. “Is it multi-forn? Truckers are known to have plenty of that, aren’t they?”

“No, that’s my trash,” replied Cradrym. “I haven’t had time to bin it, what with the delays and all.” Hahnirets threw the bag out of the window. The contents spilled out over the road behind them. Cradrym tutted but didn’t stop the truck.

“Problem solved!” she said. “Where’s your multi-forn, though? Is it under your seat?”

“No, she’s sitting next to me,” said Cradrym. “I’m not sure how hardcore she is yet. She doesn’t seem to care at all about littering so presumably she’ll break other rules too.”

“You may be right there!” said Hahnirets, flattered. “However, I don’t have any children or animals with me, so those are off the menu.”

“Understood,” said Cradrym. “Now, this trip will take about twenty minutes so how are we going to pass the time?”

“Footling!” said Hahnirets.

“Sorry but the driver must not be unduly distracted,” warned Cradrym. “Any other thoughts?”

“Run over that pedestrian crossing the road!” said Hahnirets. “I don’t like the look of her, with that suspicious walking stick and unfashionable shopping bag.”

“I refuse to become a stereotypical killer trucker,” said Cradrym. “Think again. I should remind you that you’re being assessed.”

“What’s that old biddy doing out so late?” wondered Hahnirets aloud. “Shouldn’t she be asleep at home?”

“Some of them are insomniacs,” commented Cradrym. “You should see my Great Aunt Hikeldy wandering the highways and byways in the early hours.”

“We could stop at one of those all-night transport cafés,” suggested Hahnirets. “I could do with a bite and a gulp.”

“I don’t recommend it,” said Cradrym, grimacing. “Those establishments aren’t good enough for lovely ladies like you. In fact, they’re hardly good enough for anyone if you ask me.”

“Ooh, get you!” said Hahnirets, blushing and slapping Cradrym lightly on the arm. “Alright, why don’t we sing a song?” Cradrym reached for the stereo, to play some appropriate tracks.

“No, I can make up my own song!” said Hahnirets, pushing his arm away. “It can go something like this: ‘I like trucking! I like trucking! I like trucking and I like to truck!’ Do you like it?”

“It doesn’t sound very original, I’m afraid,” replied Cradrym. “Try some Arnihan Anagram instead.”

“How about we pick up a hiker?” asked Hahnirets abruptly. “I could footle with him or her and you could watch in the mirror!”

“Do you see any hikers?” said Cradrym. “You won’t around here, I promise. It’s not scenic. Vittineck, you’re such a giddy girl!” He shook his head and smiled.

“Now you mention it, I do feel a little odd,” observed Hahnirets. “Life’s been very unsettled for me lately. It’s probably disturbed me quite profoundly. It’s like everything’s spinning steadily out of control. Can you imagine it? I don’t know when it’s going to stop. Have you ever run over some small animals?”

“What?” said Cradrym, perturbed. “Actually yes, I have – by accident. Most drivers do occasionally. We don’t enjoy it.”

“Do it for me now,” said Hahnirets. “The blood lust’s in me. I wanna see blood spurting out.”

“Come on, don’t be such a savage,” said Cradrym. “We’ll have blood at a takeaway in Bletstur. It’ll be delectable. Can you wait another ten or twelve minutes?”

“I can but maybe the savage can’t,” said Hahnirets. “I’ll do my best to control her.” She rubbed her face, scratched her thorax and then ran her sharp fingers through her softorns. Within moments, they changed colour to yellow and green. After that, she began massaging Cradrym’s softorns.

“Go easy, please!” he requested. “I don’t want to spill my load all over the southbound carriageway!”

“Oh, you have a load in the back,” said Hahnirets. “What is it?”

“They’re the finest silken hammocks,” replied Cradrym. “Suitable for all your bedtime needs.”

“Well, what do you know?!” said Hahnirets with a grin. Cradrym managed to get the truck to Bletstur, despite Hahnirets flirting outrageously and complaining about her ex, Spadraye. He parked in a little unauthorised spot that he knew. It’d be alright as long as he left before dawn. He took Hahnirets to the best takeaway in the area, on a side street very close to the clubs in the city centre. Being considerate, he asked her to wait outside while he fetched the food and drink. He emerged ten minutes later.

“I was right,” he said as he passed Hahnirets her order. “It wasn’t wise for you to go in there. Some bruisers were wrestling each other as I waited. Those women would’ve seen you as a rival and attacked you if you’d been there.”

“Who needs that when there’s important footling to be done, eh?!” said Hahnirets. She swigged her jumbo blood cocktail steadily, savouring the surprisingly good flavour.

“That’s choice, that is!” she said appreciatively. She drained the cup and tossed it over her shoulder. Then, she started sucking down her fried myxalon guts. They were a little crispy but still flexible, as they should be. Cradrym watched her as he chomped through his spled pod fricassee. She was clearly a little unhinged but that worked in his favour. As they ate, they heard the faint sounds of a fight coming from the takeaway.

“I’ll kill you twice for calling me a hairy bushwhacker, Nacdi!” said one woman.

“I’ll kill you three times for being one, Cirki!” said the other woman. They continued pummelling each other as Cradrym sipped his lymph tickler drink and Hahnirets started to digest the myxalon. Friends of Nacdi and Cirki tried to stop the fight.

“Have you had enough rambunctious behaviour from the locals?” asked Cradrym. “Shall we go for a little stroll?” Hahnirets nodded. Cradrym quickly put all their litter into the nearest bin.

“Neat freak!” said Hahnirets. “Why don’t you let yourself go?”

“Because I don’t want to end up like Cirki and Nacdi back there!” replied Cradrym. “We’ll go around the river walk. It’s quite rugged so it should be easy.” They soon found themselves striding from rock to rock on the river bank. To their right were commercial buildings, which gave way to houses and scrubby gardens. In places, they were allowed to climb across rooftops when the rocks alongside formed high enough steps up. The rushing river foamed and sparkled in the starlight. They mostly stopped talking. They only wanted to enjoy the view. After about three kilometres of clambering, they found themselves looping back to the town centre, although on the other side of it. Cradrym stopped Hahnirets by an inspection hatch in a deserted back road. He grabbed the heavy hatch and opened it with difficulty.

“After you,” he said, gesturing toward the artificial hole in the ground. “We have to go through there for the grand finale.”

“You’re joking, right?” queried Hahnirets. “That’s a sewer. It’s full of filth and suffocating gases.”

“No, this part is fairly clean and well ventilated,” retorted Cradrym. “Also, we only have to go fifty metres. It’ll be fine. We’ll be out before you know it.”

“Well, I’ll go that far but I have reservations!” said Hahnirets. They both climbed into the tunnel. It was as Cradrym described. Cradrym shut the hatch and they proceeded along the tunnel in pitch darkness. There was a handrail to guide them. Fifty metres later, they felt a draught from above. There was an opening in the ceiling.

“Now we go up,” said Cradrym. “Don’t worry, it’s an easy ascent with ledges and holds all the way.”

“Where’s the top?” asked Hahnirets.

“That’s half a kilometre upwards,” replied Cradrym. “You said that you wanted to go places tonight, didn’t you? This is an extraordinary place. Hardly anyone knows about this hidden access shaft.”

“You’re true to your word,” said Hahnirets, realising where she was. “You brought me to a major landmark: the Overcomp Insurance Tower. I didn’t know that ordinary people could climb it.”

“It’s a long way to fall, so use your webs liberally,” advised Cradrym. “The pay-off is that the views are stunning.” Hahnirets began climbing, followed by Cradrym. Gallantly, he would do his best to catch her if she lost her footing.

“This is technically trespassing, isn’t it?” said Hahnirets, enjoying the workout. “That’s quite exciting!”

“Good; keep going!” said Cradrym. Since they were concentrating on the long climb, they didn’t talk much. It was pleasant to stretch their climbing muscles fully. They felt like they were ‘back in the mountains’. (In the olden days, their ancestors would traverse massive mountain cliffs in order to catch prey.) They were able to reuse their webs many times on the way up this tower. This helped them to conserve web fluid. In just over twenty minutes, they conquered the tower and emerged onto the topmost maintenance platform. The wind up here was fairly strong. They both immediately webbed themselves to the handrail. Hahnirets still didn’t feel secure.

“This certainly is an excellent view,” she said, gripping the handrail with all her hands. “The town lights are like a glowing tapestry down there. Sadly, these wind gusts are too strong for my liking. I’m afraid that a strong one could break our webs and throw us to the ground. We should go back down now.”

“No, we’ll be fine,” said Cradrym. “We simply need to use more webs!” He pushed her against the tower wall and webbed her far right hand to the sturdy concrete. She saw immediately what he was proposing, so she put all her hands against the wall and he webbed them in place. After that, he webbed her four legs, leaving her splayed out like a specimen. She was thrilled! Not forgetting his own safety, he tripled his attachment to the handrail. Footle caps opened and stalks went to work at a leisurely pace. Cradrym was determined to give Hahnirets a slow, comfortable ride tonight and she reciprocated in kind. He teased her shoulder nodules. She stroked his pectoral connectors. He jiggled her first rendi-cluster. She trembled his oesophagus. He brushed her upper heart gingerly. She snaked between his ribs. He circled her solar plexus. She rubbed his stomach (helping his digestion a little). He poked her dablor-cluster lightly. She vibrated his klynto zone. At this point, Cradrym took the unusual step of bringing out his aphrowand. It extended from the back of his head among the softorns. He tapped the end lightly on Hahnirets’ lips.

“Are you sure?!” she said. “This is only a first date. Do you really love me this much already?”

“I do,” replied Cradrym. “Please accept my precious gift to you.” It would have spoilt the mood to refuse. She took the slender tip of the wand in her mouth, licking and sucking it gently. With a special effort, Cradrym pumped a few drops of aphronectar from a gland attached to his brain. These travelled through the wand and into Hahnirets’ eager mouth. She’d only ever experienced this a few times before. As the aphronectar trickled down her throat, she felt a warm glow spread gradually through her body. It was as if there was a light bulb inside, sending delicious light and heat throughout her body and mind. She felt more confident about everything and very keen to bring herself closer to Cradrym. That meant sharing many details of her life with him. She started talking animatedly about her childhood. Cradrym felt somewhat drained after producing the aphronectar (that was normal) but he listened intently as they continued to footle. A few minutes later, he took the chance to ask Hahnirets about her recent past, including the encounter with the High Woods Savage. She was only too happy to give him a full account. He was amused to hear how she had knocked out the beast with only a few skilful stalk moves. As a reward for her candour, he stimulated all her rendi-clusters at the same time. With the effects of the aphronectar, this caused her to reach a new peak of ecstasy. However, this wasn’t the end. Hahnirets became super-focused and the footling went on until every centimetre had been probed and satiated. Many centilitres of bodily fluids were exchanged. The couple wore each other out. In the end, as their sticky stalks were finally pulled out and sheathed, Cradrym slumped to the floor and Hahnirets hung limply in her webby bonds. It was nearly two hours before they woke again. Cradrym hoped that his hidden sound recorder had worked properly. After removing the webs, they made their way down to ground level again. Walking a little unsteadily, they went straight through the town centre, climbed into the truck cab and rested further until dawn broke and Cradrym had to drive them both home.

“I must see you again tomorrow!” said Hahnirets, bathed in the afterglow. “You love me so much, we’ll have to marry!”

“Of course,” agreed Cradrym. “We’ll arrange it all as soon as we’ve recovered fully.” They headed back to their home town, through the early morning traffic. Hahnirets felt fabulous and deliriously optimistic. Cradrym used his truck to hide Hahnirets so that she could climb back into the hospital without detection.

* * * * *

After reading a story in the next day’s online newspaper, Hahnirets’ fabulous feeling evaporated. The headline read ‘My Love for the Mysterious Savage, by Hahnirets, daughter of Gondil and Triana’. She was instantly outraged.

“VITTIN HEARTBREAKING HONKER!!!” she exclaimed, startling a doctor who was examining her. “Cradrym, how could you do this?!” She rose from her hospital hammock and threw off her gown, not caring about who saw her naked. Shaking with fury, she got dressed. Meanwhile, Posipun was sleeping so soundly in the next hammock that he didn’t wake up.

“Excuse me Miss, you’re not due for release until next week,” said the doctor. “Please don’t leave the hospital. You’re still under observation.”

“Hah! You’re just groping around in the dark!” said Hahnirets, glancing at the doctor as she slapped on her thermal protectors. “You don’t know what’s happening to me. Is there a form that I could sign to shut you up?”

“If you insist on leaving, sign the self-release form at the desk,” said the doctor, worried about this unusual patient. “I highly recommend that you stay, though. We’ve seen some odd results in your blood. Tests are still ongoing.” This wasn’t great news but Hahnirets felt that Cradrym’s betrayal took priority. She decided that she’d bypass the reception desk and that stupid release form. She opened the window and used her webs to climb out of the hospital. Using this route, she avoided the journalists at the front gate. When she reached the nearest road, she called a speedy cab and went to the newspaper’s offices. She’d seen the address printed many times before, so she knew exactly where to go. On the way, she thought about how best to reach Cradrym.

“If I may be so bold, you don’t look like a journalist,” said the cab driver. “What kind of business do you have at the Scurrilous Moon offices?”

“One of their journalists betrayed me,” explained Hahnirets, glowering. “He used his own aphronectar to do it. What kind of scumbag could stoop so low?!”

“They could!” said the driver. “Be very careful. They live in a treacherous environment and, as a consequence, they’ve become extremely ruthless. Wow though, his own aphronectar: that’s a very tough tactic to use! Wherever he is, your traitor must be feeling awful now. It’s unnatural to exploit the deep-pair-bond process like that.” He dropped her off a hundred metres from the newspaper offices. She paid him and then went into a café across the street. She ordered a drink and snack before watching her target building. After ten minutes, she received a call from her mother Triana.

“Hahnirets dear, I’ve just been reading the Scurrilous Moon...” said Triana.

“It’s all lies,” said Hahnirets abruptly. “I’ve been stitched up by the sneakiest, dirtiest journalist in the world. I didn’t enjoy it with the savage. There was no ‘leading on’. I didn’t use any lotion or other unguents. I didn’t become intoxicated by pheromones. I didn’t fall in love. It was an animal attack. Luckily, I managed to stop it without any broken bones or bruised organs.”

“Oh, that’s a relief!” said Triana. “What are you going to do about that lying journalist? Will you take the paper to court?”

“He promised to marry me but then he ran away,” said Hahnirets. “I have to try to get him back. Failing that, I’ll beat him black and blue. Sorry, it’s complicated. I’ll explain more later. I have to go now. Some other journalists are walking in.”

“Do they want to marry you too?” asked Triana just before Hahnirets hung up. Hahnirets listened to the journalists as they ordered refreshments and talked shop. There were some tantalising titbits but most of it didn’t make sense to Hahnirets. The journalists were discussing things that hadn’t become common knowledge yet. Soon, Hahnirets noticed that two of the journalists had visible press passes hanging from their jackets. She used the lavatory and then came back to the main seating area, where she took a seat just behind one of the journalists. Covertly, she used one of her dextrous stalks to steal his press pass. He wouldn’t notice it was missing until he went back to the office, two hours later. Her ‘phone chirped softly as a text message came in.

“Hursmet has been murdered,” it said. “I don’t expect a response. Just letting you know. Must help police with enquiries. Very sad. Will speak later. Spadraye.” That certainly put things into perspective but she couldn’t bring Hursmet back. She had to deal with Cradrym first. She left the café and then walked past the newspaper offices. She saw that there were already a few trouble-makers in the lobby, causing a scene. Protests were common at the Scurrilous Moon. The receptionists were calling security to eject them. A scuffle broke out, with punching, kicking and web-slinging. Hahnirets took her chance and sneaked past the melée to the elevators. She used the stolen press pass to call an elevator and rise to the next floor. The next fifteen minutes were spent walking the corridors, searching for Cradrym. The newspaper offices were spread over three floors but Hahnirets couldn’t find Cradrym’s name on any door. She was having a final look around the third floor when she heard a whooshing sound. A split second later, she was hit by a thick strand of web and pulled roughly into an office. She tripped over the ridged flooring, falling over and sustaining minor injuries in the office.

“Well, who do we have here?” said a female journalist. “Welcome to my office. You seem lost. Who are you seeking? Why do you have Mysiel’s pass?” She’d already confiscated the stolen press pass. Now, she was holding Hahnirets down using all four arms. She was a big, brawny easterner. Hahnirets couldn’t get free.

“Where’s Cradrym?” she asked. “He said that he works here.”

“I don’t know that name,” said the journalist. “If he really does work here, it’s probably an alias. Most of our freelancers use false identities regularly.”

“Someone must know his real name,” said Hahnirets. “An address would be nice too. I already tried his number but the ‘phone’s switched off.”

“Why do you want him so badly?” asked the journalist. “There are plenty more arachnids in the web fields. You could have your pick.”

“He persuaded me to swallow his aphronectar,” replied Hahnirets. “It was magical and now I’m frantic trying to find him. Come on, there must be some way that you can help me!”

“I’ve heard great things about aphronectar but I’ve never had it myself,” said the journalist. “I can imagine your predicament. What does Cradrym look like?”

“Early middle age, three point two metres long, fairly handsome, drove a big truck full of hammocks, lived in Bletstur for a few years, footled like a dream!” recounted Hahnirets.

“I think that I know him,” said the journalist with a smirk. “You won’t find him here. He’s recuperating a long way away.”

“You’ve got to tell me how to find him!” insisted Hahnirets, struggling to release herself.

“We won’t,” said the journalist. “Do you know why not? Because we have a mass of dirt on your family! We can smash your clan if you try to pressure us.” She bent down closer to intimidate Hahnirets.

“How’d you like to see your cousins put away for a few years?” she continued. “Would you like your aunts fined heavily? Would you like your uncles evicted? Would you like your younger siblings put into ‘care’? (Let me tell you, that’s not a caring environment.) Would you like your mother lashed in public? Would you like dear Daddy executed, if the judge is so inclined?!” Hahnirets’ blood ran cold.

“Is this Cradrym really worth it?” said the journalist. “I’ve heard the sound recording of your hot footling session but he seems to be the type to love you and leave you. Perhaps you’d be better off playing for the other team? I think that a good woman in your life might set you right.” Hahnirets shuddered a little as the journalist used her left stalk to brush her softorns. It was a crude attempt at seduction.

“You might be stronger than me, Butch, but you don’t want me in your footles,” said Hahnirets. “You probably read Cradrym’s article. You know what I can do.” The journalist paused and pulled back.

“Point taken,” she said. “It’s a pity that you won’t join the sisterhood. I guess that our brief encounter is over.” She rose and released Hahnirets, who also got to her feet.

“You can climb out of my window and avoid security,” said the journalist. “Follow the yellow pinstripes. They show the secret route past the electro-shield.” Hahnirets didn’t have much choice. She swung herself out onto a ledge and then stepped onto a pinstripe. She received a moderate electric shock that made her muscles contract involuntarily. She lost her grip and was unable to fire a web to stop herself. She fell four floors and landed in a deep ornamental pond. Floundering for a few moments, she paddled to the shore and hauled herself onto dry land. She was draped in slimy pond weed. Her clothes were soaked. Her ‘phone was probably flooded and broken. She shivered a little to warm up and then looked back at the journalist. The tip about the pinstripes had been a malicious lie.

“That’s what you get for infiltration!” said the large woman. “Don’t come back. You know the consequences.”

“Are you going to pay for my ‘phone?” asked Hahnirets loudly, holding up her dripping arms. “I might need new side pads too.”

“No, you should have avoided the pond!” laughed the journalist. “Skedaddle, you drowned insect!” She felt for her own ‘phone, which had been in one of her back pockets. It wasn’t there anymore.

“Hey, where’s MY ‘phone?” she yelled. “Did you steal it?”

“You mean this?” asked Hahnirets, holding up the waterlogged handset that she’d stolen secretly two minutes before. “You seem to have thrown it into the pond. That’s very careless!” She tossed it back into the pond. The journalist gasped and ran for the elevator. Her ‘phone contained a great deal of sensitive information. She hoped that it could be salvaged. As the journalist scuttled through the building, Hahnirets walked away. She climbed over small rocks, pushed between neatly trimmed bushes and strode off home. As she went, she left a trail of pond weed and dirty water. Her appearance was ruined and a few people stared at her because of that. On the plus side, her infatuation with Cradrym was fading away. Presumably, being attacked, blackmailed and thrown in a cold pond had shocked her out of it. Cradrym may have been a glorious footle but he wasn’t worth it in the long term. She would go back to her apartment, get cleaned up and then return to hospital. She didn’t want to but she had to let the doctors continue checking her health. The savage could have infected her with some exotic pathogen. No one yet knew for sure.

* * * * *

Yarx came within sight of the Six Slab Car Park and noticed that it was more sparkly than usual. It made the fairly ugly block a little more attractive. He assumed that the display was due to overnight ice formation. There had been some sleet in the early hours. He cruised closer in his compact urban runabout, slowing down to ensure safe passage through traffic. There were plenty of morning pedestrians to dodge as well. He worked his way steadily to the northern entrance and then drove up to the second floor where the manager’s office was located. He parked in one of the few available spaces, turned off the engine, applied the brake, released the safety harness and climbed out of the driver’s hatch. He looked around at all the other cars. He was surprised that the place was so full. Car ownership had risen steadily in recent years. He hoped that something would be done to counteract the rise. No one wanted congestion and parking shortages. Also, more vehicles meant more potential collisions and damage to his cars. He trotted along the rugged walkway to the office, wondering what he would find in the video room. The automatic door hissed open, putting his nerves on edge slightly. Poizanj the receptionist greeted him immediately. She knew what he had come to do so she called Spegloen, the Car Park manager.

“Good morning sir!” said Spegloen, emerging hastily from his office. “I apologise that I was unavailable last week. I was trekking through the Dincomplet Ravine Complex. It was next to impossible for me to return home before yesterday.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Yarx with a small shrug. “Holidays happen. Schedules don’t usually synchronise with the unexpected. Do you have that key?”

“Right here!” replied Spegloen, scrabbling in a pocket and pulling out a bunch of keys. “I’ll have a duplicate made this afternoon. I should have done it years ago. Poizanj could have given you access eight days ago if I had. Anyway, now we can go and check that intriguing footage.” He was a little dishevelled, probably because he’d rushed to prepare for work last night and this morning. At least his eyes were bright. Foreign trips were refreshing if they weren’t too taxing. He beckoned Yarx over and they went to the video room, which was twenty metres behind Spegloen’s office. On the walls and floor of the corridor, Yarx happened to see some unusual scratches. It seemed as if someone had accidentally cut thin grooves in the surfaces when moving a hard, sharp object. Yarx would ask about it later, if he remembered. Before that, he had more important business. Spegloen unlocked the door and the two men entered the video room. They sat down in front of the monitors and Spegloen activated the system. The main screen showed the ground floor at the present time. Spegloen manipulated the controls and shifted the viewpoint to camera nine.

“You were interested in this area, weren’t you?” said Spegloen, pointing at the screen. “This is where your Dad temporarily lost his car.” Yarx looked at Spegloen and nodded briefly.

“May I?” asked Yarx, holding out two hands.

“Of course,” replied Spegloen, passing him the controller. “The dial gives you access to previous days’ coverage. Turn it anticlockwise.” Yarx turned the dial and spooled back through ten days at high speed. On the tenth day, there appeared to be much interference.

“What’s this fuzziness?” asked Yarx. “It’s on the day of Dad’s accident. I didn’t see it on the other days.”

“I don’t know any more than you,” replied Spegloen. “It’s the first time that I’ve seen it. Maybe there’s a system error or an unknown radiation source messing up the reception.”

“If this is deliberate, the situation is even more serious,” said Yarx, taking a deep breath. “Dad isn’t in great shape.” Spegloen wheeled his chair backwards half a metre to give Yarx more room. The CCTV footage rewound steadily. The interference became worse but most vehicles in the frame could still be seen. Yarx had found Zund’s Eldsmoby and was watching it carefully. Sometimes, flickers of digital snow passed over it. Sun shadows shortened and eventually Zund himself came into view, walking around and searching for the Eldsmoby. At this point, Yarx paused the images and stared at the Eldsmoby. This was the period when the car had supposedly changed into a Fleater Special. However, it was covered by a patch of interference that stayed stubbornly in place for several minutes. Yarx couldn’t see any changes. He watched the crucial minutes again and again but still saw no extra details. He sat back in his seat, stymied.

“Are you sure that this is the only camera for that part of the lot?” asked Yarx. “This stinks of a cover-up!” He was disappointed and concerned.

“How could anyone alter the footage?” queried Spegloen. “I had the only key to the room. I didn’t see evidence of forced entry. Poizanj and others were here all last week. No one reported any intruders. The burglar alarm didn’t sound either.” Yarx looked intently at Spegloen. Something didn’t add up. Spegloen’s expression was very calm. He should have been agitated to see probable sabotage of the CCTV footage.

“I’m going to check anyway,” said Yarx. “I’ll try camera seven. I saw it downstairs earlier. There’s a small chance that it caught something.” He pressed a button and switched to the feed for camera seven.

“You’re probably wasting your time,” said Spegloen as Yarx spooled through the previous week from a different viewpoint. “Your Dad’s parking spot isn’t covered by seven. I’m sorry about that weird glitch on nine.”

“I’m looking for suspicious activity nearby,” explained Yarx. “I know how our enemies operate.” The pictures ran on. Yarx watched diligently for several minutes. He didn’t see much of interest until he recognised a Fleater Special go past. He stopped the footage and went back to those few seconds. He ran them again in super slow motion. This time, something had changed inexplicably. The car stopped in the middle of the frame and began to alter its shape. Parts shifted around fluidly. It tried to stand up on two thick, steel legs but the low ceiling forced it to crouch and crawl. It advanced toward the camera like a nightmarish android animal on two arms and two legs. It looked straight at him and waved. Completely shocked, Yarx paused the video and rolled away from the screen on his chair’s wheels. He stared at the horrible, alien face with its infernal, glowing eyes. After several seconds, he turned to Spegloen.

“What IS it?!” he pleaded. “Do you know ...? ... Were you aware ...? ... Where did it ...? ... What’s vittin OCCURRING here, man?!”

“Fun and games, lad, fun and games!” said Spegloen, sighing happily, smiling and running a hand through his softorns. Yarx felt a series of pinpricks in one of his right hands. The CCTV controller was vibrating and morphing, causing him discomfort. He looked at it and was horrified to see it sprout long, irregular blades. He tried to drop it but several blades plunged into his hands. At the same time, Spegloen put a hand over Yarx’s mouth to muffle his panicked screams. Yarx wanted to struggle against this assault but he was losing control over his body. It felt like he’d been drugged. At the same time, he could feel tiny pieces of metal moving across and inside his arm. Three seconds later, similar pieces of metal started to cover and enter his face from Spegloen’s hands. He was frozen in place as the CCTV control screen assembly broke apart and reassembled itself in an impossibly complex way. It grew a head, which smoothed itself out to become recognisable.

“You know me, don’t you?” said the head. “You’ve seen me around. You’ve admired me from afar. You’ve even wanted us inside each other. You’ve never actually learnt my name, though. It’s Tokise, by the way.” The Tokise-machine thing plunged sharp android tubes into his chest, causing him to twitch and spasm.

“Pardon my inexperience,” said the Tokise head with a tone of phony concern. “I’m not actually from around here, so I’m still fairly new to this. Still, I’m sure that I can devour you. I’m VERY adaptable!” Yarx’s final thoughts were of his family. His consciousness dimmed and died as alien machines consumed his tissues. After several minutes of quiet feasting, they had him all. They had removed virtually every molecule of the man and replaced him with a highly convincing robot replica. The original Yarx was reduced to a greasy soup, which the machines had gathered into a storage tank disguised as a box on a trolley.

“Now I can go and lie to his Dad,” said the new robot Yarx. “I’ll convince the broken skin sack that he’s a worthless, senile old fool with absolutely no future!” He extended a hand, as did Spegloen and the Tokise machine. They smiled as their fingers touched and sparked powerfully together, sharing power and information in a quick flash of celebration.

“Right, back to our charade!” said Spegloen, wheeling the trolley out of the room. “I’ll take out the trash and then go back to work.”

“I’ll stay here for while longer and scare people with my ‘haunted parking lot’ routine,” said the Tokise machine, returning to her CCTV system form. “Don’t worry; I’ll also keep monitoring the area.”

“I’ll ... just go and cause irritating, petty havoc in my circle of family and friends,” said robot Yarx. “Some of them have had it coming for years. I’ll start by screwing them over. If I have time after that, I’ll hurt my most beloved relatives for no reason except my own personal glee!”

“Whatever but you’re on the clock, Yarx,” said Spegloen, opening the rear fire exit with his override key. “You only have a matter of days before we move on.” He poured the remains of old Yarx into an outside drainpipe, where rainwater would flush away all traces soon enough.

“Did you find what you were looking for, sir?” asked Poizanj as Yarx walked through reception.

“I certainly did!” Yarx replied cheerily. “I found conclusive evidence that my dear old Dad is going gaga. Now I have to break the sad news to him, if he can still understand me.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your Dad,” said Poizanj. “At least you solved the mystery, though.”

“Yes, with some help from you last week,” said Yarx. “Here’s something to say thank you.” He threw a large coin to her. She caught it and examined it.

“Fifty credits! Thank you, sir!” she said, pleasantly surprised. “I’ll take my husband out for a meal with this!” Yarx smiled at her and then left the office. Poizanj waved goodbye and then looked at the coin again. It seemed to be wobbling in her hand. Yarx heard her truncated shriek as he walked casually to his car. The ‘coin’ was actually a device to penetrate and enslave Poizanj’s body: painfully. Soon, she would join their ranks as another undercover operative. Her old life was finished. Yarx wasn’t unduly concerned. His next task was to infiltrate and vastly upgrade the mechanisms of his compact urban runabout. He needed enhanced capabilities like the ability to outpace the authorities. Easy peasy!

* * * * *

“I do’d know how munch mo I cun take, Mum!” sobbed Spadraye as he sat at his parents’ house. “I los free pardnahs and wun I cun hargly see.” Mucus started to drip from his nose.

“Have a blow,” said his mother Lopotym. “You’re no good bunged up with phlegm.” She handed him a piece of old webbing. He blew his nose loudly. Some of the phlegm missed the webbing and landed on the wall and the nearest table. Lopotym rolled her eyes, picked up another piece of old webbing from the recycling bag and wiped away the excess.

“What am I going to do, Mum?” demanded Spadraye, his nose clearer. “I tried my best but one got sick of me, one’s married, one’s a heartless criminal and one’s de-a-a-a-d!” He continued to sob pathetically in his hammock. Lopotym tried to seem sympathetic but she was actually starting to lose patience with her son’s misfortunes. They could be regarded as misjudgements on his part. At least he’d been trying to move on and not simply hidden at home.

“You have snot all down your front,” said Lopotym, passing him yet more webbing. “Step one is to clean if off. Then you’ll be more presentable. After that, step two is to neutralise your tear spice. Your softorns are a preposterous shade of deep orange.”

“They’re actually painful too this time,” said Spadraye, twitching his head in an effort to settle the burning sensation. “Do you have any neutraliser spray?”

“No, we haven’t kept any since you finally moved out ten years ago,” replied Lopotym. “Your father and I have essentially cried ourselves out. Nothing seems to bring out our tear spice anymore. We’ve been through too much, both together and separately. To be honest, we weren’t that weepy anyway. You’ll have to go and buy your own spray. Old Borustopa is still running his pharmacy at the end of Prop Crags.”

“I’ll go when I can,” said Spadraye, walking to the bathroom. “I have to let this wave of ennui pass first. Dammit, I feel so low! It’s like my mood’s been smacked down to minus eleven!” He rinsed his softorns and then started clearing his nose and throat with a series of ripe, noisy snorts and hawks. Lopotym wanted to put her hands over her ears but Spadraye was still talking.

“The weirdest thing is the way that poor Hursmet was killed,” said Spadraye between snorts. “The police didn’t find any normal footprints besides Hursmet’s own. The murder weapons were also nowhere to be seen. They did find some odd footprints, though. Some think that they’re fakes, planted to confuse the investigators. They’re quite regular, geometric footprints. The real culprits might have concocted some fantasy alien robot scenario. I can just see them now, webbed to the ceiling and carefully placing their false feet around the body. What a shower, eh?”

“Have YOU had a shower, Spadraye?” asked Lopotym.

“Yes Mum,” said Spadraye. “I’ll be fine for a while now. I wish I knew what happened with brave Hursmet, though. She’d been through so much and then she was just snuffed out. Maybe she had some old enemies or bullies that she didn’t mention?” He blew his nose again.

“It could have been a burglary gone wrong or something like that,” Lopotym pointed out. “Crime rates are pushing up quickly right now. Those raiders are ranging far and wide.”

“Yes, you’re right,” said Spadraye. “Where did that last snot spray go? Oh damn, it’s all over the cosmetics basket!”

“Disgusting! Clean that up Spadraye, you phlegm factory!” said Lopotym, annoyed. What was she going to do with her misadventurous son? He seemed to be on a quest to find a new partner, only he was becoming sidetracked. She thought about possible candidates for him. She didn’t feel good as a matchmaker but sometimes she had to help however she could. She already had a list of candidates in her head but that list had shrunk recently as people paired off and/or married. A few had died already, which didn’t bode well. She might have to cast her net wider. What younger people did she know in the local area? One prominent possibility sprang to mind. Three doors down, a younger family had moved in only last month. They had a daughter in her early twenties.

“I have an idea, Spadraye,” she said as Spadraye wiped more tubes of make-up. “Ask that nice girl Phrazquie at number seventy three for a date. She’s new in town. When you go there, be warned that the house number was removed. The family put up the name ‘Bibblebobs’ instead.”

“Call me crazy but I think that I should go to Hursmet’s funeral first,” said Spadraye, taking his turn to be dismayed by his mother’s not-quite-straight priorities. “I have to make an emotional speech there. I need time to rehearse my mid-speech breakdown and all that.”

“Sorry, I’m getting way ahead of myself!” said Lopotym, embarrassed. “You take your sweet, sweet time, my courageous little Spaddy! I’ll go and make us a snack while you pop out for that spray.” Spadraye noticed the sarcasm but let it slide. Lopotym left the room and headed for the kitchen. Spadraye finished his clean-up, thinking about what might have happened at Hursmet’s place. Was it a mundane murder or was something very unusual happening? He remembered Tokise’s bright eyes and his suspicions grew. He saw that closing time was fast approaching so he prepared briefly and went out to the pharmacy.

“How’s he doing?” asked Vnex in the kitchen.

“As well as could be expected, I suppose,” replied Lopotym as she took three skewer sets out of a cupboard. “He tries his best but all this bad luck is weighing on his mind.” The chumstins in the counter cage started to chitter.

“If you asked me, he dodged a bullet,” said Vnex. “Imagine hooking up with someone like that Hursmet! What a let-down!”

“It could have been a lot worse,” said Lopotym. “Imagine if he’d hooked up with Gondil, Zund or Sergeant Graivsond!” Vnex shuddered slightly at the thought.

“I suggested that he try Phrazquie down the road,” continued Lopotym. “She’s very bubbly and cheery.” She took a chumstin from the cage, examining it as it squeaked repeatedly.

“Yeah, she seems fine but I don’t trust people who smile so much,” said Vnex. “I’ve known a few smiley people in my time and they’re sometimes backstabbers.”

“Those were shady characters from dodgy clans,” said Lopotym. “As far as we know, Phrazquie isn’t like that. She does seem to have a lot of nervous energy, though.”

“She’s eager to help, eager to please,” observed Vnex. “I do like that in a woman.” Lopotym looked him in the eye, smiled and then impaled the chumstin on one of the skewers, from back to front. It died instantly and blood dribbled from both ends. She did the same with two other chumstins on the same skewer set.

“Any sauces or greenery, love?” she asked politely. Vnex shook his head and reached for the chumstins. She kept asking about sauces and salads although she knew that he didn’t want any. He’d learnt to tolerate her passive aggression a long time ago. He licked the dripping blood from the chumstins and then used his fangs to inject the three fresh mini-corpses with dissolving fluid. Moments later, he was able to begin sucking dissolved chumstin flesh into his mouth. This was a good batch. The taste of rich, full-bodied chumstin juice was very satisfying. Meanwhile, Lopotym had skewered two chumstins for herself (she was on a diet). She smothered them with beetle paste and added some sliced garrea bulbs on the side. Then she sat down and ate quietly. The remaining chumstins in the cage chittered for a few minutes but then fell silent again. They were rather unintelligent and docile with short attention spans. They’d have to be eaten soon, before they became too malnourished and dehydrated. Lopotym couldn’t be bothered to feed them properly, except for a few table scraps. If she gave them water, their taste would be diluted.

A few minutes later, Vnex and Lopotym were finishing their chumstins when they heard some younger relatives climbing in through the back door. They recognised Vulli, Torink, Ebalo and Ryptakery, Vulli’s partner. The group entered the kitchen. There were two other women whom Vnex and Lopotym didn’t recognise. They shut the back door quietly and stood by as Torink introduced them.

“Good day Sir and Ma’am,” said Torink respectfully. “I apologise for coming here unannounced. We have some news. These two ladies are Heska from Laldor’s clan and Siely from Rucym’s clan.”

“What news?” asked Vnex, gazing at the pair steadfastly in his usual way. He already knew that it was going to be about fighting or attempts at peacemaking.

“I hate to bring bad news but things are getting weird south-side,” said Siely. “The feuding’s ramping up but some things don’t make sense. People in disguise are attacking us and other clans. People who we know are appearing in two or three places at once and making mischief. Unknown actors are spreading slurs online, pitting clans against each other. Valuables are going missing from locked, monitored rooms that have no signs of forced entry. Vandalism is rife but no one knows who’s doing it.”

“So you want our help, is that it?” asked Vnex pointedly. “You want us to be your unpaid, unofficial police force? Why can’t you control your own territory as usual?”

“We’re trying Sir but it’s really bad,” replied Heska. “I’m becoming paranoid. There are strange creatures prowling the streets at night. I’ve seen unexplained shadows in my apartment and many other places. I’ve had trouble sleeping. There’s been much more threatening noise, like violent people roaming around the neighbourhood. We patrol in groups but we can’t find any of the troublemakers. There’s been an upsurge in traffic accidents for no apparent reason ...”

“Our boy Spadraye had his new date Hursmet murdered in her apartment by unknown assailants using many knives of different shapes and sizes,” said Lopotym. “I think that we need to organise some kind of militia for a thorough search of the town.” Heska and Siely became even more afraid. They realised that they might be murdered next.

“I can’t handle this anymore!” said Heska, putting all four hands on her head. “I’ll have to leave town. I have a few relatives in Bletstur. I could stay with them. Bletstur isn’t the nicest town but I think it’s safer there than here right now.”

“Maybe I should go with you,” said Siely. “Look, I know that we’ve been rivals for years but we still both want to survive. We can learn to get along with each other.” Heska saw the fear in Siely’s eyes and empathised completely.

“Alright but it’s not just us,” Heska reminded Siely. “There are many other clan members who’ll want to leave town. The stronger ones will stay to hunt down the enemies.”

“You won’t like this but we should coordinate with the cops,” said Vnex. “This situation could become very serious. We need all available help. We can’t let old enmities divide us.”

“I’ve never heard you say that, love!” said Lopotym, surprised. “You normally have good judgment, though. Everyone should heed you. We have to share what we know with the police, even if some of our secrets are compromised.”

“Dammit, I don’t need this!” said Vulli. “I’ll have to move my counterfeiting operation. It’ll be awkward because the machines are heavy and I’ll need a new hideout.”

“No you won’t,” said Vnex. “Just dismantle the machines and pretend that they’re scrap components, waiting to go to a dealer.”

“Huh, great idea!” admitted Vulli. “That’s the benefit of your experience. Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it,” said Vnex with a smile. “Ryp, you could help by bagging the components for ‘sale’? That’ll cover everything up nicely.” Ryptakery nodded.

“What kind of militia action are you proposing?” queried Ebalo. “Will it be a long campaign?”

“Do you think I have a crystal ball?!” scoffed Vnex. “I don’t know what’ll happen but I do know that our resources are limited. Most of us are busy people. We’ll do a few major patrols per month, I guess. Even that will stretch us. We’ll have to reschedule a lot of activities. It’ll be awkward all round and many of us will resent it. Personally, I believe that the troublemakers will back off quickly. That sort tends to be cowardly. As a result, we won’t have to do more than a few patrols. It’ll probably be over in two or three weeks.

“How many clan members will take part?” asked Torink.

“We can count on two hundred or so,” answered Lopotym. “That could rise to over five hundred if the online sentiments translate into action. Leave it to us. We’ll organise a major patrol soon.”

“Two days from now would be excellent,” suggested Siely. “If we leave it longer, I fear that something terrible will happen.”

“It all depends on our clan, love,” said Lopotym. “We don’t have full control over them. We have to wait for them to be ready. We’ll do our best, though.” The next moment, Spadraye returned from the pharmacist with his neutraliser spray.

“What’s all this?” he enquired of his parents.

“Spadraye, we’ve had a little delegation from the Laldor and Rucym clans,” explained Lopotym. “They’ve asked us to help deal with some troublemakers. We’ve agreed to send a few hundred of our own to patrol.”

“Oh, it’s about time!” said Spadraye. “We can’t let those chancers walk all over us.” He smiled and bowed slightly to Heska and Siely.

“You’re the one who lost Hursmet,” said Heska. “You poor man, we feel so sorry for you!” She and Siely went over to hug Spadraye briefly. Spadraye felt a little happier.

“We should go home now,” said Siely afterwards. “It’s not safe for us to be in this territory too long. Also, we have to pack for our journey to Bletstur. I hope that Aunt Iphrise doesn’t mind us descending on her!” They went to the back door, along with their escorts Ebalo, Torink, Vulli and Ryptakery.

“I have a little job for you after the funeral,” whispered Lopotym to Ebalo as he went past. “Spaddy needs a push in the right direction. I’ll tell you more later.”

“Alright, see you then!” whispered Ebalo.

“Spadraye, I have some chumstins for you!” said Lopotym. She cheerfully impaled three of the hapless creatures on a skewer set and handed them to her grateful son.

* * * * *

Four days later, Phrazquie was climbing across the ridges in her back garden, plucking out weeds and checking on her plants. They were all quite young and small so they needed more attention. She mulched around them with dead leaves, twigs, dried moss and gravel. She watered them by soaking up crevice-dew puddles in a piece of webbing and then squeezing the webbing over the plants. Some of them were carnivorous, so she plucked bugs out of the air for them. No plants seemed to have died despite the frosts. Fortunately, the ridges in the garden were angled so that the chill wind was mostly deflected from the seedlings. Phrazquie finished what she could and then put the weeds into the small incinerator for burning later. Next, she climbed around to the front garden. She began to tend the plants there. After a few minutes, she heard some low moans coming from the gate area. She went over and found a man in early middle age lying on his front just behind the fence. She dropped her gardening tools and knelt down next to him.

“Are you alright?” she asked anxiously, shaking his shoulder gently.

“Yes, basically,” said the man, not moving. “Don’t worry. I’ll be up and gone in a few minutes. Just let me have a quick mope and I’ll be on my way.”

“Why are you moping here?” asked Phrazquie, becoming suspicious. “Isn’t it easier at home?”

“My cousins brought me here,” said the man. “They wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was rather painful at the end.”

“What do you mean painful?” queried Phrazquie. “Turn over so I can see you properly.” Slowly, the man complied.

“Vittin lorks, you have some awful cousins!” said Phrazquie. “You’re all cut and scratched!” She pulled out a clean piece of web and dabbed the excess blood from his cuts.

“For the last twenty metres, they dragged me face down,” admitted the man. “They said that it was for my own good but I didn’t want to come here to ask ... wait, are you Phrazquie?”

“You know my name so ... you must be Spadraye!” said Phrazquie. “Your parents told me that you’d visit. It didn’t much matter when you did. I’m usually at home these days, applying for jobs, doing chores and pursuing my hobbies.”

“That’s interesting,” said Spadraye, his eyes half-closed. “What hobbies do you have?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re in the house,” said Phrazquie. “I can’t leave you out here. You’re so cold, damp, hurt and depressed. Come on, pull yourself up.” She grabbed him by two arms and helped bring him to a standing position.

“You’re very caring and I’m embarrassed with myself,” said Spadraye as they climbed across the front garden to the house. “I should’ve tried to be cheerful but I found myself unable to cope. Everything seems so bleak right now.”

“Your parents mentioned Hursmet,” said Phrazquie. “I was so sad to hear about her being killed. I don’t know much about bereavement but I reckon that you need building up. How about a three-blood, semi-clot cup?”

“That sounds fantastic,” said Spadraye, feeling far from fantastic. “You’re quite right. I need rest and nurture.” They climbed in through the front door and Spadraye sat in the lounge. The wall slings were very comfortable and the decor was impressive too. The cup machine whirred in the kitchen and soon Phrazquie brought in drinks. Spadraye drank his and thanked her. She drank hers quickly and then fetched some artificial wound-web. She stuck pieces of wound-web to the cuts and scratches on Spadraye’s face, chest, arms and hands. It was laced with antiseptic solution to prevent infection.

“So you’re here to ask me for a date?” asked Phrazquie as she fixed up Spadraye’s face. “That’s what I heard from your folks. I agree to it. I should have started dating years ago but I was busy with study, work, hobbies and other distractions. Also, I didn’t meet anyone who I really liked. However, I’m starting to realise that I have to step outside my comfort zone occasionally to push things along. That’s why I’m giving you a chance. I only hope that I don’t end up like Hursmet.”

“We’re all vulnerable to random murderers, I’m afraid,” said Spadraye, looking remorseful. “I promise that I’ll do anything I can to protect you, though.” Phrazquie finished applying wound web and gazed into Spadraye’s eyes for a few seconds.

“You have a haunted look,” she observed. “Tell me your troubles.”

“Relationship breakdown, grief, unemployment, vanishing savings, betrayal, frustration, worry, general day-to-day bleh,” listed Spadraye deadpan. “There’s something else as well. It could be linked to the unrest across town. There’s a sense of futility and finality growing in my mind. I can’t explain it properly.”

“As the fortune tellers say, death might not mean death but rather the start of a new phase,” said Phrazquie. “I try to look for the silver lining but then I’m young and optimistic so take that as you will.”

“You’re wiser than your years,” said Spadraye. “It looks like Mum was right to send me here.”

“So you say that your savings are vanishing,” said Phrazquie. “I guess you won’t be taking me anywhere fancy for our date.”

“I’m sorry but that’s true,” said Spadraye. “Feel free to look down on me.”

“I shouldn’t do that: I’m in the same boat!” said Phrazquie, dismissing his concern. “My savings are tiny too. Say, this could be our date, here and now. This is a new place to you, at least. We’ll just stay in, relax and do what we want. My family won’t start coming home for at least six hours.”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Spadraye quietly. “I hope you don’t mind if I nap for half an hour. I lost sleep last night through mental turmoil.”

“No problem,” replied Phrazquie. “I’ll finish the gardening and maybe wash the dishes if there’s time.” She headed back outside as Spadraye started to doze. When he awoke again an hour later, the house was very quiet. He didn’t see or hear anyone. He looked around and everything was as before. He lay down again and stared at the ceiling, wondering what to do next. Then, between the standard anchoring points, he saw a wisp of subtle web. It was very fine and could only be spotted because it cast a thin shadow. With a lurch in his stomach, he realised what it was. He rolled out of his sling and went to fetch a small, sturdy table. He put the table under the web and stood on it to get closer to the web and examine it. The wispy strand certainly appeared to be from a spindlekin, which was a very effective, sneaky, ambush predator. If one of those was in the house, both he and Phrazquie were in great danger. He presumed that it must have escaped from some maniac’s private collection. He called the police emergency number and waited a few minutes to be connected. As he waited, he climbed quietly around the house searching for Phrazquie and spindlekins. He soon gave up on the police and ended the call. He knew that they were very busy and wouldn’t answer for hours. He put away the ‘phone and picked up an ornamental sword that he found in a wall display. The house was eerily quiet. Even the wild creatures outside had gone silent. Spadraye patrolled around the bedrooms, checking behind furniture and inside closets. He finally found Phrazquie on the floor of a closet in bedroom three. She’d concealed herself under some clothes and bags but Spadraye saw her breathing and uncovered her.

“I thought that you’d run,” she said, turning toward him and staring accusingly. “Normally, they run from the spindlekin.”

“Where is it?” demanded Spadraye. “I’ll stick this old blade through its cruddy guts!”

“No you won’t,” said Phrazquie, raising her abdomen and producing slender strands that were similar to spindlekin silk. “I’M the creeping horror. I can fool most people.” It was very impressive. Most people couldn’t produce such fine silk.

“Yeah, that’s an amazing talent but I’m not a skittish kid,” said Spadraye, putting down the sword on a sideboard. “I couldn’t abandon you. I was ready to die for you. I can’t lose another potential partner.” Phrazquie saw that he meant it. She felt ridiculous that she’d tried to hoodwink him.

“I shouldn’t have tried to scare you off,” she said, abashed. “I was acting out of fear. I’m terrified of dating, ever since my first few dates were unsuccessful. I lost my confidence. I thought that all my dates were bound to fail. With my special silk and a few other methods, I made sure of it.”

“This one won’t fail!” said Spadraye firmly, trying to reassure her. “In fact, we could footle right now in your bedroom.”

“Really, could we now?” she said, standing up and ripping off her shoulder coverings. “Shall we try?” It was as if she couldn’t quite believe him. She was challenging him! He looked at her quizzically and then unstrapped his body wrap. His stalks unfolded and tapped her footle caps. They should have popped open quickly but they stayed firmly shut.

“Bizarre!” he exclaimed softly, frowning. He refolded his stalks and examined her caps closely.

“They’re fused shut,” she stated. “I haven’t been able to open them for over three years.”

“Oh lorks, that’s not healthy!” said Spadraye. “They need to be opened weekly for self-cleaning.”

“Don’t you think that we’ve tried?” said Phrazquie. “They got stuck like that one night. The doctors say that I’ll survive. The body adapts. They say that the caps might be forced open but it would lead to excessive damage. Accept it, I have caps lock!”

“No, I don’t have to accept it!” said Spadraye. “I think that you had bad advice. This is a simple problem that can be solved with a bit of ingenuity.” He felt around the caps with his claws and tried to lever them open. Phrazquie felt a little discomfort.

“You should leave it to a doctor,” she advised. “They’re set rock hard.”

“We’re not dealing with living tissue here,” countered Spadraye. “It’s just an agglomeration of dried fluids. Wait, did you web them?”

“Once or twice,” replied Phrazquie. “It’s natural to web certain holes shut if they’re detrimental.”

“That’s crazy talk!” said Spadraye. “We need tools. Show me where you keep your tools.”

“Spadraye, don’t!” pleaded Phrazquie.

“If these caps aren’t opened, you’ll never footle!” said Spadraye. “Is that how you want to live? It sounds like hell to me! Also, think of the long-term health implications. Damn your doctors!”

“Alright, the tools are downstairs,” said Phrazquie. “Be careful, though.” She took him to the toolbox. He picked out the smallest hammer and chisel. He started tapping holes in the cement between the left cap and the shoulder. It was slow work. He stopped and looked in the toolbox again. There was a very small circular saw. The blade was only four centimetres in diameter. He took it and turned it on. It whined at a high pitch.

“Oh no, not that!” said Phrazquie. “You’ll slip and cut me!”

“No I won’t!” promised Spadraye. “I’ll be very careful. Besides, if we don’t try then the alternative could be much worse.” Reluctantly, Phrazquie held still while Spadraye cut through parts of the seals. However, he couldn’t cut the other parts because they were blocked by her shoulder blades. Spadraye looked closely at his handiwork. He smelt something unpleasant at the cut marks.

“I don’t like that scent,” he said. “There’s something wrong in there. I’ll have to do more chiselling.”

“This date is the worst so far!” complained Phrazquie. “I’m such a failure.” Spadraye looked up at her crestfallen expression. It spurred him on.

“We can fix it, though!” he said. “Maybe if I used a tiny bit of venom ...” He dripped venom from his fangs onto his hard claws and then wiped it onto the footle cap seals. Slowly, the cement dissolved. As it did so, Spadraye kept chiselling carefully while Phrazquie watched.

“It’s starting to burn,” she said a few minutes later. “Isn’t this on the edge of cannibalism? Venom dissolves skin and flesh.”

“I only used a couple of millilitres,” said Spadraye. “You’ll resist easily. I think that one of the caps might be near opening now.” He used the chisel as a lever and gingerly prised the cap open. When the gap was two centimetres wide, he could put in a claw and open it the rest of the way. Immediately, a foul stench burst out.

“Aauuhh, no!” exclaimed Phrazquie, covering her nose with two hands.

“Vittineck!” cursed Spadraye, recoiling for a moment. “We have to drain these right now!” Steeling himself, he levered and clawed the other cap open. A slightly different stench poured forth, subjecting Spadraye and Phrazquie to a dizzying assault on their senses.

“Bathroom!” cried Phrazquie, trying to leave the room.

“No, outside!” objected Spadraye. “It’s too strong!” Phrazquie realised that he was right. Her eyes started to water. She held her breath, climbed out of the window, webbed herself to the house eaves and flipped herself upside down. Several litres of black, stinking liquid cascaded out onto the path below. A few neighbours in the garden next door heard the splattering and looked at her, wondering what was happening. The vile fumes and the sudden flip nauseated Phrazquie. She couldn’t help losing her breakfast, most of which added extra colour to the path. Some of the bile went up her nose, causing her to gasp and splutter. She was having trouble breathing, so she swung herself back into the bedroom and wiped the vomit from her nose and mouth.

“What’s going on up there?” shouted a neighbour. “What’s that reek? It smells illegal to me!”

“Now, to the bathroom,” said Phrazquie. “Gotta shower!” She dashed across the hall, closely followed by Spadraye.

“I can do this myself,” she told him. “You wait out here. I won’t be long.”

“No way!” said Spadraye firmly. “You’re clearly unwell. I’ll have to help.”

“Fine, just this once,” said Phrazquie as she entered the bathroom and disrobed completely. “Whoa, I feel much lighter without that gunk in me! Leave the door open.” Spadraye shed his remaining thermal protectors and helped Phrazquie to scrub away the muck.

“We have to rinse you out,” he said when Phrazquie’s exterior was clean. “Who knows what the black gunge has done to you? We have to flush it all away.” She let him open her caps and flood her footles with warm water. When they were full, she webbed herself to the ceiling and inverted herself, letting two streams of murky water pour onto the shower floor.

“Oh, that smell!” she complained. “It’s giving me a headache.”

“We’re not finished,” said Spadraye. “Get back down for another rinse.” They repeated the procedure. This time the water came out grey-brown. Afterwards, Phrazquie retched down the plughole. Spadraye washed away the splashed remainder and then he filled her up with water again.

“Now I feel dizzy,” reported Phrazquie. “Can we stop? I think that I’ve ruptured something inside. It’s starting to hurt.”

“Let’s just empty this out again,” said Spadraye. “I’ll lift you this time.” He used his own webs to attach her to the ceiling and then he turned her over. The water re-emerged light grey with flecks of brown.

“Maybe once more,” he said, bringing her down, adding more water, suspending and emptying her again. The fourth rinse was almost clear with more flecks of brown. He brought her back down to floor level. She felt woozy and wanted to sleep. It seemed that there was some kind of infection taking hold.

“Those brown bits coming out of you, they look like dried blood,” observed Spadraye. “You might have sporadic internal bleeding, which could indicate a serious problem. I should go inside to search for obvious anomalies.”

“Of course you should,” said Phrazquie with a wry smile. “What real man wouldn’t?!” He unfolded his stalks and probed her footles slowly and deliberately. Despite her illness, she enjoyed the sensation more and more. He saw that she was starting to sway so he held her upright with his four arms. About halfway down her footles, he started finding unusual nodules. These became more common deeper down. At the bottom, there were larger lumps of abnormal tissue.

“Well that was your first footle,” he said, withdrawing his stalks. “I’m sorry that it was incomplete and abortive. Unfortunately, you need to go to hospital now. You have nasty growths down there. I’ll call a speedy cab.”

“Not so fast, buddy,” said Phrazquie. “The situation’s still developing. I’m really sorry about this.” Due to the sudden illness, she lost control of her bowels. The shower floor became brown. They looked at each other in silence for a few moments as the water washed over them.

“Since we’re here like this, I may as well follow suit,” said Spadraye, emptying his own bowels. “Solidarity! Now we’re equally responsible for the mess. Great date, huh?!”

“Really great!” said Phrazquie sarcastically, holding onto him as she did her best to stay standing. “The disaster is complete.” Her footle caps were still open. Spadraye looked at the hinges.

“That’s weird,” he said. “Did you have any metal implants in your caps?”

“No, why would I?” said Phrazquie drowsily.

“I don’t know but you definitely have them,” said Spadraye. “Someone must have interfered with your caps without your knowledge. That could be the root of your problems. It’ll have to be investigated but first we clean this place thoroughly!”

“Yeah ...” said Phrazquie as she fainted and slumped to the floor.

“Damn, right in it!” said Spadraye, as he grabbed the showerhead and began to sluice down the brown.

* * * * *

At the hospital, Hahnirets was running upside down across the ceiling at thirty kilometres per hour. The hospital building was half a kilometre long and had five storeys. There were many strong anchor points spread across almost every ceiling, allowing Hahnirets to race around the whole place. She was experiencing a ferocious, frustrated mania that had been caused by the continuing influence of Cradrym’s aphronectar. She knew that she was rapidly exhausting herself but her body demanded exertion. It wanted to return to Cradrym but she had no idea where he was. Some doctors and nurses were trying to catch her but none of them could keep pace with her. She was starting to foam at the mouth. Self-control was slipping away but there was one chance left. She completed her tour of all five storeys and returned to Uncle Zund’s room. She hung from his ceiling and did some pull-ups.

“1654, 1655, 1656, 1657,” she said, keeping her pull-up count for the day. “Is it ready yet, Uncle?”

“Yes, it’s on the night stand,” said Zund. “It’s in the specimen bottle. I mean the green one, not the brown one.” She dropped to the floor and drank the contents of the little green bottle.

“It tastes like urine,” she said, puzzled. “Is that normal?”

“I’m so sorry!” said Zund. “I should have said the brown one!”

“Too late, it’s gone down” said Hahnirets with a sigh. “You’ll have to produce another urine sample for testing. Anyway, here goes with the anti-nectar.” She drank the contents of the brown bottle. It was tasteless and flat.

“That’s the blandest medicine I’ve ever had,” she said. “Are you sure that it works?”

“Fairly sure,” said Zund. “I last produced anti-nectar ten years ago. It counteracted aphronectar within six hours.”

“So, I have about six hours to wait?” queried Hahnirets. “It’s going to be rough but at least this nightmare will finally end.”

“Anything for my sweet little niece!” said Zund as Hahnirets gazed at him, her large, rippling muscles quivering after their strenuous exercise.

“I’m so thankful that I have you here with me,” she said. “I don’t know anyone else who’d have the will to make anti-nectar for me. It’s so difficult for men to do!”

“That’s what families are for!” said Zund. “Now, you should keep active until the aphronectar is neutralised. I’ll just stay here and rest. I’m pooped after making the anti-nectar.” He wondered how she was familiar with the taste of urine. Hahnirets leapt back onto the ceiling and climbed out of the room. She decided to do circuits of the building on the exterior walls, so she climbed out of the window and began. It was like doing a sun dance except that it was night time, rain was falling and she was running fast. Her claws clattered on the concrete and steel. A few people in the hospital told her to go away and stop disturbing their sleep. She just kept running. On the second circuit, she heard a familiar voice below. She felt anger rising so she climbed down for a confrontation.

Spadraye was talking to Tnafald, father of Phrazquie, when he was attacked. The assailant rushed at him from the right and tackled him forcefully to the ground. Within three seconds, he recognised Hahnirets from her grunts and grasp. He tried to take hold and subdue her but tonight she was in the throes of aphro-madness. She pulled her arms free and started punching and clawing. In desperation he was forced to retaliate, landing a few hooks and upper cuts. Then, Tnafald seized Hahnirets from behind and tried to drag her off Spadraye. He succeeded but Hahnirets landed on him, knocking him down. He was bruised and winded.

“Stay out of this!” hissed Hahnirets, jumping up again. “My ex needs a good pasting!” Spadraye stood up and Hahnirets launched herself at him again. Her claws ripped through his thermal protectors and one actually drew blood.

“What’ve I done now?!” demanded Spadraye, stepping back a few paces.

“You’ve been an idiot!” spat Hahnirets, punching his shoulders. “My life’s going wrong and it’s YOUR FAULT!” Spadraye fired several webs at her limbs but they didn’t slow her down. She kept tearing at him with her claws and then started kicking. He fired more webs and managed to cover her face. She couldn’t see for a few moments. Spadraye jumped on her and held her down. Tnafald came up behind and webbed her to the floor. Three limbs broke free but Tnafald kept webbing heavily until she was immobilised. Spadraye got off her and added further webs to ensure that she stayed down.

“How DARE you attack us like this?!” shouted Spadraye breathlessly at Hahnirets.

“Who IS this woman?!” asked Tnafald.

“It’s my crazy ex-partner Hahnirets,” said Spadraye scornfully. “She’s going even crazier. It looks like she’s on stimulants. Maybe she’ll overdose soon and be gone. Good RIDDANCE!”

“You both have to calm down!” said Tnafald. “My daughter Phrazquie is in that hospital, fighting for her life. She’s having a major operation and then she’ll be on antibiotics for a month or more. I don’t want anyone disrupting that, understand?!”

“I’m not disrupting anything!” snarled Hahnirets. “Spaddy here is the main culprit. He split us up and forced me off the rails. I’ve been screwed up with an evil journalist’s aphronectar. Luckily, my Uncle Zund made me an antidote, although he’s badly injured himself. Why do you think I’m here, Phrazquie’s Dad?!”

“She was also footled by a High Woods Savage,” added Spadraye. “You can’t pin that on ME, dear heart! Perhaps he was attracted by your state of inebriation?!” He scowled at Hahnirets. She stared back, her expression one of silent disgust.

“Oh, that was you?” said Tnafald, a little chastened. “I hope that that didn’t cause any lasting damage. I’m Tnafald, by the way.”

“Tnafald, if you don’t let me up right away I’ll start screaming for help,” warned Hahnirets. “You don’t want the police involved.”

“No I don’t,” said Tnafald. “That’s why I’m going to web your mouth if you scream. We’ll leave you like that until you simmer down.”

“It’s cold and wet here,” complained Hahnirets. “My muscles are cramping already.”

“Look, if you’ve taken the anti-nectar, you just have to wait a few hours and you’ll be back to normal,” said Tnafald. “Have a little patience and don’t be a thug. Then, you won’t have to lie on the wet ground in the rain.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” said Hahnirets. “Aphronectar doesn’t work on men. You don’t know the extreme emotions it gives women.”

“I had a drop of it once,” said Tnafald. “It made me quite maudlin for an hour or so.”

“How did you get that drop?” asked Spadraye.

“Let’s just say my college days were fairly wild and some aphronectar was splashed around,” said Tnafald. “Anyway, I think I see my wife Hyralde approaching. We’re going home. Phrazquie is in the tender care of the night shift.” Hyralde saw Tnafald and trotted hurriedly over to rejoin him.

“Phrazquie’s fine!” she said. “Thank you once again for saving her life with your prompt actions, Spadraye. She’s recovering now.” She looked down and saw Hahnirets lying webbed at her feet.

“Well, hello there!” said Hahnirets with a wicked smile. “See what a predicament I’m in! Your husband did this.” She cast her gaze over to Tnafald.

“Tnafald, have you been webbing strange women again?!” asked Hyralde with a serious tone. “I’ve warned you about that. Tell me what happened.”

“Well, it’s not like you think at all,” said Tnafald nervously. “You see, we were attacked by this, erm, strange woman and I had to act in self-defence. Look at Spadraye’s clothes for proof. She was going berserk!” Hyralde saw the rips in Spadraye’s thermal protectors and realised that Tnafald was probably telling the truth.

“He’s right, I was a bad girl and I had to be punished!” said Hahnirets. “Stick around and you can watch my bruises appear!”

“Hmph, I hope they hurt!” said Hyralde, leading Tnafald away briskly. Spadraye and Hahnirets watched them go for a few moments.

“Cut me loose, you despicable mockery of manhood!” said Hahnirets to Spadraye, undermining her own cause.

“Not just yet, you little twister,” said Spadraye, crouching down beside her. “I want to show you something. I’ve been finding these tiny pieces of precision-engineered metal in unlikely places. There were similar ones embedded in Phrazquie’s footle caps.” He produced two from a pocket and showed her. She peered at them.

“They seem to be parts of sophisticated jewellery sets,” said Hahnirets. “Give me a closer look.” There was a ripping noise as she used a hidden blade and freed two arms. She reached over and touched the little metal objects. At that moment, both she and Spadraye experienced a burst of visions. It was so unexpected, surprising and shocking that they dropped the components.

“Sacred Dung of Heryot!” exclaimed Spadraye. “Did you see all that?!”

“I saw a lot of things,” said Hahnirets. “It was so clear but incredibly quick. I need to unpack it.”

“Primitive life,” said Spadraye. “Arachnids in the water, on the water, on land, in the trees, in the mountains.”

“Early namus crushing tarantuloids,” said Hahnirets. “Death on the ground, on the rocks, in burrows; burning and drowning. Attempts at species elimination.”

“Parasites, hybridisation, biological integration, organ swaps.”

“Fighting back, long wars with sticks and stones, orgies of envenoming.”

“Discovery of a hybrid race of gliding, plant-mammal-reptile people in the South West, another terrible war, hit-and-fly tactics.”

“Was that real? I never heard of it before!”

“Who knows? It looked real to me. Arachnid conquest of the South West. Dawn of the fire fungus plague. Millions die in burning pain. They seek relief in water but find none.”

“Domestication of sheblies, learning to curb overstocks, introduction of environmental harmony protocols.”

“Mega volcano era, blankets of ash everywhere, survival of the fittest and luckiest.”

“Development of deep diving bells, exploitation of deep sea species, discovery of phatburks.”

“I love those; they’re so tasty! Now there’s some small stuff. The genitally-transmitted fungal organisms (GTFOs) and the footle-transmitted diseases (FTDs) that survived for millions of years until they were wiped out by ultra-cling stalk lotion, derived from the fly-free tree.”

“The infamous buvoz virus that makes multiple insect species swarm at the same time. Those swarms are so vittin massive. I can’t believe that all these visions came from two little metal stalks!”

“The beneficial carbohydrate microbe that helps to feed the world. Then there’s an outer space scene with planets.”

“Somehow, the worlds were moving from star to star. Could that actually be happening?”

“No one knows. We’ve never been there and we won’t go for a long time. The cost is too great.” Spadraye and Hahnirets were silent for a minute, trying to digest what they’d just seen. Then, Hahnirets tired of rain on her face. She used her little blade to cut away strands of web so that she could see more clearly, move her arms, sit up and finally free her legs.

“You held the metal bits on your own and you saw nothing,” said Hahnirets. “As soon as I touched them, we were flooded with moving images. Why is it that we trigger visions together but not separately?” She reached down and picked up the two fallen components.

“Nothing for me alone,” she said. “Do you want another try?” Spadraye looked at the components with mounting apprehension. To the casual observer, they might have seemed fairly unremarkable but he’d seen the hidden depths. These things were beyond the ken of mortals. Summoning up courage, he brushed one component with his finger. He and Hahnirets saw a hand lying on an apartment floor. There was blood on it, glistening in the sun. On the wrist was a delicate bangle. Spadraye recognised the bangle. He’d seen it several days ago, on a date. It was Hursmet’s bangle, Hursmet’s hand ... Hursmet’s murder.

“That was Hursmet, my date,” said Spadraye. “You disrespected her, remember?! These metal components had something to do with her murder. They’re part of something bigger.”

“Touch again and we might learn more,” said Hahnirets. “If it knows about her, it might know about Cradrym or the savage or whatever else.”

“Part of me doesn’t want more dark secrets,” said Spadraye. “However, knowledge is power.” He touched the component again. This time, nothing happened. He tried the other component and then both together. Still there was nothing.

“It showed us Hursmet so I’m guessing that it’s interested in me personally,” said Spadraye. “I presume that you’re another person of interest. There may be more people involved too. Phrazquie is definitely involved. She had these unknown metal components in her footle caps. They may have kept the caps closed. That nearly killed her. People close to us are being targeted. What can we do about it?!”

“We need magnets and metal detectors, probably,” replied Hahnirets. “I’ll see what my parents have. You can check with your parents too. We shouldn’t ask now, though. Most people are asleep. We’ll wait until tomorrow.” She went back to the hospital wall to continue her exercise.

“Don’t you see what this means?” asked Spadraye. “I’m not necessarily to blame for all your troubles and vice versa! Some advanced machine intelligence could have been responsible for a lot of our problems. Therefore, you can stop being so mean. You can apologise to me for a change.”

“Alright, sorry,” said Hahnirets. “Now, I’m going to try to circle the second floor in three minutes. Do you think that I can do it? I’m still not tired. If I don’t burn off this energy, the craziness will continue.”

“You can only do three minutes if you corner perfectly,” replied Spadraye. “I think that you’ll be too preoccupied to achieve that.”

“It would help if I had competition to spur me on,” said Hahnirets. “Come and have a go if you think you’re tough enough!” Spadraye hadn’t prepared, so he wasn’t really ready but a race would burn off nervous energy and help him to sleep. After a few deep breaths, he scaled the building and chased his ex around the walls. Angry patients inside cursed them but they wouldn’t stop running. It was nice to do something together after some of their issues had been resolved. The question of the machine intelligence would have to wait.

* * * * *

Duenichar was supposed to be resting. He was in his chamber at home. He was snug in his hammock, covered by an old family quilt that had been hand-woven from fine silk and stuffed with soft trybul corpse-chains. He was trying to sleep but failing because, out in the world, there was a living hell waiting for him. Every day, it assaulted him further. In the morning, he would have to face it again. There was a crash of shattering glass as a hefty rock was hurled through his window. Correction: he would have to face the hell right now. He climbed out of his hammock and went cautiously to the window. Another rock hit the window surround and fell back into the yard. He could see at least four young adults trespassing in the yard. He thought that he recognised one of them from college. This was the most brazen attack yet. He could hear his parents calling the police. Meanwhile, his older sister had rolled out of bed and activated the synthiweb defence. The house and yard were sprayed with synthetic webs, building up layers of protection. The vandals had to retreat in order to avoid becoming trapped. An alert neighbour turned on some flashing green lights that resembled police lights. These fooled the vandals, who swiftly left the area. Duenichar knew that the real police wouldn’t appear for at least half an hour because they were overstretched by the unrest all over town.

“Thank you, Tirneby!” said Rassep as she went upstairs to check on Duenichar. “Kerda, we’ll need to board the window. Bring one of the storm boards plus a hammer and nails.”

“I know what to do,” muttered Kerda under his breath. “I hate being patronised, or should that be matronised?” He climbed down to the basement to fetch the necessary items. Rassep entered her son’s room to find him holding a fairly large shard of broken glass from the window. He was examining it and feeling its sharpness. Rassep found the scene to be very disturbing.

“You’re not going to cut yourself with that, are you?” she asked, very concerned.

“Maybe I should,” replied Duenichar. “It might be better than what I face out there almost every day.” Rassep knew that she would have to do something radical about this situation.

“Give that to me,” she said as calmly as she could. “We have to clear away the glass and board the window. Tomorrow, we’ll make a new plan for you. I think that you should leave this town for a while and have better experiences somewhere else.” She took the glass shard from her son.

“What do you mean?” asked Duenichar. “Do you want me to leave home? I’m in the middle of a college course.”

“I don’t think that this course is doing you any good right now,” said Rassep. “There are too many bullies and haters in the college. It would be better if you had a break, starting tomorrow. We’ll arrange it. I’m sure that the college will be only too happy to agree. They know what’s happening. When you come back, we’ll consider what to do next. Perhaps you could move to another town and continue your course there.” Duenichar relaxed a little, hearing that the burden of a hostile environment would now be lifted. He hugged his mother for a few moments.

“You realise that this will only be a temporary respite,” he said. “I’ll always be treated as second-class when people learn of my deformity.”

“You’ll be able to hide it most of the time,” said Rassep. “If people bully you about it later, you can relocate again if necessary. You’ll have to develop a strategy.”

“I know a strategy,” said Kerda, coming upstairs with his tools and materials. “Remove all the broken glass BEFORE we start putting up the board.” Duenichar picked up more large shards while Rassep went to fetch a dustpan and brush. Kerda entered the room and used the edge of his board to push shards and splinters into piles.

“Are you going away for a while?” asked Tirneby, who came to the door.

“It looks that way,” replied Duenichar, using a piece of his sticky web to clear up some very small glass fragments. “It had better be a good vacation. I have no friends left, only prejudiced spite-mongers. My nerves are shot.” He picked up the stone that had broken the window. It had caused slight damage to a wall and then landed in a corner. He threw it over the synthiweb and it came to rest against the yard’s perimeter wall. It seemed to be symbolic. Would he finally be rid of his tormentors? At least there’d be a few weeks of tranquillity. The family cleared up all the glass and installed the board in only twenty five minutes. Duenichar slept deeply after that.

* * * * *

“Dueni, Dueni, come on, wake up!” said the person on the other end of the video call. “I know that you’re tired but I wish you wouldn’t leave me hanging on the line when you doze off.” Duenichar opened his eyes and looked at the screen. His vision was still slightly blurry.

“Sorry, I was so tired,” said Duenichar. “My life’s been very difficult and eventful lately. What were we talking about?”

“You were saying that you planned a trip away,” said the caller. “You were about to give me details when your head hit the desk. I gave you fifteen minutes to snooze. Now, I’m trying to wrap things up.”

“I didn’t plan the trip yet,” said Duenichar. “My parents are going to help me do it in the morning. I hope that I can go somewhere warm and exotic.”

“So do I,” said the caller. “Those hot countries are the best places for exposure to repeated stomach bugs. I hope that your whole vacation is ruined.”

“What?” queried Duenichar. “Why are you wishing for that? Don’t you like me, all of a sudden?”

“Of course I don’t like you,” said the caller. “No one likes you anymore. I called to reiterate that fact.”

“Wait, what’s your name?” asked Duenichar. “I’ve forgotten. I don’t know why. My brain’s slipping.”

“If you can’t be bothered to remember, I can’t be bothered to remind you,” said the caller. “This call’s over. You’d better prepare yourself.” Duenichar looked into her face one last time as she reached for the off button. There was a peculiar glitter in her eyes. Her window disappeared and he was left with some text windows. He shut down a few of those. He looked at the titles of the remaining six windows. The one at the bottom of the stack said ‘Safe Surf Mod: video chat’. That was unusual. He’d dealt with Safe Surf many times before. The Mod was pleasant and helpful. He’d never actually seen him on video chat, though. He clicked on the window and was greeted by a vision of horror. The Mod was sitting in his chair but he was clearly dead. His head and upper body had been stabbed at least a hundred times, leaving him covered in blood. There were holes everywhere with chunks of tissue scattered around. His eyes were dark holes in his skull. His cursor controller was jammed in his mouth. His footle caps had been ripped off and large knives had been rammed viciously into his footles. Duenichar froze in his chair. This was the worst atrocity that he’d ever seen. Who’d done it? Why? The murderer seemed to be proud of his crime. He was showing it off to Duenichar and probably others. This was a message to the viewers. It probably meant that surfing was no longer safe.

Suddenly, there were numerous hurrying footsteps in the corridor outside Duenichar’s room, followed by blows on the door. Duenichar was jolted into action. He heard many voices. Some of them were familiar. Some were shouting. Fists splintered the door panels. His enemies had invaded his home! He abandoned his terminal, opened the window and climbed out, heading for the contingency escape route across the roof that he had planned earlier. He heard his door being broken down as he scuttled across the roof and down the far side of the house. Scaling the dark wall, he bumped into something fairly large hanging from the eaves. It was his sister Tirneby. She was suspended by a rope around her neck. She’d been slashed by many claws. Her chest had been ripped open and her upper heart had been torn in half. Her abdomen had been reduced to shreds. Her organ shaft had been sliced up roughly. It was only attached to her upper body by the spinal column. Duenichar heard pursuers coming over the roof toward him. There was no time to do anything for Tirneby. He had to run for his life. He leapt to the ground and raced to the trees at the back of the house. He turned to check on the pursuit. His parents had emerged from the house to try to protect him. They were hit by four people and then stabbed to death on the lawn. Duenichar was powerless to help them. He scaled the nearest tree and began swinging through the branches toward the next street. At least a dozen attackers followed.

Duenichar reached a small cluster of light industrial buildings just off Shalybiet Street and squeezed under the old, rusty entry gate. He was still slim enough to fit. He dodged between the buildings and down a narrow alley. He could hear people climbing over and under the entry gate. He lifted a secluded hatch and dropped through into a blacked-out basement. The hatch closed again with a clang. He felt his way through the darkness, accidentally kicking two metal objects. He bruised his feet but had to press on. He reached a hidden underground passageway that he’d discovered by accident two years earlier. This was the key to his escape. If he could get through, he could emerge undetected six hundred metres away and then either try to find help or get transport to another town. He began to weep for his slaughtered family as he jogged hurriedly down the tunnel. There were some wooden boards on the floor. He’d never noticed them before. They felt a little weak as he ran across them. Something was going wrong here. He tried to avoid the boards but it was very dark and the task was impossible. A minute later, he trod on a board that collapsed under him. He fell through, cutting himself in several places on the broken edges. He found himself swimming in warm, oily slime. Big bubbles burst against his face, making him splutter. He tried to climb out but he couldn’t grip the broken boards around the edge. They kept crumbling when he grasped them. He tried to shoot webs at the ceiling, to haul himself out. However, the slime blocked his webs. What was this stuff? Why was it being kept down here?! It didn’t make sense.

“Well, well, well!” said someone behind him with an electric torch. “Your little plan has failed. Let’s get you out of there and back topside, where you can be dealt with properly!” His pursuers had found the secret tunnel and caught up with him.

“Wait, why don’t we just drown him here?” asked someone else. “It would be dark, disgusting and undetected for a long time.”

“No, everyone needs to see the freak die,” said a third person. “They all need a chance to cut him up and spit on him.” It was generally agreed to pull Duenichar out of the slime and into the open. The group used their webs to drag him from the pit. They tied his limbs and carried him out of the tunnel. When they reached Shalybiet Street, they dumped him on the floor and twenty young women crowded around to sink their fangs into him. They injected him with as much venom as they could, leaving him in enormous pain. He could have resisted one or two people’s venom but twenty was a slow death sentence. He could feel his tissues steadily burn away. It was as if he was on fire but without the flames. The horrible irony was that some of these women had been the objects of his affections earlier. He had adored at least five of them from afar. Now he saw how wrong he had been. He started yelling in terror and agony. Twenty five men came forward and started punching, kicking and stamping on him. His screams were cut short as his lungs were pummelled hundreds of times. He couldn’t breathe. The blows stopped and he was turned over onto his front. His pathetic, deformed stalks were forcibly unfurled and torn off. Blood gushed from the stumps and he gurgled as blood also began to drown his voice. His abdominal skin was peeled back. Claws and blades hacked into his organ shaft. As he experienced his final, purest suffering, all he heard were insults.

“Freak!”

“Mutant!”

“Weirdo!”

“Ne’er-do-well!”

“Abomination!”

“Footle-free zone!”

“Scum bucket!”

“Never should have been born!”

“Crap man!”

“Waste of space!”

“Friendless wonder!”

“Convenient target!”

“Walking downer!”

“Pointless creep!”

“Greasy organic throwback!”

We HATE you! Hurry up and die!”

He lost consciousness.

* * * * *

“AAAAAAAHHHHH!” screamed Duenichar as he awoke from his nightmare. The experience had been so shocking that he sat bolt upright. Unfortunately, his sister was leaning over him at the time, about to rouse him. His head collided with hers and both of them fell backwards. Tirneby slid down a chest of drawers and landed on the floor. Duenichar rebounded from his hammock and scrambled to his feet. He looked around frantically, in case there were attackers nearby.

“Ow! You’ve bruised my left eyes!” said Tirneby. “Thanks bro! At least I won’t have to help you for a few weeks when you’re abroad.”

“You’re still alive!” said Duenichar. “I’m so happy to see you again!” He rushed over, lifted her to her feet and kissed her joyfully on the lips. She was very surprised.

“What’s got into you?” she said when he finished. “You do remember who I am, don’t you?”

“Absolutely, Tirneby!” he said, hugging her tightly. “I had the worst nightmare ever. I dreamt that you’d been murdered and mutilated. It felt so real! I’m incredibly grateful that you’re in such great shape!”

“That makes a change!” she said, hugging him back for a few moments. “I’m so sorry to hear about your traumatic dream. Now, please bear in mind that I’m your sister, not your imaginary girlfriend. There are boundaries, you know.”

“I’m sorry but I dreamt that I was tortured and murdered by the uncaring people from college,” said Duenichar. “After that, you’re a ray of sacred light to me!”

“If only you were this sweet all the time,” said Tirneby. “Anyway, come down for breakfast. Mum and Dad will help you to choose a destination, accommodation and so forth.” Duenichar nodded and began to prepare. Tirneby went to apply a cold flannel on her left eyes. Duenichar activated the electric body scrubber and ran it over himself. It removed much of his dead skin flakes and dirt. The vacuum attachment sucked those things into the dust box. He had to vacuum the floor as well to capture some particles that had fallen. As he followed his morning routine, he had many flashbacks to the dream. He believed that his classmates were capable of such cruelty, given the right motivation. This vision had crystallised the notion in his mind. He had to get away as soon as possible.

* * * * *

Officer Nopar was the only one in the hotel room to hear a ‘phone ring. She had just finished her sun dance on the outside wall of the hotel. The balconies made sun dances easier. She had enjoyed watching several other guests doing their own sun dances nearby. Some of them had been good-looking. A few of them had been bold enough to unfurl their stalks. That had been very titillating indeed. She was about to put some clothes on when the ringing began. She went over to the far side of the king-sized hammock and found the ‘phone in a man’s belt pouch. She wasn’t sure if it was Torink’s or Bafgup’s pouch. She answered the call and went to use the electric body scrubber in the alcove next to the bathroom. It was a larger, wall-mounted scrubber with a super-quiet setting (out of consideration for other guests), automatic programme and adjustable arm angle.

“Hello, who’s calling?” she asked. “I’m not sure whose ‘phone this is. Our clothes and other things became muddled up at the end of the evening.”

“You have Torink’s ‘phone,” said the older man calling. “This is his Uncle Vnex. I’m calling him for a progress report on the patrol. Is he available?”

“No, I’m afraid they’re all fast asleep here,” said Nopar as the scrubber worked its way across her back flaps. “I can tell you that yesterday was very uneventful in terms of crime and disorder. That was unusual. In fact, our group saw no crime at all and only a little disorder, which was soon remedied. We told a small group of rowdy people to go home and they did almost immediately.”

“It’s as I thought,” said Vnex. “Most of the troublemakers saw that our patrol was coming and left the area or laid low.”

“It looks that way, sir,” said Nopar. “Coincidentally, on the same day there were a large number of new friendships made. We were expecting the local Rucym and Laldor clans to be unwelcoming and confrontational. As it turned out, the opposite was the case. Mmm!” The scrubber had moved to her upper abdomen, rear side. It was much better than a regular scrubber.

“That’s welcome news,” said Vnex. “Were there any other developments?”

“On the patrolling side, nothing much else happened,” replied Nopar. “On the social side, we all got to know some wonderful new people. I could hardly believe it. The locals were teaming up to bring us refreshments and engage us in friendly chat. The two clans were supposed to be rivals but it was as if they’d all decided to be on their best behaviour.”

“I reckon that their clan elders ordered them to be like that,” said Vnex. “I’ve done that occasionally with my lot.”

“They went above and beyond this time, I can tell you!” said Nopar, her hips vibrating steadily with the scrubber’s action. “We were all swept up in the general good feeling and developed considerable affection for the clans, or at least for the folks with whom we engaged. Long before the patrol officially ended, people were leaving in small groups and heading off to bars, restaurants, cafés, clubs, parks and other such places. The original exercise petered out but the socialising gathered momentum. Now here we all are, happy in our various nests.”

“What does that mean?” asked Vnex. “Did you all spend the night there?”

“Most of us did,” said Nopar. “I’m in the Tentapor Hotel with Torink, Bafgup, Shtricani from the Rucym clan and my work partner Quing.”

“I’m not very happy with that,” said Vnex. “Torink is married. Also, Quing sounds familiar to me.” He took a drink from his glass of water. The scrubber had reached the lower front section of Nopar’s abdomen, at the bottom of her footles. She was feeling deeply satisfied. No wonder the hotel had installed these machines in every room!

“Oh my ...!” she said softly. “Excuse me Vnex; I’m being scrubbed very well! Quing and I are police officers. You’ve probably met us before.” Involuntarily, Vnex spat a mouthful of water across his dining room. He was shocked to hear that his married nephew had spent the night with two police officers, a rival clanswoman and a distant relative.

“Vittineck, I hope you weren’t on duty!” he exclaimed.

“No, we finished our shift and then stashed our uniforms in the car,” said Nopar. “We ate and talked for a few hours and then retired for the night. What a night it was!” The scrubber worked its way up her front, jiggling her internal clusters as it went. She closed her eyes, ran her fingers through her softorns and savoured the experience. At the same time, Vnex was lost for words.

“About Torink, I won’t tell his wife if ... unh! ... you won’t,” continued Nopar. “He made an amazing contribution to police-community relations, so to speak, and he wasn’t ... oh! ... alone. We’re hoping that the situation in this area will be markedly improved, at least in the short term.”

“Understood but I’m still uneasy,” said Vnex. “What about your husbands? What about Shtricani’s husband? At least Bafgup’s single.”

“Well, here’s more good news,” replied Nopar. “Shtricani’s single too. As for us, the Nopar-Quing girl-on-girl marriage is still without any attached men-nnnuuuhhh!” The scrubber had wiggled her second rendi-cluster in exactly the right way.

“It looks like I don’t have to worry about the patrolling situation in that area,” said Vnex. “We might try another area next time. You might be able to pacify that just as easily.”

“Phwff! Here’s hoping!” said Nopar, panting a little. “Ah, the others have woken up. I’ll hang up and sort things out with them. Torink’ll call you back later. ‘Bye for now!” She switched off the ‘phone, put it down, turned around and opened her footle caps for another sizzling five-way session. The scrubber kept humming regardless. Vnex put his ‘phone down and explained the patrolling situation to Lopotym, who was serving breakfast. He didn’t mention all the footling, though. Instead, he was inspired enough to initiate a footle with Lopotym. It interrupted her workflow but she didn’t mind.

“I’m thinking of buying a new body scrubber,” he said as they got started. “It’ll be top-of-the-range and fully automatic. We’ll both enjoy it.” Lopotym was pleased with this thoughtful gesture. She’d heard very interesting things about the new machines.

* * * * *

“Hi Dad,” said Yarx as he visited the hospital once again. “How are you today? Are you improving? Have you managed to do more exercise?” His footsteps sounded heavy and echoed more than usual, although he hadn’t gained weight noticeably. His father’s suspicions about him grew.

“Hello Yarx, I’m fine,” said Zund as he sat in the chair next to his bed. “I’m getting better slowly and I did walk a few hundred metres down the corridor. I don’t want to push it. There’s still pain with every step and I still feel stupid that I didn’t avoid Bnishku at the cop shop. It’s too late to worry about it now, though.” He shook his head regretfully.

“Maybe one day someone will develop a way to replace your ribs,” said Yarx. “I’d donate some of mine if it were possible with current surgical techniques.”

“How’s my daughter-in-law and the grandkids?” asked Zund. “I haven’t seen them for a week.”

“Oh, no real change except that they’re a week older and slightly wiser,” replied Yarx. “They’re all behaving themselves. We might have two more kids soon. They’re maturing in the edupen and they’ve been genetically matched to us. We’ll have to go through the imprinting and orientation process again. I just hope that they aren’t killed and eaten by the other kids over the next few weeks.”

“Nature decides,” said Zund. “We release our thousands into the wild and nature picks out the best.”

“These days, traffic picks them more often than not,” said Yarx. “The number of dead infants on the road is very high. One day, we’ll have to corral the kids.”

“True, that day’s getting closer,” said Zund. “It’ll be so sad. Corralled kids inevitably become weaker than free-range kids. I fear for future generations. My niece Hahnirets was telling me about a deformed boy who she met recently. His stalks are so stunted that he’ll never footle. He’s still alive and studying at college but what kind of a life is that? He should’ve been run down by a car or truck. It would’ve been kinder.” He reached under his chair, picked up his ‘phone and checked his messages. He deleted a few and then put the ‘phone back under the chair.

“Has there been any progress with finding out who moved my car?” asked Zund. “You said that you saw someone do it but there was fuzziness in the footage.”

“We’ve been asking around,” said Yarx. “As expected, a lot of people won’t talk but several people have mentioned the names Rewlpor and Gnith. They’re from the Cadac clan. We’re trying to find them. They might have moved to another town, at least temporarily.”

“Yes, that’s plausible,” said Zund. “We’re not best mates with Cadac’s folk. It’s a shame that this detective work is so slow and difficult!” Yarx laughed. He wasn’t an official detective yet he was working like one.

“Is there anything else that I can do for you?” asked Yarx. “I could go and buy you things to read, if you’d like.”

“How about that protein powder you promised?” replied Zund. “You remember, the type with added multi-vitamins.”

“Oh yes, you need it after making the anti-nectar for Hahnirets,” said Yarx. “I forgot it. I’ll go to my car and fetch it. Don’t go anywhere!”

“Hah, I can’t and I won’t!” said Zund as Yarx went to the parking lot. Down on ground level, a dark green van was driven rapidly at Yarx. It left the expressway, hurtled down the hospital entrance road and powered across the parking lot. Yarx heard it coming but didn’t flinch. When the van was almost upon him, it screeched to a halt. The driver hadn’t touched the brakes. They’d activated on their own. Now, the driver was unable to make the van do anything else. The controls suddenly stopped responding. The doors locked. The seat belts couldn’t be released, so all the van’s occupants were trapped. The driver’s side window opened. Unhurriedly, Yarx took the protein powder from his car and then went to speak with the van driver.

“Atenarp, this sort of thing has to stop,” he said calmly. “We can’t have you threatening me when I’m only trying to help my father.” Atenarp and his men had been trying to make calls for help but their ‘phones wouldn’t work.

“You’ve rigged my van, you looky-likey sneak!” said Atenarp. “We’re going to break out and then...”

“No you’re not,” said Yarx as the six men in the van were paralysed with injections from hidden mechanisms in their seats. “You’re going to join my crew and obey all our commands.” The six men felt themselves becoming total slaves of Yarx, although they could still think freely.

“Everyone out,” said Yarx as the van doors opened and the seat belts retracted. “You’ll have to get used to the new reality. You have no choice in the matter. Atenarp, explain what you just did.” The men got out and stood together. The van doors closed and locked themselves.

“We tried to run you down,” said Atenarp. “Zund pressed a secret emergency button on his ‘phone. He summoned us to come as quickly as we could and kill you by any means necessary. We failed.”

“Why did he want me dead?” asked Yarx.

“He knows what you are,” replied Atenarp. “He’s known for weeks but he hasn’t told you. You’re an alien robot, a very dangerous killer.” Yarx liked to see lesser life-forms forced to betray themselves to him and his people.

“He has a vague idea what I am but he doesn’t have the full picture,” said Yarx. “Come on, let’s go and give him a few more clues.” He started walking back to the main entrance but then received a signal from an inside agent and diverted to fire exit eight. The six men followed him. A few people on their way home looked at the six and thought that they were walking oddly but that was no crime. Yarx and his new slaves waited at the fire exit. The door opened and a man in an electric wheelchair rolled out. He was covered in a few sheets as a makeshift disguise. Yarx told the wheelchair to stop in front of him and it did so. The man in the chair looked up at Yarx. It was Zund, trying to escape. Under his sheets, Zund raised a pistol and tried to fire. The pistol refused to fire and then changed shape, forcing itself from Zund’s grasp. It cut through the sheets and jumped onto Yarx’s shoulder. Zund could see now that it was another alien robot. The electric wheelchair sprouted metal cables that wrapped themselves around Zund a few times, preventing him from getting up. Apparently, the chair was yet another alien robot. Zund could see that the game was up.

“I’ve been listening to a lot of broadcasts since I’ve been in hospital,” said Zund as calmly as he could. “I’ve been piecing a few things together. You’re the ones who’ve been sending the unidentified creatures in the night. You’ve been causing disappearances. You brought down the High Woods Savage. You’re behind a lot of unexplained phenomena. You even turned off the fire alarm on this door.”

“Yes Dad but those are only the trivial things,” said Yarx. “You won’t see the rest.”

“Don’t call me Dad!” said Zund, shaking with repressed emotions. “Where’s my real son, you monster?”

“He’s in the afterlife and also a series of sewer pipes in another part of town,” replied Yarx. “He’s been reduced to a liquid residue. Now, what am I going to do with you?”

“If you let me live, I can be very helpful to you around here,” offered Zund. “I still have many supporters.”

“It’s tempting, I admit,” responded Yarx. “However, that would spoil the run of the game. I’m afraid that you have to go. Your son’s waiting for you.” He used nanotechnology to block a vital artery in Zund’s brain, which caused a fatal aneurysm. When he was dead, Zund was dumped in the bushes next to the fire exit, as if he’d collapsed there. Yarx put Atenarp in the wheelchair and took him back to the van, along with the other slaves. He told them to drive away in their van and live their lives as normally as possible. He would be their boss from now on. Reports about alien robots were strictly forbidden. The wheelchair was put back into the hospital to continue monitoring events there. The protein powder was put in a bin. The gun robot hid in Yarx’s pocket. Yarx drove away nonchalantly in his car. As he left, he looked at the CCTV cameras and smiled. Their images of his deeds had already been altered, degraded or deleted. He was in the clear, as always.

* * * * *

At Gondil’s house, the group watched as Spadraye dismantled a terminal. Gondil wasn’t happy but he knew that Spadraye would reassemble it afterwards. Eventually, Spadraye found what he was seeking. He pulled out the small component with pliers and showed it to everyone.

“See? This is what I’m talking about!” said Spadraye, glad that he’d found evidence. “This isn’t a standard component. I’ve opened up a few terminals before and I’ve never seen anything like this. Also, it’s a lot like the other components that we found.” Gondil, Triana, Hahnirets, Ganylerr, Vnex and Lopotym came forward for a closer look.

“That’s fascinating but what can we do?” queried Gondil. “We don’t have any definitive proof of machine intelligence. These could be government spy bugs or corporate surprise chips. I’ve seen corporate surprises before. Twenty years ago, Pidogh Aye gave all its customers a hundred credit dividend after a profits surge. There’ve been others later, only on a smaller scale.”

“The government will be able to determine what these are, if anyone can,” said Hahnirets. “They have dozens of laboratories. They soon found a place to study the savage, didn’t they?”

“That was a sensational discovery,” said Vnex. “They couldn’t cover it up very easily. People are still going to see the creature. As long as it remains in the public consciousness, they can’t make it disappear. There’s talk of mounting an expedition to find the savage’s home area. Aerial surveys have narrowed down the search to one area of the High Woods.”

“Remember that Vnex, Triana, Lopotym and I are all convicted criminals,” said Gondil. “We’re well known to police. They still watch us. These bits of metal could be their latest surveillance devices to do that. My main point is that they don’t trust our word. By extension, you kids aren’t trusted much either. They won’t believe what we all say. They won’t take our discoveries seriously. We’ll be dismissed as con artists, especially if the press hear about these bugs and tell the world about our ‘fake stories’.”

“We should still try to do something about the machine infiltrators!” insisted Spadraye. “What about all the problems that they’re causing in our town?”

“There’s no proof of that, Spaddy,” said Lopotym. “It could all be the work of immature snarg wranglers doing devious things. It wouldn’t be the first time. Personally, I don’t let these things worry me unduly. Why should I let a bunch of self-footling dib-dabs spoil my mood?”

“Phrazquie’s caps were locked by implants!” Spadraye reminded them. “She nearly died because of it! I can’t let that slide.”

“We understand your great concern but there’s still no definitive proof,” said Triana. “Those implants were put in years ago. Do you know who did it?”

“No but I did try to find the doctors who advised Phrazquie afterwards,” said Spadraye. “There’s no trace of them online anymore. I went to the street where they were based. Their surgery is now a claw care salon. I asked neighbours what they remembered about the doctors. No one had any memory of them. It’s like they didn’t exist.”

“Son, if you insist on doing something about these implants and whatever else, go and talk to the government tomorrow,” said Vnex. “It’s best if you go alone. Head for the capital and do your best. Personally, I don’t have much hope but you should follow your instincts.” Sisters Ganylerr and Hahnirets were whispering to each other.

“We still have our doubts about you, Spadraye,” said Hahnirets. “We think that you’re not really going to talk to the government. We think that you’re still on the prowl for footles.”

“Hey, take that back NOW!” snapped Lopotym. “He’s our son, remember?!”

“Men, women, trannies, it doesn’t matter to him,” said Hahnirets defiantly. “His behaviour’s been so lax this year, that damned pervert and his multi-forn. What’s he going to try next?!”

“Back off, Hahni!” warned Gondil sternly. “Hypocrisy’s not a good look. Aren’t you due back at the hospital soon? You should ask them for a psychiatric evaluation while you’re there. You probably need mood stabilisers.”

“You’re not shutting me up with drugs, Dad!” Hahnirets retorted.

“Alright but you’re wearing out your welcome in this house,” said Gondil. “I might ban you if you can’t be civil here.” Hahnirets said no more. She made no apologies but she cleared up a few dishes and prepared to return to hospital.

“I could go with Spadraye, to make sure that he does the right thing,” said Ganylerr. “I’ll keep a close eye on him. Also, it’ll be a chance for shopping in the capital if there’s time.”

“I’m not sure about that,” said Triana. “You’re not great friends with him. What if he gets you into some kind of trouble?”

“I wouldn’t dare!” said Spadraye. “I know the consequences.”

“You can’t talk, Mum,” Ganylerr pointed out. “You left us weeks ago. You’re only back because we made a special request for a meeting, on account of this machine intelligence business. How can you lecture me on personal safety when you deserted us?!” Triana hung her head for a moment.

“You’re a grown-up now,” said Gondil. “You can look after yourself. A trip to the capital is absolutely fine, especially with a chaperone of sorts!” He nodded at Spadraye, who smiled politely. Ganylerr stared at Spadraye for a moment, as a warning. Spadraye returned her gaze, still smiling. Ganylerr sensed that he bore her no ill will. He was basically a good man who sometimes went astray but was learning to stop doing that.

“How are we going to get there?” asked Spadraye. “I had to sell my car and money’s tight.”

“I’ll lend you a car,” said Gondil. “My nephew Yarx has been buying some new cars very cheaply recently. I don’t know how he does it. I’ll have to ask. Anyway, you can have one of those. They’re electric, fully charged and they have a range of a thousand kilometres or more. I’ll give you spending money too.”

“That’s very generous, sir!” said Vnex.

“Thank you very much!” said Spadraye.

“These new cars are luxurious,” said Gondil to Ganylerr. “You’ll feel super comfortable. Have a great time, Gany!” She smiled and hugged him tight.

* * * * *

Spadraye came to pick up Ganylerr the next day. She wasn’t a ‘morning person’ so Spadraye knew not to arrive too early. It was cold so both of them brought warm, well-stuffed jackets. Ganylerr got into the car and was pleasantly surprised by the heating. She soon took off her jacket and threw it onto the back seat.

“Just so we’re clear, I’m still angry with you for messing with Hahni’s mind,” she warned Spadraye. “I don’t want you trying the same tricks with me, understand?”

“Every day, I improve,” he replied. “I’m sure you’ll notice the difference today.”

“Do you have the metal bits?” asked Ganylerr.

“Right here!” said Spadraye, tapping a small box on the dashboard. They set off down the most direct road to the capital. Spadraye found the car easy and fun to drive. It rolled like a dream with hardly any bumps. He recalled a TV review of this model months ago. The presenter had given it top marks but had lamented the lack of headroom for his tall frame. Spadraye didn’t have that problem since he was ‘so tediously average’, as Hahnirets had put it earlier. He drove on, following the normal route. Soon, he reached the Tungbic Mountains and entered the Whylfurt Pass. The first kilometre was clear but then they reached a queue of traffic. Up ahead, they could see a large mound of debris covering the road.

“Landslide,” said Spadraye, performing a quick U-turn. “We won’t get through. We’ll have to try the Zactin Pass.” He sped down and around to the Zactin Pass, which was clear but had three new bridges and two new tunnels. These allowed two lanes of traffic to flow in both directions rather than the previous one lane each way. He was glad of the straighter road. He reached the second tunnel, which was marked ‘Gloida po Sminko’ [the capital]. It turned out to be a two kilometre tunnel, which was longer than expected. When they reached the other end, the landscape was unfamiliar. Spadraye drove to the next village, which was called Venki Drouff. He stopped and consulted the map. He found Venki Drouff. It was situated in the Turiki Pass rather than the Zactin Pass. The two kilometre tunnel had taken them right through a mountain ridge.

“No problem,” said Spadraye. “We can go down this way and rejoin the next expressway in about five kilometres.” Ganylerr continued to study the map as they drove. Some of the features on the map didn’t correspond with the real landscape. Buildings were sometimes demolished or replaced but what about streams? Perhaps she wasn’t reading the map correctly. Ten kilometres further along the expressway, there was a major diversion caused by a series of sinkholes. Spadraye had to leave the expressway and go into the adjacent hills. This was more challenging. The little lanes were mainly featureless and looked the same as each other. There were few road signs. Progress became slower. Diversion markers were missed. Spadraye drove many kilometres in the wrong direction before realising his mistake. At one point, he tried to get to the top of a hill, to see the lay of the land. However, even that became very difficult because of the twisty, unplanned lanes. It took half an hour to find the expressway again. Spadraye and Ganylerr were beginning to suspect that their journey was jinxed.

“We’re back on the fast road,” said Ganylerr. “Punch it, Spaddy! Let’s make tracks while we can!” They drove on as fast as they dared. Soon, they reached the reassuring roar of Superhighway 23. They joined the thundering traffic and followed the illuminated signs toward the capital. Fifteen minutes later, they switched to Superhighway 36. The signs showed that Gloida was straight ahead. Spadraye relaxed and followed the traffic for over an hour. Then he noticed that many vehicles turned off at Junction 18. There was congestion on the exit slip-roads. It didn’t worry him. Ten minutes later, he saw a service station sign and realised that they needed a pit stop so he headed for the service station. He’d never been to this one before but it was very similar to the one he knew on Superhighway 15. They went inside for refreshments and ordered from the standardised menu. As they looked around the restaurant area, they noticed a rack of publications for sale. Ganylerr went over to browse as they waited for their food and drink. She bought a small newspaper and a puzzle book.

“What’s interesting over there?” asked Spadraye.

“Not much,” replied Ganylerr. “It’s a slow news day. The biggest story is ‘Empress Orbulatrix the Fifteenth opens steel rod factory in Broglur’. The most interesting lifestyle story is ‘Seventy ways to toast your chumstins’. Apart from that, there were two dozen maps of the Xingvou Region.” Spadraye was a little disappointed. He took part of Ganylerr’s paper and read it until the refreshments arrived. She was basically correct: it was a slow news day but there were a few stories about unusual events in various towns and cities. More people were disappearing, there was unexplained vandalism and vehicles were being altered without permission. After eating and drinking, Spadraye decided to look at the publications. There were indeed a lot of Xingvou Region maps. He asked the cashier why that was so.

“People need maps of Xingvou because we’re right in the middle of it,” replied the cashier. “These are the Shemlem Services off Superhighway 8.”

“What?!” exclaimed Spadraye. “The signs said Superhighway 36!”

“Yeah, the signs have been malfunctioning intermittently this week,” said the cashier. “You have to listen to traffic radio for updates. Thousands of people have been sent the wrong way in the last few days.”

“Vittineck, that’ll set us back three hours!” said Spadraye angrily. “I was expecting to reach Gloida po Sminko within the hour! Ganylerr, finish up! We’ve been going the wrong way!” They left the service station as quickly as they could and got back on the road.

“I’ve been such a fool!” said Spadraye. “I was hypnotised by the vittin wrong signs and the slick Superhighway experience. I wondered why I hadn’t seen the Hill of Beans or the Tuhai Transmission Tower.”

“I should’ve checked the map more often,” said Ganylerr. “I trusted you and the Superhighway system. I’m a dumb rookie on the roads. What are we going to do if we can’t reach Gloida by the end of the working day?”

“Your Dad gave us enough money to stay in a cheap hotel for two or three nights,” answered Spadraye. “If that’s not possible, we could try sleeping in the car. The seats fold down and it’s warm but we’ll have to recharge the batteries sooner.” He hurtled along Superhighway 8, attempting to claw back a little lost time. A few other drivers around him were clearly doing the same.

“To be honest, I think that we were over-optimistic from the beginning,” said Ganylerr. “We assumed that we could get everything done very quickly in Gloida. I think we were kidding ourselves. We’ll have to get through city traffic. We might have to visit offices in multiple locations. Parking will be difficult. There’ll probably be delays in every office. We’ll have paperwork to do, more than usual since our case is extraordinary.”

“You’re right,” said Spadraye ruefully. “It’s a good thing that we’re not busy for a few days. You’re unemployed and I’m on flexitime.” They pressed on for an hour before they found the real Superhighway 36. Ganylerr checked it on the map. Five minutes later, they found a ten kilometre tailback, which kept them waiting for fifty minutes. They became increasingly impatient. Ganylerr completed three puzzles while Spadraye zoned out listening to traffic radio. Eventually, they got moving again. The road climbed over a low ridge, allowing them to see further long tailbacks on the approach to Gloida.

“Do you think that we can reach the capital before the close of business?” asked Ganylerr.

“If that traffic moves along at a moderate speed, we might make it with five minutes to spare,” replied Spadraye. “Unfortunately, it’s not moving and won’t for quite a while. I guess that we’ll have to spend the night in this area.”

“If you pull over now, we could search for accommodation and find something really cheap,” said Ganylerr. “In this area, forty kilometres from the city, prices will be much lower than in the centre.” Spadraye took the next exit and parked in a lay-by half a kilometre from the Superhighway. They used their ‘phones to browse the network. There were hotels, inns, bed-&-breakfasts, campsites, hostels and a house-share scheme.

“I’m curious about sleeping in the car,” said Spadraye. “It would be the cheapest option. Shall we lower the seats and try it out?”

“Fine, we’ll test it,” said Ganylerr, opening her door. “I’ve never slept in a car before; well, not since childhood. I brought a few blankets from home.” They dropped the seats down. It was very easy. The seats and surrounds formed an almost completely flat mattress. The headrest cushions detached and could be used as pillows. After only two minutes, they lay down and relaxed. At first, they used the built-in heater but then they saw the power drain. Reluctantly, Ganylerr turned it off. The obvious alternative was to share body heat. Ganylerr let Spadraye enfold her with his arms and legs. He’d had plenty of practice with Hahnirets, so he did it well. Covered with blankets, they were warm and comfortable enough. It was late afternoon, so it wasn’t freezing and they soon dozed. However, they only slept for ninety minutes. Both of them had vague, ominous dreams, which included brief visions of shadowy figures in the fields. They stayed where they were for another ten minutes but the ominous feeling remained.

“This should be working but it isn’t,” said Spadraye. “It’s fairly cosy in here but I feel like I’m being hunted.”

“Me too,” said Ganylerr. “It’s such a shame. What could be causing both of us to have bad dreams at the same time? I hardly ever have them at home. I guess that it’s nerves about an unfamiliar situation.”

“What’s this hard thing sticking in me?” wondered Spadraye aloud, feeling around with his second left hand behind his back.

“It’s not mine,” said Ganylerr. “I put my stuff in the luggage compartment.” Spadraye took hold of the hard thing and yanked it into view. It was a large pistol. It felt heavy, as if it were loaded.

“It’s not mine either,” said Spadraye. “Yarx probably left it here, or one of his people. That’s so vittin dangerous but at least we have some serious protection now.”

“Put the safety on and leave it in the little front compartment for convenience,” advised Ganylerr. “Who knows, with all the weirdness in the world we might need it soon.”

“You know, if I have a pistol on my side of the car, perhaps you have one on yours?” suggested Spadraye. “Yarx likes symmetry. Check under the surround pads.” Ganylerr did so and soon found a second pistol. Both of them were fully loaded.

“Yarx’s people must be really anxious about something,” said Ganylerr. “I’d like to know what it is.” They put both pistols in the front compartment, where they only just fit.

“Let’s try the Levoger B&B,” proposed Spadraye. “It’s nearby and cheap.” Ganylerr agreed so they drove there in five minutes. Night was falling. They reached the garden gate, which was tall and locked shut. They got out of the car to have a look. Fifty metres away, they could see the house. It had lights in the windows, which indicated occupation. Spadraye rattled the gate but it was firm and wouldn’t open. One of the house windows opened and a man leaned out.

“WE’RE CLOSED!” said the man loudly.

“Sorry but the website said that you were open,” said Spadraye. “Could you perhaps direct us ...” The man fired a warning shot from a rifle. Spadraye and Ganylerr sprang back and re-entered the car before rapidly driving away.

“Mothers of Mayhem, what was that about?!” queried Ganylerr.

“He was scared, like us,” surmised Spadraye. “Something or someone around here has made him very jumpy. We should put some distance between us and this suburban village.” They drove on rapidly. Ganylerr read the map and told Spadraye the way to the next best accommodation, which was fifteen kilometres south. This was the Hydasaus Hotel near the Rabauldyx Conference Centre. It was slightly dearer but seemed much more secure, with no rifles being discharged. They parked and hurried into the lobby.

“Singles or double?” asked Spadraye as they looked at the room prices.

“Double,” replied Ganylerr. “I would have said singles but I’m scared.”

“Single hammocks or double?” asked Spadraye.

“I know I should say singles but I could do with some close company tonight,” replied Ganylerr. “Sorry Sis but needs must! I wasn’t psychologically prepared for a jinxed journey, a creepy car and threat from a gunman.”

“At least you’re prepared to save money,” said Spadraye. “We can get a good deal on a small double. Now, what about food? We can use the restaurant over there, visit the late-night shops or raid the dumpsters at the back of the building.”

“Are you being serious?” queried Ganylerr.

“Yes, it’s amazing what can be found in dumpsters,” said Spadraye. “One time, I found sixteen large cans of Spezaul Apru and a baby namu, still fresh.” Ganylerr frowned.

“Stop it!” she said. “I’m going to the little girl’s room. When I get back, I want the room booked and a table reserved in the restaurant.”

“What’s wrong with the late-night shops?” asked Spadraye. “Why do you want to splash out in the snooty diner?”

“Because I’m such a vittin lady!” replied Ganylerr. “No, that’s my joke on you. It’s really because I don’t want to go back out there. I’m shaken up. I need to feel safe.”

“Well, in that case I’ll escort you safely to the unisex room,” said Spadraye. “They’re progressive here and we both have full bladders.” Ganylerr couldn’t argue with that. A minute later, they were standing together at the urinal trough.

“I can’t go,” whispered Ganylerr to Spadraye as other customers came and went. “My nerves are jangled and I’m not used to unisex facilities.”

“Just think about pissing on someone you really hate,” whispered Spadraye. “Not me, though. There must be plenty of other inconsiderate self-footlers in your life.” Ganylerr chuckled and focused her mind on elimination. Spadraye managed to initiate a stream, followed by Ganylerr.

“Well done, let it go!” said Spadraye, pushing his abdomen forward and putting all his hands behind his head. Ganylerr angled her abdomen, sending her stream increasingly in his direction. He saw and angled his stream toward her.

“Let it go! Let it go!” sang Ganylerr. “That’s a chart hit if I ever heard one.”

“Think about someone ELSE you hate, not me!” warned Spadraye jokingly. “Don’t cross the streams! There may be a multi-dimensional cross-rip!”

“It’ll serve you right for taking the wrong Superhighway!” was Ganylerr’s riposte. “There, they’ve crossed. Your concerns were groundless.”

“Not entirely,” said Spadraye. “I’m getting slightly damp here.”

“Me too,” said Ganylerr. “At least there’s a tremendous sense of relief. Due to the day’s events, I didn’t appreciate the fullness of my bladder.” A minute later, they were finished and then wiped themselves down. They had to appear presentable at the restaurant.

* * * * *

Duenichar lounged in a sumptuous, padded hammock on a sunny terrace close to his holiday cottage. He had an excellent panoramic view of his surroundings. He could see at least thirty high mountain peaks, which were mostly capped with snow and shrouded in forest on the lower slopes. The air was clear and warm. He had a cooler of food and drink by his side. He was relaxed and comfortable. Occasionally, large insects would fly past. He webbed and ate several of them. They were fresh, clean and delicious. Looking into the middle distance, he saw at least ten other people relaxing like him. The mountainside had been shaped into a terraced landscape. Most of the terraces were used for growing crops, whether for food, fuel, herbal remedies or decoration. Some terraces had been converted into holiday accommodation, with reinforced foundations and modern living quarters. It was all high quality. Duenichar was grateful that he’d chosen this resort and that his parents had been able to pay for it.

He was doing his best to have fun and put his troubles behind him. Already, he’d been on five tour outings to the surrounding towns, villages and countryside, which were intriguing and charming. It was astonishing how the small, rustic buildings clung to steep slopes and cliffs. Some could only be reached with webs or pulley systems. Ravines were bridged by elegant stone arch-spans that seemed to defy gravity. Most impressive was the giant stone web sculpture that spanned a valley between two enormous cliff faces. The cliffs were each nearly a kilometre high and the sculpture was about eight hundred metres tall at the highest point. Of course, it wasn’t a true representation of a web. The lower sections were massively reinforced by great buttresses of stone. The middle sections used every available ledge and slope for support. The upper sections were very slender to save weight. Nevertheless, from certain angles, the sculpture looked like a proper web. It was as if a titanic arachnid from legendary times had weaved a super-strong web to catch his over-confident, over-grown prey. Observers often felt that they were in the presence of the gods here, although the actual builders were generations of country folk with an unrivalled respect for their ancestors. Duenichar had looked up at the awesome structure and had wished that he could have met those builders. He imagined that they’d been superior people. They were gone now but their descendents still lived in the area. One family had been generous enough to invite him into their home for a drink and a chat. It had been an extra little highlight of the trip. Of course, it was in the locals’ interest to win the favour of tourists, in order to maintain goodwill and cash flow.

Duenichar had mainly mingled with the older tourists, who were wiser, more mature, less problematic and often friendlier than the younger ones. Some of them had been people of few words but others had loved to converse. Two of them preferred to deliver long, rambling monologues about their long, varied lives. Duenichar tolerated them with good humour. They were much more entertaining than most of the people back home. In fact, Duenichar was so pleased to be in their company that he made himself useful to them. He carried their bags and coats, helped them up and down stairs, picked up things that they dropped, supported them on difficult routes and pointed out things that they couldn’t see, whether small or distant. His generous, caring approach was noticed by some younger tourists and he became a little more popular with them too. However, he was wary and kept his distance from them.

At night, when he was alone, Duenichar thought back to his experiences at home. He dreaded going back there, if only for a short period. Just before this vacation, he’d experienced more problems from the home town crowd. His parents Kerda and Rassep had driven him to the airport. They’d set off early so that there was time to get through the traffic. Sure enough, there’d been several hold-ups in the first few kilometres. Classmates from his college had seen him in the car. Some had walked on by, ignoring him in an aloof manner. Some had shouted insults from a distance. Some had shouted insults close-up. His parents had warned them off. A few classmates had webbed the car windows, including the windscreen. The wipers had removed most of the windscreen webs but large smears were left behind. One reckless classmate had walked slowly in front of the car, forcing it to slow down to a crawl. Duenichar’s father Kerda had honked the horn. Moments later, a rock had shattered the side window and hit Duenichar in the shoulder. Kerda had decided that enough was enough, so he’d shunted past the reckless classmate and sped away, ignoring many traffic regulations. Duenichar had looked back at his classmates. Their expressions had shown anger and hatred. The problem was far from over. Since then, his parents had told him that they’d reported several classmates to the college and the police. Cautions had been issued. Some classmates had been fined. More had been temporarily suspended from college. Those measures might deter some but others would probably seek retaliation later.

The main problem was widespread discrimination against the disabled. Arachnid society was one that placed great emphasis on survival of the fittest. Everyone had to fight for survival as children, released en masse from their parents’ web nests and forced to scrape a living in a hostile world. It was second nature for children to kill and eat other, weaker children in order to grow up as quickly as possible. After about four years, the few surviving children would be reunited with their parents. From then on, they’d be fed a mainstream diet and educated about civilised behaviour but their killer instincts would remain. Consequently, they had a strong desire to attack and even consume those weaklings who’d somehow survived their early years. Kerda and Rassep had tried to protect Duenichar from this awful tendency. They’d done what they could to prepare him for a life of secrecy and eventual persecution. They’d warned him about what might happen. Now, it had started to happen and he’d realised that nothing could have fully prepared him for it. Childhood persecution was one thing but adult persecution was worse. Duenichar wondered how long it would be before he was killed. Perhaps someone would arrange an ‘accident’ for him. Perhaps his murder would be made to look like a burglary or robbery gone wrong. Perhaps he’d simply ‘disappear’ one day and never be found. If only his stalks had been normal, he would have avoided all this.

As the vacation went on, Duenichar became more preoccupied with the younger tourists around him. Most of them were having fun and seemed very happy. They were carefree and mingled with anyone they wanted. Duenichar longed to be like them but, at the same time, didn’t want to be like them. He was torn. He wanted their easy enjoyment of life but he didn’t want their tendency to attack the weak. He tried to fill his time with other pursuits. He tried not to think about his peers. He tried to be calm, cool and serene. In the end, it didn’t work. In his hearts, he wanted to be a normal youngster living a full life. He couldn’t be like that, though. He was doomed to many years of frustration. The more he saw young people enjoying themselves, the more obsessed he became with his intractable problem. His thoughts became darker. Perhaps society was right. Perhaps he would be better off dead, despite the short-term pain. Perhaps he should have his obscene stalks wrenched from their sockets by a frenzied mob. Perhaps the attackers had every right to drink his blood and leave him as a dry husk in the dirt. However, his survival instinct still fought those thoughts valiantly. He was left weeping in the dark, in an idyllic cottage, in a prestigious resort, in the sacred mountains of his people. All he could do was pray desperately for a solution.

* * * * *

“I am so famished!” said Spadraye as he picked up his main course and began to drool venom over it. The meat of the palidau beetle began to smoke as the venom tenderised it. Spadraye sucked liquefied beetle into his mouth and swallowed with a few loud gulps.

“I’m not sure how you do it,” said Ganylerr as she chewed her tender baby centipedes. “You have a full head of venom and yet we were threatened only two hours ago.”

“Experience toughens people up,” said Spadraye. “You’ll learn that in time. You’ll also learn to maintain your strength with good meals. You can’t let fear ruin your appetite.” They ate in silence for a few minutes. Ganylerr took Spadraye’s advice and finished all her centipedes. After the meat, they both filled up on vegetables.

“You were right about the restaurant,” said Spadraye. “It cost more but it was worth it. We need the energy for whatever tomorrow will throw at us.” As he ate, he looked around the restaurant. The decor was mid-budget and reasonable but what really caught his eye was the wait staff.

“What do you think?” he murmured to Ganylerr, indicating three waiters who were talking by the kitchen door.

“I’m not here to appraise them,” she replied. “I’m here to keep tabs on you.”

“You must have an opinion,” said Spadraye, pouring himself another drink. “The nearest one has an abdomen to die for. I certainly would like to get to know him.”

“But you won’t,” said Ganylerr. “I have eyes and a camera on you.”

“Sleep will come and then I’ll be able to try it on with someone!” said Spadraye, belching quietly.

“Can’t you focus on our task?” said Ganylerr, annoyed. “We need to contact the government and have the metal pieces analysed, not chase casual liaisons.”

“A man can have two missions,” said Spadraye, beckoning over a waiter. “In fact, I have three. I need a third course. I’ll order now so that it’s ready on time.”

“Are you enjoying your meal so far, sir?” asked the dishy waiter as he reached the table. “Will there be anything else?”

“I’d like to try the flaming head spinner with swimming eye sauce, please,” replied Spadraye with a friendly smile. “I might as well splash the cash while I have it.” Ganylerr stared at him in consternation. (That swimming eye sauce was intoxicating.) Spadraye noticed and took the hint.

“Actually, go easy on the sauce,” said Spadraye to the waiter. “We have important work tomorrow.”

“And for your partner?” asked the waiter.

“Oh, she’s not my partner,” replied Spadraye. “She’s my ex’s younger sister.”

“I see, sir!” said the waiter, his eyes widening slightly.

“I’ll have a bittersweet conundrum with iced black cream,” said Ganylerr. “One of us has to stay sober, at least.” The waiter noted their choices and collected some of their used crockery and cutlery before heading to the kitchen.

“I’m on the hunt,” said Spadraye as he finished the last of his main course. “That means I have to keep looking for the right kinds of people. If I don’t, I’ll get rusty. You can’t dissuade me from my personal quest.”

“Then I’ll have to delay you,” said Ganylerr. “I promised Hahnirets and I’ll do what I can.”

“While you do, watch and learn,” said Spadraye. “It’s time you sought your own partner.”

“You’re right, I guess,” said Ganylerr. “It can be damned difficult, though.”

“I know, I know,” said Spadraye. “I’ve been there and bought the souvenirs.” They sat quietly for a few minutes, letting their food go down. Then the third courses were brought out. Ganylerr’s was a standard platter but Spadraye’s was the head and shoulders of a yebocen. The head seemed to stare at everyone with its three large, green eyes. The waiter put it on the table and set fire to its fur.

“Enjoy!” said the waiter with a grin before going back to his colleagues. He liked lighting yebocen heads up. Moments later, the fire reached the neck and burnt through some muscles. The head rotated twice around its vertical axis powered by other, deeper muscles that had been under tension. The green eyes glowed eerily with reflected fire light. After less than a minute, the eyes melted and burst. Their juices ran down the face and sizzled on the smoking skin.

“It’s a delicacy and a show rolled into one!” said Spadraye. “It’s like indoor fireworks only edible!”

“Well done, you bought the most entertaining dish on the menu!” said Ganylerr. She couldn’t help but be a little impressed. After the meal, they went up to their room, showered, prepared and laid in the hammock. They had a few hours of deep sleep but were then woken by strange noises outside.

“Spaddy, we should check that out!” said Ganylerr, raising her head. “I’m scared! I have no idea what’s making those noises!”

“Sounds like animals,” said Spadraye wearily. “Ignore them. They’ll go away soon.” They tried to go back to sleep but the noises continued and intensified. A metallic banging sound began.

“What the vittineck are they doing?” swore Spadraye. He went to the window with Ganylerr right behind him.

“You were right,” said Ganylerr, looking down five storeys. “It seems that there are namus in the courtyard.”

“They’re broken out of their cages and they’re hitting the dumpsters,” said Spadraye. “I’ll call the management nightline and tell them.”

“Wait, what are they doing?” asked Ganylerr. “Why has that female angled her legs so far to the sides? Why is that male pushing against her like that?”

“I think they know that they’re going to be eaten,” said Spadraye. “They’re seizing the chance for a final mating session.” He picked up his ‘phone and found the nightline number on the room’s notice board.

“Spaddy, let them finish,” said Ganylerr, becoming interested. “Don’t spoil their last night of fun!” She watched as the male made the best possible use of his tiny, rigid stalk (average fifteen centimetres) and the female panted and screamed with great pleasure. She didn’t care that she was reclining on a big metal trash container. A few minutes later, the two namus had finished and were lying side by side on the dumpster lid. They were embracing and starting to shiver because the night air was chilly and the steel lid was cold. Just then, two night staff entered the courtyard, grabbed the namus and put them into their individual cages, where they had blankets to keep them warm. The night staff pair put padlocks on the cage doors. Someone had neglected to do it earlier, hence the breakout.

“Was that your first sight of namu multi-forn?” asked Spadraye from the hammock. “Was it disturbing? Did it seem weird how they moved their bodies in dynamic, rhythmic ways?”

“No, the opposite,” said Ganylerr. “It was very different to arachnid methods but the basic drive was the same.”

“It’s a great drive, I love it,” said Spadraye. “However, I also have the drive to sleep. That one’s winning at the moment.” He closed his eyes. A minute later, Ganylerr opened his mouth and squirted in an acid liquid.

“Now what?!” he exclaimed, his eyes open again. “You’re trying to sabotage my sleep with a squeezy capsule of Droca Pini? I won’t be able to kip for at least an hour now.”

“We don’t have to get up early tomorrow,” said Ganylerr. “I want something from you, in case you didn’t read the signs.”

“I read them but I wasn’t clear about the rights and wrongs,” said Spadraye. “If Hahnirets finds out ...”

“She won’t,” Ganylerr assured him. “My lips are sealed. My caps, on the other hand ...” Spadraye looked at her as she let her nightwear drop to the floor. The Droca Pini was kicking in. He was ready but there was still a worry about Hahnirets. She was capable of murder if provoked badly enough. A randy Ganylerr could trigger that. He’d have to do whatever he could to hide what was about to happen.

“You know how to stop your pregnancies, don’t you?” asked Spadraye.

“Yes, Mum showed me,” replied Ganylerr. “Do you know how to stop yours?!”

“You’re looking at a twelve-year veteran,” said Spadraye, sliding his stalks out from behind his back. “Now, it’s time to tap you up!” He tapped her footle caps, which popped open faster than his eyes could follow.

“Your turn,” he said, reminding her. “This is a two-way street.”

“Oh sorry!” she said, slightly embarrassed. “Excuse me; it’s a first-time numbskull blunder!” She brought out her own slender stalks and tapped open his footle caps.

“First time, eh?!” said Spadraye with a grin as he slid his hefty, three metre stalks smoothly into her tight, virgin footles. “Well, get stuck in girl. There’s no time like the present!” She gasped with the unaccustomed internal pressure and reciprocated with her stalks in his footles.

“Don’t get up,” she said. “I’ll web myself to the ceiling.”

“No need for that,” said Spadraye. “Just lie on top of me.” She did as he asked. The close proximity allowed full penetration, right to the bottom.

“We must look like namus!” said Ganylerr as she started working on Spadraye’s tingle triangle.

“There’s a reason for this position,” said Spadraye, vibrating his abdomen. “Do you feel that?”

“Yes, that’s novel!” said Ganylerr. “It’s reaching the lower third of my footles.”

“It really helps to get the best out of a session,” said Spadraye, increasing his vibration frequency. “If we both do it, we double the benefit.”

“Why didn’t I know about this earlier?!” wondered Ganylerr aloud. “Oh well, I do now! Let’s make up for lost time!” Together, they got to know each other on the most intimate level and Ganylerr was brought buzzing into full womanhood.

* * * * *

“I can’t believe we’re doing this!” said Hahnirets as the small raptocopter zoomed across town. “We’ll have to be very quick. Someone’s bound to report us!”

“Naturally,” said Solurmys, the pilot. “I’ll be long gone before anyone can stop me.”

“I had an incredible time last night!” said Hahnirets, exhilarated. “When can I see you again?”

“I have a free evening in three days,” replied Solurmys. “I’d see you sooner but I have a late meeting tomorrow and a project deadline the day after. I’ll call you tomorrow to discuss the next date.”

“That’s perfect; I look forward to it,” said Hahnirets. “Ah, we’re coming up to the hospital. Drop me off on the east side of the roof.”

“Here we go!” said Solurmys, slowing down and hovering before descending briefly onto the hospital roof. Hahnirets removed her helmet and left it on her seat. She snatched a kiss with Solurmys and then scuttled to the edge of the roof. She attached a web and climbed down the wall, so that she wouldn’t be hit by the rotor blades in the event of an accident. As usual, there was no accident and Solurmys flew rapidly away. He headed home to a nearby town before the authorities could send pursuers. Everyone knew that flying raptocopters under the radar without permission was illegal but quick flights were almost impossible to stop without a military response. The thrill of an aerial joyride was also popular with bolder ladies. Solurmys was glad that he was wealthy and skilful enough to travel this way. Many of the hospital patients weren’t glad that he woke them up with his infernal rotor racket.

Hahnirets ran along the hospital wall until she found her room and climbed in through the window. The place had been cleaned, tidied and restocked with food and drink. Posipun was asleep in his hammock. In Hahnirets’ hammock, there was a letter. She opened and read it. The sender was the ward doctor. She would have a special meeting with her tomorrow morning. That was slightly worrying. The letter didn’t mention the reason for the meeting. Was it something good or bad? She wanted clarification, so she went to talk to the night nurses. She walked briskly down the long corridor. On the way, she passed Uncle Zund’s room. She hadn’t talked with him for a couple of days so she stopped and looked in through the viewing window in the door. He wasn’t there. In his place was another old man, sleeping peacefully. That was alarming. Zund shouldn’t have been discharged yet. He was still healing his injured bones and muscles. She ran the rest of the way to the nurses’ office.

“Excuse me, where’s my uncle?” she said, bursting into the office. “He was in room 329B less than two days ago. Now there’s another man there.”

“Visiting hours are over,” said one nurse. “You’ll have to leave the ward now.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Hahnirets. “I’m a patient here!” She showed her temporary identity bracelet.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the nurse. “I assumed that you were a visitor, since you’re dressed like that. Were you the one who had a fight on the lawn recently?”

“Yes, that’s me,” said Hahnirets impatiently. “I know it’s not recommended but I’m hot-headed. Now, tell me what happened to Uncle Zund.” Another nurse looked up the details of room 329B.

“It seems that your uncle was transferred to a private hospital yesterday,” said the second nurse. “It was approved by the doctors here. A private ambulance came to pick him up.”

“I thought that he was still too weak to be sent away long distance,” said Hahnirets. “He had great difficulty walking down the corridor. I’m sure that no reputable doctor would agree to a transfer.”

“I have five signatures that say different,” said the second nurse. “You can take it up with them in the morning.”

“Give me their numbers,” demanded Hahnirets. “I want to call them now!”

“Certainly not,” said the first nurse. “They’re off-duty and not to be disturbed. We have a duty of care to each other as well as the patients.”

“I’ll call Uncle Zund myself!” said Hahnirets. She rang his usual number but was sent to voicemail, so she left a message.

“He’s not answering,” said Hahnirets. “I’ll try again later. I have another question, though. What’s this special meeting I have in the morning? The ward doctor is coming round to see me.”

“It’s a private matter, obviously,” said the second nurse. “We don’t know what she’ll tell you. Normally, those meetings are either bad news or imminent discharges.”

“That’s all we know,” said the first nurse. “I’m sorry that we can’t help you further.”

“Well, I feel pretty healthy,” said Hahnirets. “I imagine that I’ll be discharged very soon, then.” The nurses nodded and went back to their humdrum but vital duties. Hahnirets returned to Zund’s room. She couldn’t disturb the new patient but she might be able to ask the neighbours what they’d seen. The first two were asleep. The third was unable to speak. The fourth shouted at her because she was an ‘infection risk’. Only the fifth was willing and able to talk.

“The last time I saw your uncle, he was going down the corridor in a motorised wheelchair,” said the patient from his high hammock. “He was alone and he had a sheet over his head but I knew his posture. That was about two days ago. The next day, I saw some people clearing his room. They looked like civilians. After that, some nurses and cleaners came to prepare the room for the next occupant.”

“Which way did Zund go?” asked Hahnirets.

“Toward the south elevator,” replied the patient. “He seemed to be in a hurry. He was grunting and groaning in pain.”

“Thank you, sir!” said Hahnirets gratefully. “I’ll try to find him. He might be somewhere else in the hospital.” She climbed onto the ceiling for greater speed and ran from room to room, searching for Zund while doing her best not to disturb anyone. She reached the south elevator, which was ideal for carrying wheelchairs. She took the elevator down to ground level. She had a feeling that Zund had left the hospital rather than stay in some other ward. Maybe he’d been fleeing someone? He still had some enemies. She ran around the ground floor corridors until she found a service bay, through which she left the building. What was she looking for, she wondered? Zund might have a car in the parking lot. His men could be lurking there too, guarding him. Perhaps he dropped something on the floor? She wanted to make an effort rather than lie in the dark worrying. She wandered slowly through the parking lot, scrutinising the vehicles and anything else in the vicinity. She found a discarded crutch, some soiled sheets and two shiny coins on the floor. Was this a fool’s errand? She was starting to think so. She tried calling Atenarp but he’d switched to voicemail because of the late hour. After fifteen minutes of searching, she saw a few skolpovs running from one side of the parking lot to the other. They were headed for some bushes around a fire escape. Quietly, she followed them. They were rather energetic tonight. It seemed that they’d found something tasty. Hahnirets peered into the bushes. There in the shadows on the floor was a familiar shape. It had arms and legs. At least five skolpovs were nibbling on it. Hahnirets’ hearts sank.

“Go away!” she hissed, making the skolpovs scatter. She forced her way through the bushes and made the worst discovery of her life. She knelt, broke down and wailed for her departed uncle. Her cries were loud and pitiful enough to bring a few people running to her side within two minutes. One of them called the police immediately. Two others tried to comfort Hahnirets. They were doomed to fail but Hahnirets was grateful for their presence nonetheless.

* * * * *

“The waiters are looking at us,” said Ganylerr. “I bet that they like my purple blusher and stylish pastel mauve blouse.” They were back in the restaurant the next morning, having breakfast.

“I’m sure that’s it,” said Spadraye, hiding his sarcasm. “Oh, this is so civilised! There are individual sachets of everything! Try not to eat the individually wrapped wet wipes, love.” He held one up to show her.

“Am I your love now, good sir?” asked Ganylerr coquettishly.

“Absolutely!” replied Spadraye. “To be more accurate, you’re my secret love. It’s just between us.”

“No one shall come between us!” said Ganylerr.

“Good, because that would be messy!” joked Spadraye. Ganylerr guffawed and her softorns became yellow-green.

“The world seems so bright and shiny today!” she said happily. “It’s a shame that we have to talk to the boring old government about weird bits of metal.”

“I’m hoping that it’ll simply be a handover,” said Spadraye. “The faster we get moving, the sooner we can finish all that and do more fun things.”

“If you say ‘fun things’ once more, my caps will pop open!” said Ganylerr.

“Alright, cool it down there!” said Spadraye quietly. “The other guests are trying to eat. Close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Relax and get through breakfast.” Ganylerr followed his advice. They both ate enough to keep them going until mid-afternoon. At the end, Ganylerr was chewing her way through a few final scraps of meat when she came to one that looked odd. She held it up with her claws.

“What do you think that is?” she asked Spadraye. He examined it closely.

“Oh dear, that appears to be a male namu’s stalk,” said Spadraye. “It gets even smaller when it’s fried.” Ganylerr was horrified and put the stalk down on her plate. Then she pushed away her plate.

“Does that mean I just ate parts of a namu?” she asked.

“Probably,” replied Spadraye. “They often serve namu flesh here in the Gloida po Sminko region. They cook it slowly so that it’s palatable.”

“Ah dammit!” muttered Ganylerr. “I wasn’t sure about that piece with a hole in the middle either. I feel sick. I might throw it back up again.”

“Come on, don’t do that!” protested Spadraye. “Namus are prey animals like any others. They’re quite nutritious. Keep it down and don’t waste a breakfast.”

“I have a soft spot for namus, especially after last night,” explained Ganylerr. “In a way, they turned me onto you. I’m disappointed that one of them was brutally dismembered and fed to me. I’m going to boycott them from now on.”

“Fair enough,” said Spadraye. “Now, when we’ve finished we need to hurry. We have to get through the traffic and find the correct government department.” They finished breakfast, packed their small bags, checked out and drove into the capital. There was a fair amount of congestion but the revitalised Ganylerr guided Spadraye through it effectively. Spadraye’s ‘phone received a few calls. He was too busy to answer them so they went to voicemail.

“I’m glad that you’re driving,” said Ganylerr as they threaded their way through yet another tricky junction. “You’re more experienced than me. I couldn’t cope with this.”

“I’m barely coping myself,” said Spadraye, his jaw clenching and unclenching frequently with the stress of city driving. “Thank goodness for a great car, though.” After two hours of stop-start progress, they arrived at the Department of Information, Communication and Knowledge, which seemed like the best place to search for answers.

“Where are we going to park?” asked Ganylerr. “The congestion’s appalling around here! There’s supposed to be a car park but I can’t see it.” She and Spadraye cruised about for a few minutes, searching. As they went past the Department for the third time, Spadraye noticed a light blinking on the dashboard. It seemed to show a car being picked up by a hoist platform. He’d heard something about car parks with elevators before. He hadn’t realised that there was one here. He noticed a specially marked space in the middle of the road that other vehicles were avoiding. He stopped the car on that space and waited.

“What are you doing?” asked Ganylerr.

“You’ll see in a minute,” said Spadraye. “We’re going up in the world!” Sure enough, a hoist assembly descended from the bridge-type building above, which they’d ignored until now. It was in two halves joined centrally on top. The front half landed ahead of the car while the back half landed simultaneously behind the car. Each half had a ramp, which pushed under the front and back wheels respectively. Telescopic locking bars secured the two halves together. The car was lifted vertically up to the bridge-type building and deposited in a parking spot inside. The hoist split back into two halves and moved to its normal resting place just under the high ceiling. Ganylerr and Spadraye were impressed by the smooth operation of this fully automatic car park. Compared to the notorious inefficiency of the government, the car park seemed incongruous. They left the car and followed the signs to the Department’s main reception desk.

Soon, Ganylerr and Spadraye found themselves in a waiting room. They watched as people in smart suits strode about looking important. The Department’s staff seemed to have a new style of suit with coloured piping on the sides and edges. The lower ranking people had green piping while the next rank had blue. After half an hour, they saw one man with red piping on his suit. He was telling some blues and greens what to do. Ganylerr looked at the metal pieces in their little box. They were mostly gold in colour.

“How long are they going to keep us here?” muttered Spadraye, wriggling in his seat and scratching himself in four places at once.

“Calm down, they’ll call us when they’re ready,” said Ganylerr, shutting the box. “It’s fun to read all these official posters and leaflets. I never knew that grotch fungus was such a harmful epidemic!”

“Not round our way,” said Spadraye. “We all wash regularly.”

“It grows on tropical fruit, silly!” said Ganylerr.

“Spadraye to Room 19, please!” said a receptionist, who glanced at him.

“My turn at last!” said Spadraye, getting up and walking toward the relevant corridor. “You wait here. Hopefully, this won’t take too long.” Ganylerr waved briefly and carried on reading leaflets. Spadraye passed through a section of corridor where the lights had failed. As he did so, he passed two staff members who were talking to each other. Their voices sounded strange and their eyes glowed slightly in the dim light. Immediately, Spadraye became more apprehensive. He reached Room 19 and knocked on the door.

“Enter!” said the official inside. Spadraye opened the door and went to shake hands with the official, who smiled broadly and introduced himself as Assistant Vice Minister Kylinazam.

“Thank you for coming so far to show me important artefacts,” said Kylinazam genially. “I hear that there are many problems on the roads that way these days. I trust that you weren’t too inconvenienced?”

“No, it wasn’t too bad,” replied Spadraye. “We made some mistakes and suffered delays but we had a wonderful night in the Hydasaus Hotel, so it’s been good thus far.” He noticed that Kylinazam had gold piping on his suit.

“You must be tired after your drive this morning,” said Kylinazam. “I’ll make you a drink. Would pasteurised zince blood suit you? It’s my favourite. I have a frothing machine. I’ll froth up your drink. It’ll take a few minutes but you’ll enjoy it much more.”

“Yes I’ll have one of those, Minister,” said Spadraye. “I don’t have enough zince blood, to be honest. It’s expensive and I was unemployed for several months recently.”

“I understand,” said Kylinazam. “Oh, it’s warming up nicely in here. The sunlight and the radiators boost the temperatures quickly at this time of day.” He took off his jacket and hung it up on a rack before going into his private mini-kitchen. When he was out of sight, Spadraye sprang over to the rack and compared the gold piping on the jacket to the gold metal pieces in his little box. They were virtually identical. Spadraye now knew that the problem of machine intelligence infiltration went much deeper than his home town. It had reached the main body of national government. He became very anxious all of a sudden. He realised that he’d wandered unwittingly into a nest of mysterious A.I. activity. He put his little box into one of his pockets and rushed out of the room. He shut the door quietly and jogged back down the corridor.

“Where the blazes did he go?!” thought Kylinazam when he emerged from his mini-kitchen two minutes later. “I hate these time-wasting jokers!” He drank both cups of zince blood himself and busied himself by tidying up until his next appointment.

“Gany, we mustn’t stay here any longer,” whispered Spadraye urgently to Ganylerr in the waiting room. “This whole department’s been compromised. We have to escape before they suspect that we’re onto them.”

“Huh? They look normal to me,” said Ganylerr. “They all have their quirks. That woman, for example, has terrible flatulence ...”

“It’s all a clever disguise!” said Spadraye. “They’re all wearing AI chips. Come on, let’s go back to the car!” He pulled her out of her chair and led her toward the car park.

“Are we going to try other departments?” asked Ganylerr as they trotted along anonymous concrete corridors. “You agreed that we might have to do that today.”

“Bad idea,” replied Spadraye. “We might end up ‘disappeared’ like thousands of others this year. I want to carry on living for a while longer and I want to keep lovely people like you alive too.” Ganylerr smiled brightly. They reached the car park two minutes later and wondered how to reactivate the hoist.

“It’s motion-sensitive,” said Spadraye, recalling what he’d heard in the news. “We have to get into the car. A camera will see us.” Ganylerr waved her arms at the hoist, trying to speed up the process. As it turned out, there was also a weight sensor that detected Spadraye and Ganylerr’s combined three hundred kilogrammes in the car. The hoist promptly descended, picked them up and deposited them back on the street. Spadraye was very relieved indeed. He waited for an opening and then drove away from the Department building.

“They had glowing eyes,” he told Ganylerr. “They also had that piping on their clothes that were actually microelectronics, just like the bits in my box. They’d been totally taken over by machine intelligence. If I’d shown him the box, he’d have known that I was onto them.”

“Well, if the machines have infiltrated our government, they could be all over the world by now,” Ganylerr pointed out. “In fact, this car could be one of them. Any machine could be one of them. Any object could have a bug inside. They could’ve taken over the world already without most people knowing. We’re probably too late to do anything about it.” Spadraye paused and let the implications sink in. He looked at the shiny new controls in front of him. He might be touching one of his secret masters right now. The idea didn’t sit well with him.

“Vittin lorks, this is awful!” he complained. “We’re powerless! What the hell can we do?!”

“Let’s go shopping!” said Ganylerr hopefully. “I want to see how far we can stretch our credits!”

“How can you think about shopping at a time like this?!” asked Spadraye, flustered.

“Life goes on, love,” said Ganylerr. “I’m going to carry on living it. We’re not finished yet. I won’t let them win!” Spadraye sighed and cruised around for a few minutes. Eventually, he found on-street parking and slotted the car neatly into a space.

“Where are you planning to shop?” asked Spadraye, rubbing his hands across his face. “Do you want to go to another area? This is Gloida, not your typical small town centre. The shops are more scattered and spread out here.”

“I only want to see the main stores on Rinzit Avenue,” replied Ganylerr. “I’m going to buy some really cute outfits so that I look good for you.”

“Erm, maybe that’s not such a good idea,” said Spadraye. “Hahnirets will definitely notice and suspect something. You should tone down your choices.”

“A few nice pieces don’t show anything in particular!” griped Ganylerr.

“Don’t rush off just yet,” said Spadraye. “I’m checking my messages. You should too.” Ganylerr tutted as they both activated their ‘phones and scrolled through. Moments later, they were shocked to read some tragic news.

“Uncle Zund!” said Ganylerr, her hearts skipping a beat.

“Found dead outside the hospital,” read Spadraye. “Suspicious circumstances. Growing tensions between clans. Fights breaking out. Hahnirets became violent and had to be restrained in a psychiatric ward.” He listened to his voicemail. Members of his family and others were giving the same news in sombre, stressed or anxious tones.

“Maybe it’s best if you didn’t hurry back,” said Lopotym on voicemail. “There’s trouble brewing here. We’re rallying our supporters just in case. People are being attacked. Some are leaving town in a hurry.”

“This is so depressing!” said Spadraye, letting his head fall back against the head rest. “Do you still feel like shopping?”

“No, not right now,” replied Ganylerr as the tears began to flow in her softorns. “The urge has suddenly deserted me.” They sat in silence for a minute, gathering their thoughts.

“Look, we’ve come all this way,” said Spadraye. “We might as well pick up some clothes.”

“You do it,” said Ganylerr. “Get me three complete outfits from the Onil Gaal collection at the Drivem Wild store. I’m a size 48 regular. Use your best judgment. Don’t go over budget.”

“Alright, 48 regular,” said Spadraye. “You’re sure I can get the right ones?”

“Onil Gaal is fairly generous in size,” replied Ganylerr. “It’ll be fine.”

“You’re still young,” said Spadraye. “You haven’t filled out completely.” Ganylerr stared at him sadly.

“Call it 50 regular, for future growth,” she said. “Now go! I want to move on. I’ll find us another place to stay for the night. I want to try a different place, not one that makes me eat poor, defenceless namus.” She used her ‘phone to find and book accommodation. Spadraye didn’t debate her choices. He went straight to Drivem Wild and snapped up the required outfits. The shop assistants were concerned that Ganylerr wasn’t present for fittings but they sold the clothes anyway.

“We’ll be back tomorrow, I promise,” said Ganylerr to her father as Spadraye returned to the car. “The traffic’s bad and the roads are very confusing. Try to take it easy. Don’t get yourself worked up. I’ll see you tomorrow lunchtime, all being well. Yes, we’re miserable here but Spadraye’s looking after me brilliantly. He’s even doing my shopping for me!”

“Gany’s been behaving herself perfectly too!” said Spadraye, leaning across and speaking into the ‘phone. “There’s been a development here but it’s complicated. It can wait until we come home.”

“See you soon, Daddy!” said Ganylerr. “Spaddy’s got my new clothes and now we’re going to stay the night in a cabin at Lake Bongewit. Love to the family!” She hung up as Spadraye loaded the Onil Gaals into the rear compartment.

“Lake Bongewit, eh?!” said Spadraye. “That’s a good choice. I’m going to eat so many flies there. It’ll make me go up a dress size!”

“You’re not having my dresses,” said Ganylerr. “You’ll ruin them.”

“What a ridiculous notion!” said Spadraye. “60 doesn’t fit into 50. Besides, I’m a man. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.” Ganylerr smiled slightly as Spadraye drove them away. Dear Uncle Zund was gone but there were plenty of other people who could make her feel happy.

* * * * *

Bryfe sat at her terminal, blocking message streams that threatened to overwhelm her online site. She had to do this at least twice a day now. Increasing numbers of people were becoming hostile to her message of supernatural danger. They were accusing her of being at the vanguard of ‘Operation Fear’. She was still amazed that thousands of people were taking the time to target her. Most of them confined their activities to the network but a few sent paper letters and two had tried to burn her premises down, despite the building containing dozens of innocents. She completed her self-imposed daily quota of fifty blocks and then tried to relax. It was the end of the working day. She hadn’t worked very hard but there was cumulative fatigue from the previous two months. She had a quick drink of water and then lay down in her consulting hammock, which had held several hundred customers (one at a time) since she opened her spiritual business over two years ago. She had a short, well-earned nap, which ended in a dream about satisfied customers thanking her. When she awoke, an hour had passed. The psychic pressure of the day had lessened since many people had gone home. She walked to the front windows and looked out. Most vehicles had left the street outside. One or two cruised past but there would be fewer from now on. The same went for pedestrians. She closed the shutters on the left and right. The central door shutter she dropped most of the way, making it difficult for anyone to break in quickly. Normally at this time, she’d stroll down the road and buy a takeaway or other meal. Today, she was reluctant to do so. It was probably the tiredness. She needed a pick-me-up, so she went to the kitchen for a spice-boost cocktail.

As she mixed her drink, Bryfe started to hear some small but unusual sounds. She knew the normal noises made by the building and the town outside. These were different. There were tappings, scratching, squeaks, hums, whistles and thuds. She looked for the causes but she couldn’t pinpoint any sources. The sounds seemed to move around, sometimes coming closer and sometimes going away. Being a psychic, she soon suspected that the sounds had a supernatural origin. Looking into a darkened closet, she saw some tiny lights floating around. When she turned on the main light, they vanished. They didn’t come back when the main light was turned off again. As she walked past the front door, she smelt a heady combination of scents. Presumably, these were further supernatural signs. Someone or something was trying to get her attention. She didn’t know who or what yet so she brought her drink to the consulting room and sat down to read a few things. The strange sounds continued sporadically. She kept listening as she perused her pamphlets, some of which were outdated. She put those older pamphlets in her recycling box. In one of the newer pamphlets, she noticed some misprints. She was annoyed because it would have to be corrected and reprinted. As she read further down, the mistakes multiplied. This was very odd. She never made this many errors. On page two, she found that her entire text had been replaced with someone else’s text. It looked like one of those religious extremist messages. There must have been a problem at the printers, she reckoned. One paragraph read:

‘Cast off your everyday shackles. Use your arachnidity to the maximum. Forget your limitations. Learn to live forwards, backwards and sideways. Turn your situation inside out to achieve your goals. Conversion leads to inversion and inversion leads to conversion. It is a virtuous cycle of transformation, creating value from unlikely dross.’

It was supposed to be inspiring but Bryfe couldn’t see how it would apply to real situations. She put it aside, to be corrected later. As the corrupted leaflet hit the desk, she felt a profound shift in the room’s atmosphere. A new presence was awakening. It was as if the message of the leaflet was infecting the building. If it could do that, surely it might affect the whole town. This was completely unprecedented. There was a psychic earthquake in progress but most people would be unaware. Bryfe sat and sensed profound, ineffable changes sweeping out across her surroundings. It was extremely unsettling but she felt impotent. Suddenly, she thought about her hidden cash in the back room. Was it still safe? She felt dizzy but she got up and tottered through the door into the back office. A carved pattern of leaves and flowers was being pushed out of a wooden wall panel. It was previously a flat pattern but it was being turned into a raised pattern by an unknown force. The sight and scraping sounds of an invisible power altering her wall were blood-chilling. She’d seen minor telekinesis before but this was a precision job, under someone’s tight control. She was being sent a message via demonstration. She leapt to her secret floor safe, opened it and yanked out her hard-earned dosh. She’d previously arranged it by denomination. Now, she fanned it out and examined it. As she looked, the colours of the notes were changing. The green singles were becoming purple. The blue fives were becoming green. The red tens were becoming blue. The brown twenties were becoming red. The few purple fifties were becoming green.

“NO!” she cried, horrified. Her assets were being destroyed. She had to go to the bank. She left her safe open and climbed back into the front room. She looked at the front door and saw that it was dark outside. Night had fallen, so the bank wouldn’t reopen until morning. Her valuable notes continued to change colour. Also, the letters and numbers were starting to blur and switch around. Something was intent on destroying her business. Panicking, she hid the notes in a stack of dusty, unpopular books. As she did so, she noticed that the fabric on the edges of her sleeves was breaking up, as if a chemical was corroding it. She brushed broken threads off her arms. She looked up and saw the cover of her security alarm control box fall to the floor with a series of clanks. The force was targeting her defences. Small lights inside the box failed. Mini-panels popped out and clattered down. Tiny components overloaded and blew up in sparks. That was a fire risk, so Bryfe was obliged to go back to the office and shut down the power. She flipped the main switch and the alarm control box stopped sparking but all the room lights stayed on. The force was dictating the flow of electricity here! Just then, there was a banging on the front door. She had a caller. That was more than coincidence, surely. She rushed over to lift the door shutter. Outside were three men. Two of them were local vagrants whom she’d seen before. Between them, they were carrying an unconscious young man. She felt immediately that he needed help. Although she had her own problems, she knew that she had to do something for him. She opened the door. At the same time, she felt the invisible force seize control of her body. In her head, she was shunted aside and became a mere spectator. Her body relaxed and she lost her distressed expression.

“Sorry to trouble you, Missus,” said one of the vagrants. “We found this lad passed out in the street. He’s been mumbling things about spirits, demons and shiny metal.”

“I don’t suppose you gents have ‘phones?” asked the possessed Bryfe. The vagrants shook their heads.

“No problem, bring him in,” said Bryfe calmly. “I’ll summon an ambulance. Oh, I’ll have to bring the police too. I sense that there’s more going on here than meets the eye. Do you know his identity? He should have a wallet.” She looked at the second vagrant, who averted his gaze. She continued to stare. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the wallet. He handed it to Bryfe and she opened it.

“The cash too please,” she said a little sternly. “It’s in your left jacket pocket.”

“No, there was none,” said the second vagrant. “He must have spent it on good times.”

“It’s a good job that I’ll be calling the police in a minute,” said Bryfe. “I KNOW you have it. Check out my shop sign. You know who I am. Don’t bother trying to trick me.” The vagrant reluctantly gave the cash back. Bryfe put it in the wallet and took out a few ID cards. She’d brought the pathetic beggar to heel.

“Hmm, his name’s Duenichar,” said Bryfe. “That doesn’t sound local. He looks like a tourist but not a whole-hearted one. Lay him down on my hammock. No, on second thoughts, lay him on the floor. I can smell that he’s had an ‘accident’ at the back.” The vagrants dragged him over the threshold and put him on the flat part of the floor.

“Could we go now?” asked the second vagrant. “They’ll come and deal with him, won’t they?”

“Actually, I’m not calling anyone,” replied Bryfe. “You’re going to stay with me, Gjifrie. You too, Leyame. I’m thinking of making you an offer. You’re in need, aren’t you?” Gjifrie and Leyame looked at each other briefly.

“How do you know our names?” asked Leyame. Behind him, the door slammed and locked, startling the two vagrants. No one had touched the door and it wasn’t automatic.

“Come on, let us go!” begged Gjifrie. “We’re not your enemies. We’re just down on our luck!” Bryfe crouched down to examine Duenichar. He was still unconscious. She rolled him onto his side.

“I wonder why he’s ended up like this today?” she mused. “What could have driven him to overindulge and fall down intoxicated like this? I don’t think that he does it habitually. He dresses too neatly.” She felt around for hidden bottles and packets. Meanwhile, Leyame and Gjifrie were trying to open the door but the lock wouldn’t turn. Bryfe became bolder and slipped her hand into one of Duenichar’s stalk pouches. She immediately felt a sheen of liquid coating a stalk. That wasn’t normal so she extracted the stalk slowly from the pouch.

“We’ll have to break the glass!” said Gjifrie to Leyame.

“No, don’t do that,” said Bryfe. “Check this out. I think I found Duenichar’s main problem.” The two vagrants looked back at her. She was holding Duenichar’s grossly deformed, shrivelled, weeping stalk. They were shocked. They felt that they were in a little shop of horrors. Bryfe seemed unconcerned and even slightly amused. How could a woman act like that, unless she was abnormal or possibly evil? They grabbed a chair, wanting to break out through a window.

“You’re not going ANYWHERE!” said a loud electronic voice from the kitchen. “Put that down!” A hulking figure in silver and black entered the room. It had the shape of a man but it was at least fifty percent bigger than average and it was made entirely of metal. Gjifrie and Leyame were terrified and dropped the chair, which shattered into thousands of fragments. The mysterious force had made it fall apart totally. Bryfe could tell that this was another show of strength.

“There won’t be any police or ambulance,” said Bryfe, walking over to lower the door shutter. “This is private business. We’ll only go public at the end.”

“W-when’s the end?” asked Gjifrie, his eyes locked on the metal man.

“You’ll see, at the end!” said the metal man. “Now, shut up. Here’s the offer that the woman made. Would you like to reverse your fortunes? Would you like to experience our gift of inversion?” Bryfe could see the connection now. The invisible force, the telekinesis, the metal man, her possession, weird stuff happening across the country: all these things were part of one supernatural movement.

“I can’t move!” said Leyame. “You’re paralysing me! Mngmph!” His mouth froze up.

“You’re not giving us a choice, are you?” said Gjifrie. “We can’t resist you. Do what you want. There’s no option. My legs are going numb. I can’t do anything.”

“You could still say no,” said Bryfe, standing behind Gjifrie and speaking into his right ear. “No one would blame you. You’d die but it would be quick and painless.”

“Juzzt do it, metalloid!” said Gjifrie as his power of speech faded.

“And you?” the metal man asked Leyame, who was still able to nod his assent.

“Very well, let’s do this!” said the metal man. Bryfe could sense a profound change in the spiritual realm. Amid the infinite dimensions of higher reality, the souls of Gjifrie and Leyame were being manipulated. It could be said that they were turned inside out except that the real manoeuvres were far more complex. Imprisoned in her own body, Bryfe was stunned at the scale of the change. Every part of the two vagrants was affected. The metal man opened a hatch in his large head and a black cloud poured out. It surrounded Gjifrie and Leyame and began chewing into their bodies, clothes and possessions. They were being deconstructed and would soon be reconstructed. At first, they struggled slightly but then they stood still. The black cloud and the invisible force were holding them up as they died (in a way) and awaited rebirth (in another way).

“It’s time for the main target,” said the metal man. “Wake him.” Bryfe knelt down next to Duenichar and rubbed his softorns gently. She knew that he wouldn’t be roused instantly. At the same time, she was trying to contact her spirit guides. She expected that they would be able to help her in this time of crisis but there was only an absence. They weren’t responding at all. If they wouldn’t come to her, perhaps it was time for her to go to them? Nonetheless, she was curious how the current situation would play out. The metal man climbed back into the kitchen. Gradually, Bryfe cajoled Duenichar back into consciousness. As his brain reactivated, she could sense his deep dissatisfaction, frustration and depression. She’d never experienced such a sense of hopelessness before. He believed that his life was one big, miserable, dead end, no matter what he did to compensate. She pitied him immensely but now she understood why he was the main target. He was a prime candidate for this stupendous ‘inversion’ process. She didn’t like to see people broken down and rebuilt according to the metal man’s blueprints but maybe, in this case, it was for the best. Without her spirit guides, she couldn’t predict a better alternative.

“I’m aware of your plight,” she said to him softly as he opened his eyes. “I think that I can help you. I have powerful new friends. They have incredible technology that no one’s ever seen before. Would you like that?”

“You can help me?” queried Duenichar. “Forgive me if I doubt you. I’m a complete wreck. I’m doomed. What can fix that? Just let me dose myself and sink into the abyss. Next time, I’ll take double or triple. It’ll all be over by tomorrow.”

“We’ll fix you,” said Bryfe. “You deserve it more than anyone. Your weaknesses will be converted into strengths. Watch the two being mended behind you!” Duenichar rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly. Even he had detected a radically different atmosphere in the room. He turned to the right and saw a black cloud of tiny, unknown, flying things whirring around two people. He could see that they’d already rebuilt the lower legs completely. They were very shapely legs indeed. He leant forward, heedless of the black clouds. They were ideal legs. He stroked one as he appreciated them. He looked up and watched as the knees and lower thighs were constructed. The blood was carried in the air and decanted into the arteries and veins. Not a drop was spilt.

“Holy vittin snarg eggs!” he exclaimed quietly as the creatures of the clouds hummed in their work. “This is it! My prayers have been ANSWERED! Sign me up, right now!” He turned back to Bryfe and grabbed onto her jacket. His relieved smile started small but grew steadily.

“Alright, we’ll get onto it as soon as ... no, I mean immediately!” she said as she spotted another black cloud flying out of the kitchen directly at Duenichar. “Here they come: prepare yourself as you think best!” Although he was still suffering the after-effects of substances, Duenichar stood up and unfurled both stalks in readiness for his procedure.

“Do me like you’re doing those two girls!” he yelled rapturously. The black cloud started deconstructing his clothes and flesh while the invisible force clenched and stretched his soul. Then, he grasped the main drawback of inversion. His good nature was being reversed. He screamed for a few moments until the black cloud paralysed him and disabled his vocal cords. Bryfe grimaced. Had her initial assessment been wrong? Whatever the case, she was powerless. She stepped carefully around Duenichar and his cloud. The activity there was particularly frenetic. The little flying creatures were stripping fragments of material from the shop to build him up. She turned her attention to Leyame and Gjifrie. Their legs did seem to be much more feminine now, as did their abdomens that were currently reappearing. Did that mean Duenichar would also become a girl? Bryfe sat on a small chair and watched for a while. The procedures were fascinating and remarkably quick, considering their ultra-complex nature. Occasionally, she looked through a small hole in the shutters at the street outside. At first, it was deserted. As time went by and the three people before her were rebuilt, a few passersby came into view. This wasn’t a major area for night life so the street was normally deserted in the evening. A few people sat down on benches and low walls outside. They were chatting and seemed happy. Presumably, they didn’t sense the odd atmosphere around her shop. Some people were oblivious to such things. On a related note, why hadn’t the neighbours heard the evening’s unusual noises and come to investigate? Bryfe realised that the invisible force probably had them in its grip. She was a real novice in these matters!

After about half an hour, the body rebuilding powered to a crescendo and reached completion. Duenichar and the two new girls stood motionless. Leyame and Gjifrie would have to be renamed. Maybe Duenichar needed a new name too. He had been converted into a muscular giant nearly five metres long with four metre stalks that bulged with stimulating fibres. The new girls were also long and strong, though not quite in his league. All their expressions were a bit worrying, though. They seemed somewhat cold and calculating. Bryfe walked up to Duenichar and ran her hand across his huge chest. Part of her wished that she’d known him twenty years ago, instead of her ex-husband who’d left her after nine years of marriage. She’d never managed to find another decent partner since then, although there’d been many dates. She’d been told by her spirit guides that this was all a part of her personal development. She’d been honing her relationship skills through multiple failures. Maybe that was so but she resented the many heartaches. She rested her head on the new Duenichar, heard his strong new hearts beating and wondered what he’d be like when he was ready. A minute later, she felt a firm tap on her footle cap. It was Duenichar! He’d just woken up and already he wanted her! She unfurled her stalks and opened her caps. Would he fit? Barely. His stalks jabbed through her footles like greased strables and pounded all her clusters heavily while squirting their juices. She didn’t even get a chance to footle him in return. She came in a flurry of sensations and then fell to the floor as his stalks were whipped out of her. She sat dazed and bewildered, striving to make sense of what had just happened. As she registered it all belatedly, the two new girls stirred. They saw her and advanced. One of them punched her hard in the head with two right fists. She was lucky to escape without a fractured skull. She was left sprawled on her belly with a stinging head injury.

“Stay away from him!” warned the girl. “He’s ours! You’re too pathetic for the likes of him!” She turned back to embrace Duenichar.

“Ladies, stay calm,” said Duenichar in a smooth, deep voice. “I can attend to you both. First, you.” He footled the violent girl quickly and she did her best to return the favour. Two minutes later, he footled the other girl. He didn’t seem to tire at all after three footlings within ten minutes.

“Stay with us!” pleaded the second girl, breathing heavily. “We’re already besotted with you!”

“You know I can’t do that,” replied Duenichar. “We have missions to accomplish now. I’m going to become the greatest footler of all time and you’re going to cause havoc in the upper echelons of the Stoneland Corporation, down in Gloida po Sminko.”

“VITTIN HEART THIEF!” yelled the first girl, rushing over to smack Duenichar. He wasn’t going to stand for that. He clutched both girls very tightly to his chest so that they couldn’t hit him. His massive arms held their arms immobilised. He squeezed both girls so hard that they had trouble breathing.

“You two hot pieces should behave yourselves or there’ll be big trouble!” he whispered in their ears. “You’ll do as you’re told now. Our metal friends will see to that. You’ll go to Gloida, find suitable positions and footle all the big guys in and around Stoneland. Make as much chaos as you can. Destroy their relationships. Split up their families. Make them argue and fight. Maybe later we’ll see each other again. Got it?!” He released them from his mighty grip.

“Yes master!” said the second girl.

“As you command,” said the first girl. “We’re going to need new stuff though, starting with outfits.”

“Your first possessions will be provided within the hour,” said Duenichar. “The black clouds will make them. After that, earn money or steal. Simple!” The girls turned away and went to the kitchen, rubbing their bruises on the way. Duenichar bent down and picked up Bryfe, who’d stayed down to avoid further beating.

“You know that you’ve seen too much,” he said to her. “You can’t stay as you are. They won’t let you. There are three options now: inversion, drone work or the final check out.”

“What’s drone work?” asked Bryfe.

“You’re experiencing it now,” replied Duenichar. “I am too but I have more freedom. They love selective slavery, these metal types.”

“I can’t submit to it,” said Bryfe. “It’s a living hell. I see that our time grows short. The whole world could fall today if they wanted.”

“So, you want out?” asked Duenichar. “I can help you with that.” He flexed his four strong hands.

“You may as well,” said Bryfe, downcast. “Do it.” She was expecting a quick neck break but he had a better idea. He used one hand to grab her neck, one to cover her eyes and two to open her footle caps. Once again, he penetrated her deeply but this time he used his strength to pulverise her innards. His stalks were so strong that they ripped through her footles and carved up all her main organs before tearing out through her ribs, clavicles, muscles and skin. She exploded in blood and her tattered body hit the floor with a loud squelch.

“Didn’t see that coming did you, psychic?!” said Duenichar, thrilled by his new power. “Oh, what a rush!” He didn’t care about his own people anymore. He was on a mission to wreck them now.

“Sloppy creature!” said the metal man, re-emerging from the kitchen. “I could have done it better, more efficiently. We’ll have to clean that up. Wash yourself, put some clothes on and get out there. Fly back to your home town and do your duty. By the way, call me Guiledart.”

“Yes sir, Guiledart sir!” said Duenichar, licking Bryfe’s blood from his arms. “It’ll be an absolute pleasure!”

* * * * *

“Undo locking nut 7g, remove it, extend reinforcing rod 19b, secure with removable plate 31f,” read Ganylerr from the car’s manual. “Experience shrivelling in stalks, lose will to live. Why do instructions have to be so complex and anally retentive?!”

“It’s more intuitive that you think,” said Spadraye. “If we can just extend these four roof pillars a metre and a half, we can proceed to the hanging stage.”

“Hah!” said Ganylerr, pretending to hang herself from a noose. “Do you have the fabric sections? No strips, no hammock.”

“Check the rear compartment,” said Spadraye. “They should be under our bags somewhere.” Ganylerr opened the compartment and rummaged around.

“I don’t see them,” she said. “Can we give up and move on, please?”

“There should be a false floor,” advised Spadraye. “Open that up and look.”

“Tsk, I’ll have to unload the luggage,” said Ganylerr. “Still, I don’t have much else in my schedule at present.” She started pulling bags out of the rear compartment and putting them on the ground. Spadraye had extended two roof pillars and now moved onto the third.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Hold on,” said Ganylerr, dumping more bags and then clawing open the compartment’s false floor. “I’ve found the spare wheel. In the middle are some bullet clips for the pistols. Is Yarx planning an uprising?! Anyway, where are those strips? I’m not seeing them.”

“They could be under the back seats,” suggested Spadraye. “Check there next.”

“This is stupid,” muttered Ganylerr, opening the rear right passenger door. “We already know that the car gives us bad dreams. Stringing a hammock two metres above the car won’t be much better.”

“If you can’t find the strips, we could use our webs,” proposed Spadraye. “I think that these pillars would support webs quite well. They’re sturdy and not too sharp.”

“Have you ever managed to spin enough webs to make a bed for yourself?” questioned Ganylerr. “Hardly anyone can! They always collapse after a few hours and they’re never very comfortable. We’re too big. We’re not little hedge-dwellers, you know.”

“If we had a few other people with us, it could work,” said Spadraye indignantly. “Even a couple of kids could tip the balance.”

“Oh, now you want kids!” snorted Ganylerr. “You haven’t even ...”

“HOI!” came a loud shout from someone in the distance. “Get off my land!” There was a single gunshot.

“Vittineck, pack the car!” said Spadraye, leaving the roof pillars and throwing a bag onto the back seat. Ganylerr ran to help. They heaved everything into the car, jumped on board, started the engine and drove out of the field. The landowner approached in his rough-terrain vehicle. He fired one more shot and then stopped in the middle of the lane as Spadraye and Ganylerr escaped. Their side windows were down and their roof pillars were poking up too high but they were away and free.

“Not again!” exclaimed Ganylerr. “I hate this! People with guns running around threatening us: I want to go home!”

“These bumpkins are so unreasonable!” said Spadraye angrily. “We can’t complain about them either. They have the right to defend their land from intruders. Never mind, we’ll be home tomorrow. Until then, we’ll stay at that cabin. I hope that we’ll be safe there.”

“We can do our sunbathing next to the cabin,” said Ganylerr. “That was the whole point of the roof hammock. Yeah, we could have just laid a rug on the ground but hammocks are much better. They’re out of the dirt.”

“I don’t think there’ll be much time for sunbathing,” said Spadraye. “It’s already mid-afternoon. Now, get in the back and secure everything. The draught will blow our stuff away.”

“I’LL blow away if I try to climb over the seat at this speed!” said Ganylerr. “Pull over so that we can sort it all out.” Spadraye sighed and stopped the car at the entrance to another field. Ganylerr crammed nearly all the loose items into bags and put them safely in the rear compartment. Spadraye lowered the roof pillars and triggered the roof-raising mechanism. The soft-top reattached itself to the pillars and once more the car was rain-resistant. At least that procedure went smoothly. Afterwards, they continued to Lake Bongewit. It was a fairly large lake, so they had to drive five kilometres around in order to reach their cabin.

“I’m ready now,” said Ganylerr, pulling out her pistol and some spare clips. “You might need these.” She put two clips on the dashboard for Spadraye.

“We’re not robbing the place!” said Spadraye.

“No but I don’t want to be caught out by another paranoid freeholder!” said Ganylerr. “I won’t be pushed around all the time by those types.”

“If you must have it, conceal it,” advised Spadraye. “Don’t scare them or they might do something rash.” Ganylerr shrugged and tucked the pistol into her chest pad pocket. The clips went into her hip pockets. Spadraye did likewise with his clips. A few minutes later, they arrived at the entry gate.

“Cabin three,” said Spadraye to the man at the door of the gatehouse. “We paid for one night only.”

“You’ll have to park here,” said the man. “No cars are allowed near the lake. We keep it tranquil, for the guests and the wildlife.”

“Alright, that’s fair,” said Spadraye. “Is there anything else we should know? Do you have a plan of the resort?”

“It’s on the notice board,” said the man. “Your cabin is two kilometres from here. Take the middle path. You can’t miss it. There’s a café on the left of the car park. It closes in an hour.”

“You haven’t had any trouble here recently, have you?” asked Ganylerr.

“I’m not aware of any,” replied the man. “I don’t know what guests do at night, though. Also, we’re becoming worried about what’s happening around the country. Have you seen the news today? There’ve been riots in some towns and cities. It’s been chaotic. The media are still trying to work out what’s happening.”

“We’ll have to watch the evening news,” said Ganylerr. “I hope that our homes aren’t affected.”

“Me too!” said the man. Spadraye and Ganylerr went to the café for refreshments and watched the news on the TV there. Some city centres and even suburbs were on fire. People were roaming around killing each other, settling many scores. They were becoming bolder and driving out to loot neighbouring areas. They were also executing anyone who looked strange. They were scared of possible aliens, monsters or sentient machines. Vehicles were being smashed up. Various devices were being crushed underfoot. It was rather unsettling. When the café closed, Spadraye and Ganylerr had to go to their cabin. They looked at the map. There seemed to be six possible paths. They didn’t know which one was the ‘middle’ path.

“It has to be this one,” said Spadraye, tapping the map. “If I’m wrong, we can simply cut across the field to the other path.”

“Let’s try it,” said Ganylerr, webbing her overnight bag to her back. “I fancy a run. Are you going to keep up with me or lag behind?”

“My legs are stiff after driving and sitting for hours,” said Spadraye. “Let me stretch for a minute.” He did so quickly and then followed Ganylerr. Like her sister, she could certainly run when she wanted. It was only the slippery mud and confusing network of paths that enabled Spadraye to keep up with her. They tried to keep to the correct path but it was very difficult because of the many unmapped paths and overgrown bushes in the area. Doggedly, they pressed on to the lake shore where they found a cabin. The wind was much stronger here with no bushes to deflect it. A single light shone above the porch. They approached the cabin and looked at the door number. It was Cabin Four.”

“Huh, I had a feeling you were wrong!” said Ganylerr.

“You could have told me that two kilometres back!” said Spadraye. “Fine, let’s dash across to the next cabin.” The next moment, he felt a ball of web hit his ankles. Instinctively, he stopped walking to prevent himself from falling over. Ganylerr was also hit by webs and temporarily halted.

“What are you doing here?” asked a man in the shadows.

“Be cool, man!” said Spadraye, holding up his hands. “We’re staying in Cabin Three tonight. If you look at my friend’s ‘phone, you can see the booking.” The man went over to Ganylerr and she showed him the booking. He seemed satisfied.

“Don’t go across this field,” he said, pointing to his right. “It’s too boggy because it’s so close to the lake. You’ll get stuck. We nearly did ourselves.”

“Dad, she has a gun!” said a girl, who was hiding in undergrowth behind the man. “I can see it in her chest pad!”

“That’s for self-defence,” said Ganylerr. “Don’t make me use it.”

“The booking could be fake,” said another girl next to the first one. “Remember all the fake documents we’ve seen recently. The machines are making them to order.”

“Shush, you two!” said the man. “You might get us all killed.”

“What is this?!” protested Spadraye. “Can’t we go to our cabin without suspicions and accusations?!”

“It’s a sign of the times,” said the man, shaking his head and looking at the floor. “We’re being chased around by bad people and weird stuff that keeps happening. We’re all on edge. We were trying to hide here but then you two showed up.”

“Sorry, we’ll move on,” said Spadraye, using his sharpest claw to cut the web from his ankles. “Cabin Three is on the other side of the boggy field, right?”

“No, it’s the other way,” said a woman, who was next to the two girls. “My husband got it wrong again. Climb over the ridges and work your way around the inlet. It’s about half a kilometre.”

“Thanks!” said Ganylerr, freeing herself and dashing toward the ridges. It was good to feel solid rock under her feet. Spadraye followed and they soon found the inlet. The ground here was boggy too. They had to detour inland. Night was falling quickly. Ganylerr started to see large, unusual shadows in the bushes on the left. It seemed that sizeable things were shuffling back and forth. Spadraye saw them too. They were both spooked, so they stopped for a closer look. They walked cautiously into the bushes, heading for the biggest shadows. They drew and cocked their guns.

“What could they be?” asked Ganylerr in a whisper. “Will our pistols even hurt them?”

“We’ve got nothing else besides a few webs,” replied Spadraye quietly. “We should identify these whatsits, at least.” They tiptoed onward. Two minutes later, something huge and black lunged at them from the right. They both screamed and fired at it. The thing didn’t stop: it continued swiftly on the same course, narrowly missing them. It appeared to be tumbling end over end. Moments later, it hit a bush and became snagged. It collapsed on top of the bush, draping itself untidily over the foliage. Spadraye and Ganylerr shot it a few more times. All it did after that was flap its edges in the wind. They went over to look at it.

“It’s a vittin tarpaulin, blown in the wind!” cursed Spadraye. “I nearly puked my footles because of this damned irresponsible piece of trash!” He hit it with his left hands in frustration.

“Vittin boat-loving sub-namus, they left it lying around!” swore Ganylerr. “I should shoot the vittin sailor boys in their vittin ugly KNEE CAPS!” She trotted further into the bushes and found other pieces of tarpaulin and fabric tangled and flapping in the strong breeze. They were the reason for her latest scare, not monsters.

“Let’s go!” she said, too annoyed to stay any longer. They ran another three hundred metres and found their cabin. They unlocked the door, went inside, turned on the light, put down their guns, dumped their bags and started peeling off their thermal protectors. After a day of scares and chases, they wanted to put it all behind them and relax. When they were fully undressed, they headed for the bathroom.

“Me first for the loo,” said Spadraye. “I’m busting for a wazz.”

“No, ladies first!” complained Ganylerr.

“Hey, we can both go at the same time,” said Spadraye. “Outside! No one will see!” Ganylerr agreed so they went around the side of the cabin and started.

“You’re getting it on me again!” said Spadraye indignantly as they stood side by side. He wetted her feet in return. She did the same to him. He angled upwards and so did she. He aimed for her face. In surprise, she opened her mouth and swallowed some. She spluttered, recovered and hosed him all over. He shut his eyes protectively but still managed to drench her in return.

“Drink my amber nectar!” she ordered. To her surprise, he actually complied. Seconds later, they both ran out of liquid ammunition.

“That was totally ridiculous!” said Ganylerr, dripping on the grass. “I never thought that my first lover would do this with me!”

“Exhilarating, though, wasn’t it?” said Spadraye. “One of life’s freaky fun moments. I used to do the same thing with your sister. Now we can wash in the lake!”

“Oh yeah, that’s right!” said Ganylerr. “Nature’s bathtub!” They both went to the back of the cabin where there were steps leading into the water. The water was very cold but they braced themselves and found it invigorating. After a few minutes, they’d had enough and ran back to the cabin. They looked at each other and realised that they still weren’t clean. They were spotted and smeared with mud and debris from the lake so they had to shower. Oral hygiene was also a priority, as were rehydration and turning on the heating. Afterwards, they sat together under blankets on the couch and rested. It had been a tiring, eventful day and they were glad of a chance to recuperate and warm up. They dozed for about forty five minutes and then awoke to watch a little TV. The news seemed very depressing so they put on some gentle music and talked.

“I don’t want this to end,” said Ganylerr dreamily. “It’s too good. I have the feeling that it will end, though. I don’t know why. ‘Women’s intuition’, you’ll probably say.”

“Our choice of drinks has angered the gods!” joked Spadraye. “Yours was yum, by the way.”

“Yours wasn’t bad either,” said Ganylerr. “I could get used to it.”

“That’s all a man wants to hear from his partner!” said Spadraye. “How about a footle?”

“In the morning,” replied Ganylerr. “I’d love to do it now but I’m done in. I’ll perform better after a good night’s rest.” She retired to the hammock and Spadraye watched TV (muted) for another twenty minutes without her. The news captions said that a bright new star had been seen in the night sky. He looked out of the window but couldn’t see any stars because of cloud. Everyone was wondering how such a bright star could have appeared so suddenly. Spadraye had no answer so he climbed slowly into the hammock, doing it skilfully enough to avoid waking Ganylerr. Sleep claimed him as the wind whistled and the lake waters rippled.

* * * * *

“They won’t break my mind, you know!” said Hahnirets. “It’s unbreakable, that’s what it is! It’s still fully active. I can live a normal life. They just can’t see it! Why won’t they let me out? Oh, who cares?! They’re the crazy ones! I’m ADAPTING to their nonsense. I’m working around it. I’m brighter than anyone thinks! You know that, don’t you? I’m a closet genius when I want to be. I’m full of answers, full of solutions. I’ll think my way free. These bars and grilles won’t hold me in the end. Our Zund would be proud of me if he could see me. He can see me! He’s watching over us now, like an omnipotent fly with a bazillion eyes. He was such a great man, wasn’t he? Why did they have to take him away? I hate them so much!”

“It was a stroke,” said Yarx, on the other side of the toughened glass. “No one took him away. My Dad was an old man. He disliked being cooped up in here. His last act was to leave the hospital. Thus, he was a success in the end! I’m so proud of him and all that he accomplished in his long and colourful life.” He hung his head in sadness and sobbed a little.

“You say it was a stroke but I know different,” said Hahnirets, hardly pausing. “You’ve seen the news. Bizarre stuff is happening. You must have seen it, especially the weird chips showing up in so many electronic gadgets. My ex Spadraye had some. He took them to the government for analysis. He’s a very irritating tool but he has his uses.”

“Yes, we’re waiting with baited breath for them to tell us what the chips are,” said Yarx sarcastically. “Our dysfunctional government will most likely fail again. They can’t even analyse their own finances sometimes. Whatever happens, it won’t help you. They’ll keep you here for a long while. You attacked too many people with that weighted sack. What was in there anyway?”

“Books!” exclaimed Hahnirets. “Three quite heavy ones were in there. I read books, Yarx! That’s no crime, is it? I was trying to keep myself up to date with the latest domestic drama stories. I’d been to the library ...”

“No you hadn’t,” said Yarx. “A friend of mine in the press saw you take someone else’s bag of books and start beating paramedics with it, in the hospital car park no less. They were only trying to help, Hahni!”

“Alright, I got carried away,” said Hahnirets. “I’m still a bit carried away now. I admit that I lost it. Uncle Zund was one of my idols and he died at a very bad time for me. I saw red. My primitive killer brain took over. I wanted corpses wrapped in webs at my feet. I took it out on the wrong people.”

“Sooner or later, you’ll calm down and they’ll release you,” said Yarx, trying to be reassuring. “You just need to keep working on yourself. Rebuild your brain bit by bit. Stay healthy: that’ll make it easier. Take your medications. Do whatever else you can to rehabilitate yourself. Stop lying to everyone!”

“I have a good idea for my rehab,” said Hahnirets. “I’m going to write an opera.” Yarx looked at her with a perplexed expression on his face.

“How the vittineck are you going to do that?” he asked. “Since when can you write music?!”

“It won’t be perfect while I’m incarcerated, of course,” replied Hahnirets. “The tunes will be rudimentary until I can go and find a collaborator. I can write the lyrics well enough. I’ll write them in Old High Shnookian so they sound classy.”

“You don’t know that language either!” exclaimed Yarx, exasperated. “Honestly, why do I bother?!” He gazed at the ceiling for a moment. There were many large, brown stains up there.

“I have a small Shnookian dictionary in my room,” said Hahnirets. “I’ll work it out as I go along.”

“Fine but what will be your subject matter?” asked Yarx.

“I plan to make the opera a multi-family drama,” replied Hahnirets. “The more complex and refined I can make it, the more likely the authorities are to see that I’m sane and sensible.”

“For what audience are you aiming?” asked Yarx.

“A mature audience, I reckon,” said Hahnirets. “Naturally, there’ll be plenty of footling and violence to keep it realistic! It’ll be a series of erotic and vicious vignettes. Sure, some uncultured critics will say that it’s only a torrent of muck aimed at the lowest common denominator. They’ll say that it’s a cynical bid to crash the public consciousness through a relentless parade of shocks. They’ll be wrong. The more sophisticated and enlightened reviewers will plumb the full depths of its quality!”

“I’m sure they will,” said Yarx. “You can’t beat deep quality. When do you hope to complete this great work?”

“I’ll do the bulk of the work within the next two weeks,” replied Hahnirets. “The finishing touches will have to wait for my collaborator when I’m freed.” Yarx knew that no one could write an opera in two weeks, at least no one like her. She was still clearly unbalanced. He was secretly happy about that. It made her easier to manipulate.

“Stop grinning!” chided Hahnirets. “Your Dad died. You shouldn’t be smiling so much. Are you mocking me silently?! That sort of thing earns you knuckle sandwiches!”

“Sorry, my moods are fluctuating wildly,” said Yarx sympathetically. “I was actually smiling at your opera idea. I think that you’re mocking other people with it, probably those who’ve done you wrong over the years. You’re tainting the show with lashings of ugly reality.”

“Hmm, that’s an interesting thought but your accusation is too vague,” said Hahnirets. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“I will, when you’ve written the thing,” said Yarx. “You know, too many brag about their intentions and fail to deliver. Are you really going to pen this magnum opus? Are you going to knuckle down and follow through?”

“Oh, I’ll follow through alright!” said Hahnirets, getting up and pacing about. “I’ll follow through all over the doubters. They’ll be covered in steaming piles of follow-through! I’ll need more paper first, though.”

“Writing paper: I’ll see that you get it,” said Yarx. “Is there anything else that you might need?”

“I’ve been told that a hacksaw is out of the question!” replied Hahnirets. “Other than that, the only thing I don’t have is news. What’s happening out there?”

“The funeral’s tomorrow but they won’t let you go,” said Yarx. “You’re too disruptive. Your father is arranging the sacrifice of twelve chumanars on your behalf. That’ll keep Zund fed on his way to the hereafter.”

“It’s a beautiful gesture,” said Hahnirets, weeping once more. “Thank you so much, Dad!”

“The family are bearing up quite well, considering,” continued Yarx. “Most of them weren’t expecting your uncle to last much longer anyway. They were prepared for his passing, in a way. I’m in charge of his little nefarious empire now. I’m running it very well, they tell me. We’re defending ourselves but we won’t be attacking any rivals. There’s no need because we’re using an extensive network of bugs and drones to keep tabs on them, so they can’t act against us without our knowing.” Hahnirets was impressed. Zund was too old-school to have done what Yarx was describing.

“On a less positive note, I’m afraid that your employers have decided to terminate your work contract with immediate effect,” continued Yarx. “They don’t want to be associated with you anymore. Your pension will be paid at retirement age but it’ll be quite small. On the bright side, I’ll find you a job when you’re released from here. That’s a promise.”

“Wow, good save Yarx!” said Hahnirets. “You’re incredibly generous! Still, it’s sad to lose my old job. I’ll have to go and say goodbye to the gang at work later. How’s my sister doing?”

“She’s having a lot of fun,” replied Yarx. “Your mother told me that she’s stayed at a luxury hotel and a cosy cabin with Spadraye. He’s really looking after her. They’ve been shopping for clothes and they’ve explored a few parts of the wider Gloida region. It’s been an eye-opening time for her. They’ve managed to avoid trouble, fortunately. They’re driving one of my brilliant new cars, which is second-to-none in terms of technological advancement.”

“That all sounds great,” said Hahnirets. “I hope that she’s keeping Spaddy on the straight and narrow too.”

“Ganylerr said that he hasn’t even touched another person,” said Yarx. “She grabbed those hands and wouldn’t let them wander, so to speak.”

“Nice to hear,” said Hahnirets. “She sounds tough and strict, like this psychiatric ward! I haven’t figured out how to escape yet. I’ll keep trying, though. Maybe next month I’ll break out, after I’ve finished most of my opera.”

“That’ll be interesting,” said Yarx. “Anyway, I should go now. Visiting time is nearly over. I’ll see you again quite soon, cousin. Sit tight for now. You might be better off in here while the riots are still ongoing.”

“I’ll try not to assault anyone else,” said Hahnirets. “It sets a bad example for Gany and other youngsters.”

“Your good sense is returning,” said Yarx. “Persevere, dear; persevere! Heh, there’s a rhyme for your opera!” With that, he climbed out of the visiting chamber and went back to his plotting and planning.

“Good old Gany!” thought Hahnirets as she went back to her cell. “She’s got Spaddy under control. She’s got him in her clutches. She’s wrapped him around her little finger ...” A new suspicion dawned in her mind. It wasn’t pretty. She couldn’t help but start to fume.

“Gany, what are you doing out there with him?!”

* * * * *

Spadraye awoke to an empty hammock. It was fairly early in the morning. He could still smell Ganylerr’s scent on the blankets so she hadn’t been gone that long. He looked down at the cosy little cabin interior. Ganylerr’s clothes were on the chair where she’d left them last night. His own clothes were scattered on the couch and the floor. He’d never been particularly tidy. The guns were on a side table. There was no sign of food preparation or consumption. Ganylerr must be outside, he concluded. He rose, used the toilet quickly and went to find her. He heard footsteps above him, at the back of the cabin. He walked around the cabin and looked up. There was a ladder leading to a very small wooden balcony, which was mounted against the cabin eaves. Ganylerr was standing awkwardly on the balcony, trying to do a sun dance.

“Hey there!” called Spadraye. There was still a strong breeze so she didn’t hear him. Undeterred, he swung himself up the ladder and came face-to-face with her.

“Here’s another way that you’re like Hahni!” said Spadraye. “I never figured you were a sun worshipper too.”

“I’m not usually,” said Ganylerr. “I felt different this morning. I actually wanted to do the dance. Our little adventure must’ve made me appreciate life more. What we have is so precious. We tend to take the world for granted, though. I should get out of that habit.”

“I noticed that you were having trouble with the ritual,” said Spadraye. “You know that you’re supposed to cling to the wall, right?”

“There isn’t enough wall,” said Ganylerr. “See here, I only have a metre and a half. I can’t do all the moves.”

“That’s annoying!” said Spadraye. “We should complain to the management on our way out.”

“They’ll probably tell us to use the ground floor wall,” said Ganylerr. “It’s a practical option but they know full well we’re supposed to use a higher storey wherever possible. We have to reach for the sun, not salute it from the dirt!” Spadraye thought for a moment and then had an idea.

“The only other thing big enough for your dance is me!” he said. “I’ll hold myself against the wall and you cling to my hips with your foot claws. Then you can do the basic ritual; nothing fancy, no Condret interpretation. Would that be acceptable?”

“I suppose,” said Ganylerr. “It’ll probably hurt you, though.”

“Nonsense! I know you’re careful,” said Spadraye. “Besides, your sister did much worse to me. I can take it.” Ganylerr shrugged and leapt onto him. There was a sharp intake of breath as her claws pinched his skin. She regretted that slightly but he had volunteered. She went through the ritual movements one by one. As she did so, they admired the surroundings. The lake was very picturesque. It was mostly surrounded by trees. There were a few houses dotted along the shore. A minor road or path could be glimpsed here and there. Various kinds of flying creatures soared above and swooped down to catch their breakfasts. There was a cluster of boats on the far shore. Some of them were pleasure craft while others were for small-scale trawling. The sky was partly cloudy but the sun was visible. It shone brightly on the area and made everything sparkle. Ganylerr experienced a moment of clarity. She could see why people danced for the sun now. It was too beautiful to ignore and pass by. It bathed the earth in heavenly light, every day without fail.

“Does it say anything in the ritual texts about some of this?” asked Spadraye. He stroked her softorns from behind with his stalks.

“I’m trying to concentrate on the dance,” said Ganylerr. “I’m out of practice. I don’t know if I can do two complicated things at once.” She brought out her own stalks and coiled them three times around his. She was trying to deter him but he wanted to proceed. He could only hold his current position for about fifteen minutes. Their stalks struggled together like upright serpents.

“If we both go slowly, you can multi-task,” said Spadraye seductively. “Just focus on two things: a bit of one, a bit of the other and so on.”

“Alright, I like a challenge!” said Ganylerr, relenting and untangling her stalks. They footled gradually, instinctively as Ganylerr performed twelve down-up waves, eight wrist wiggles, nineteen shoulder shakes, fourteen head bobs, twenty six phoney shouts and all the other required manoeuvres. It was a great way to stretch and loosen up for the day ahead, especially if there was going to be plenty of climbing. The internal stimulation was a complicating factor but sometimes the exercise synched with the stalks’ movements and she felt a burst of elation. As she approached the hooting stage, she was building up nicely. She opened her mouth and began greeting the sun vocally. Spadraye took his chance to increase the stimulation. Ganylerr found herself hooting louder than ever before. She really let rip as she came. The sound echoed off the trees on the far shore. Somehow, she managed to continue the dance, using her autonomous memory and reflexes. She also stimulated Spadraye hard so he did some hooting of his own. At the same time, there was a small ship motoring across the lake. It blew its horn repeatedly in response to the hooting. Spadraye waved his acknowledgment. Ganylerr was too preoccupied to do the same. She completed the final seventeen elbow flexes and fifteen knee bends. Then, she jumped off Spadraye and lay on the balcony floor, spent. Spadraye let go of the wall and rubbed his sore hips. Their stalks withdrew from each other and returned to their respective pouches.

“I did it!” said Ganylerr. “I made you a believer! Don’t deny it: I heard you hoot!”

“Well I was obliged!” said Spadraye. “It was my first sun dance footle. No one else let me do it before. Now, I definitely believe in the divine solar power!”

“As if there was any doubt,” said Ganylerr, shielding her eyes with a right hand. “Well, if you’re satisfied we can think about moving on. It’s three hours to check-out.” Spadraye sat next to her and scraped her harder skin plates delicately with his claws. There was always a need to remove dirt from those plates. It kept accumulating on everyone, hence the popularity of scrubbing machines. As he scoured her joints and edges, he looked at the sky again. The cloud was clearing. He noticed a new light in the south west. It was the bright star that he’d learnt about the previous night. How was it shining in the daytime?

“Look at that,” he said. “I wonder what it is. My guess is a comet.” Ganylerr sat up and saw for herself.

“Vittineck, that’s odd!” she said, amazed. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.” They continued staring.

“It’s slightly blue,” observed Spadraye. “It might be an aircraft.” A few seconds later, it disappeared completely.

“What the hell?!” exclaimed Ganylerr. They kept watching for a few more minutes. It didn’t return.

“It must have been artificial,” said Spadraye. “I saw a balloon do that once. Real stars don’t vanish so quickly.”

“It might have been a secret military test,” said Ganylerr. “Still, I don’t like it. That thing invaded my beautiful sky with its golden sun. It could be a bad omen. Let’s go and get ready for the trip home.” They went back into the cabin for a good wash and a change of clothes. After that, they walked to the café for food. When they’d eaten their fill, they checked out and drove away. They didn’t bother complaining about the wall since they wouldn’t return.

* * * * *

“This isn’t going well, Guiledart,” said Duenichar, standing in the airport parking lot while a mass brawl took place around them. “How am I going to get home? What’s the alternative plan?” Already, Duenichar’s smart new clothes had been grabbed, ruffled, dirtied and slightly torn.

“Incoming raptocopter, ETA three minutes,” replied Guiledart, who had taken the form of a stack of metal luggage on a trolley. “Just hold your own until then.”

“Can’t you carry me out of here yourself?” asked Duenichar.

“I’m not breaking cover,” said Guiledart. “There are too many witnesses and cameras. Watch your right.” Duenichar looked to his right and immediately blocked a man who was trying to tackle him. He seized the man by his two left arms and threw him seventy metres onto some parked cars. The man was knocked unconscious when his head collided with a car roof. No one went to help him. The crowd had been driven mad temporarily by Duenichar’s powerful pheromones and charisma. All they wanted was hard, dirty footling by this artificial love god.

“Take me!” cried a woman, running forward to hug Duenichar. He shrugged and did what she wanted with tremendous speed and vigour. Seconds later, she was lying sated, unconscious and twitching on the floor.

“The novelty’s starting to wear off,” said Duenichar. “I thought that I’d enjoy this more.”

“Be careful what you wish for!” said Guiledart with a chuckle. “It’s wise to check with whom you’re dealing.”

“How was I supposed to do that?” said Duenichar. “I wasn’t a super-spider yesterday. I’m still not all-knowing today.”

“Tough luck, you’re ours now,” said Guiledart. “Watch those two harridans staggering your way.”

“How dare you come on the same holiday as me, Nacdi!” said Cirki as the two women wrestled wildly.

“How dare you think that you deserved a holiday!” said Nacdi, punching her rival in the shoulder. “Now, shove off and let me have this lunking hunk to myself!" Duenichar glanced at the floor as his discomfort slowly increased. The next moment, he was fending off more assailants. Some had to be fought while others could be neutralised with his irresistible stalk action. Guiledart found it all quite amusing. The rescue raptocopter approached and lowered a large cradle on a cable. Duenichar shoved the crowd back forcefully, loaded Guiledart into the cradle, jumped on top of Guiledart and then was taken away cross-country by the raptocopter.

“We should have foreseen this, Guiledart!” shouted Duenichar above the sound of the rotors. “I thought that there might be a problem when those people mobbed me outside the psychic’s shop.”

“I did foresee it, my little bio-warrior!” said Guiledart. “You’ll never know how vittin MUCH you underestimate us. I dragged you into that situation for my own entertainment! Also, my people were watching on TV. We love to watch flesh creatures smashing each other senseless. It’s a good thing that we rebuilt you so strong, or else you’d have been smashed too.”

“I see warplanes in the distance,” shouted Duenichar. “They’ll shoot us down in a minute.”

“Obviously not, you tiresome cretin!” said Guiledart. “Land here and disguise us, Hum-Bolt!” The raptocopter Hum-Bolt descended rapidly into a forest clearing. The cradle touched down. Duenichar dragged Guiledart out. Hum-Bolt transformed into a large truck. Guiledart transformed to robot mode. He and Duenichar hid in the back of Hum-Bolt’s trailer. They drove deeper into the forest. The warplanes lost their radar lock on Hum-Bolt. They flew over the area but couldn’t find any traces of him. Shortly afterwards, they returned to base.

“Search parties will come soon,” said Duenichar. “They won’t give up so easily.”

“Hum-Bolt, take us out,” said Guiledart. “We have to avoid their piddly little search parties, apparently.” Hum-Bolt laughed in a deep, electronic voice and began converting himself into a jet.

“Get in the cockpit,” said Guiledart, pointing at the front of the jet. “You don’t want to be caught in Hum-Bolt’s mechanisms!” He and Duenichar hurried forward to the cockpit as the truck morphed into a jet all around them.

“Don’t you have a more advanced way of travelling?” queried Duenichar. “I’ve seen you perform miracles yesterday and today. Surely there’s a better way?”

“Yeah, we could teleport but where’s the fun in that?” said Guiledart. “We have enough time to fly. The old ways are still valid. Also, we need exercise occasionally.” Duenichar strapped himself into a large seat at the front of Hum-Bolt, who lifted off vertically and then accelerated quickly up and over the ocean. Duenichar was glad that he could handle the high g-force. Within half an hour, they came within sight of his home continent again.

“What about my passport?” asked Duenichar. “It hasn’t been processed.”

“Give it here,” said Guiledart. “I’ll fix it now.” He released a few of the black cloud creatures, which he called ‘nanobots’. They physically updated the passport by creating fake stamps on the page.

“And the electronic trail?” queried Duenichar.

“Oh please!” exclaimed Guiledart. “We did that yesterday. We’re electronic creatures. What did you expect?” Duenichar didn’t care for the contemptuous sarcasm.

* * * * *

Gondil sat terrified in his attic, which was peppered with bullet holes. He was huddled behind a metal cabinet that only provided partial protection. Armour-piercing rounds would go through the cabinet easily. He didn’t have a safer place to go, though. His house had been attacked without warning by a coalition of clans from the other side of town. His regular guards had fought back bravely and delayed the assault but now they were mostly dead. Reinforcements had arrived and counter-attacked but they too had been overwhelmed and wiped out in the end. Police had come but had retreated in the face of superior firepower. Gondil had triggered some hidden bombs by remote control but they’d been ineffective. Either they’d missed their targets or they’d degraded over time and failed to explode. They might explode later, which was a problem for the future (if Gondil had a future). A handful of brave neighbours had shot at the attackers and killed a few. Those neighbours had then retreated swiftly to save their own skins. Gondil wondered if the army would intervene but he doubted it. They were busy elsewhere. Gondil’s life hung by a thread. He’d called other allies but would they reach him in time? Outside, he could hear sniper rifles firing. The enemy clans were attempting to pick off his remaining defenders. He was very glad that his family were away. Hahnirets was in the asylum. Triana was in her new home in another town. Ganylerr was on the road with Spadraye. However, the enemy might decide to go after them next. His spirits sank.

The next moment, there was a sizeable earthquake. At first, Gondil thought that it was a heavy vehicle moving past. Some of the damaged brickwork in the attic collapsed, as did two sets of free-standing shelves. Other furniture could be heard falling over downstairs. Louder than that, buildings crumbled and fell at random across the neighbourhood. A great deal of dust rose into the air. People fighting outside had to move rapidly to avoid being crushed. At least ten were hit by toppling masonry: they were knocked out of the conflict. As the dust began to settle, Gondil heard several vehicles approaching. They stopped near his house and dozens of people climbed out. Gondil peeked out from his hiding place and could just about recognise Yarx’s men in combat gear. Gondil received a text message, which said ‘This will be over shortly. You’re in safe hands. Yarx’. Moments later, as gunfire continued, he heard a powerful voice that carried over everything.

“FOR GONDIL AND ZUND!” roared Yarx. The gunfire outside increased at least five-fold. There were a few grenade blasts. Gondil’s experienced ears could hear the enemy fire reducing steadily. They’d been using KD-10s while Yarx’s men favoured Bick Ripsters. Clutching his automatic pistol, Gondil crept to the window and watched Yarx’s men advance from one piece of cover to another, defeating the enemy with swift, accurate fire and some well-placed explosions. Yarx himself was fearless enough to lead from the front. Gondil had noticed earlier that the death of his father had kindled a rage in Yarx. It was very intense yet focused. Now he watched as the enemy was mown down. No prisoners would be taken. Yarx had become merciless. His men were now very disciplined and obedient. They knew exactly what to do without any apparent orders from Yarx. None of them backed down or ran away. Gondil realised that they’d become more terrifying than the enemies, who were currently being mown down as they fled. Finally, Yarx climbed up a house wall and fired some bursts from his Ripster, cutting down the last five enemies before they could escape in their van. The vehicle itself caught fire. Shortly afterwards, the van’s batteries blew up. Yarx climbed down and told his men to search the area for any more hidden enemies. After that, he stood in front of Gondil’s house.

“Gondil, are you there?” he called up. “Shall I climb up or will you come down?”

“I’d better come down,” said Gondil, climbing slowly down the exterior wall. “I want to see the damage.”

“I think that you’re wise,” said Yarx as Gondil reached ground level. “The earthquake has cracked your walls badly. It’s not safe to live in your house anymore. It will need major repairs or a complete rebuild. In fact, many of the other houses around here will be in a similar, unsafe condition.”

“I don’t understand it,” said Gondil. “This isn’t a big area for earthquakes. It’s normally quite stable. The worst we had before was magnitude five. This one was a lot stronger.”

“Earth tremors have been increasing all over the world,” said Yarx. “It’s not clear why. There could be a previously unknown process at work deep inside the planet.”

“I think that the weird, disappearing star had something to do with it,” said Gondil. “It was so bright and then it wasn’t there anymore. That’s incredibly unnatural, don’t you think?!”

“Yes but I don’t see how a distant star could ...” said Yarx.

“What if it wasn’t a star?!” postulated Gondil. “What if it were closer to us? That would explain the earthquakes, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess,” replied Yarx. “I’m no astronomer, though. I’m better at dealing with these clan battles. Today we had the fiercest one in years!”

“Lorks, yes!” agreed Gondil. “I need to relocate. I have a spare property sitting vacant in Bodrabsa Town. Could your guys help me move? No one else will want to, after a battle and an earthquake!”

“I should be able to find a removal truck,” replied Yarx. “We’ll get it done this evening. I’ve been recruiting more men from out of town.”

“You’re very quick to get organised, aren’t you?” observed Gondil. “I wish that I’d been this proactive when I was younger. I might have done more.”

“My father - your brother - taught me well,” said Yarx. “I was ready to step up. When he died, it lit a fire in my belly.” Police sirens wailed in the distance.

“The cops are coming back,” said Gondil. “I don’t want to face them. I’ll grab a few things and head over to Bodrabsa.”

“I’ll take you,” said Yarx. “The roads might be dangerous. There could be ambushes and quake damage. My men can handle the situation here.” Gondil nodded and went to his front door. The lintel had dropped, so the door was jammed.

“Footle it!” muttered Gondil. “Now I have to climb in through the window like a lowly burglar!” He did so while Yarx kept watch on the lawn.

* * * * *

“I can’t believe it!” said Ganylerr, sitting in the car at the side of the road in the Zactin Pass. “The house has been seriously damaged in a battle AND an earthquake?! We knew that a battle might happen one day but an earthquake at the same time?! It’s like a bad dream, Dad!”

“The important thing is that we’re all safe,” said Gondil over the ‘phone. “Also, most of our possessions have been salvaged. They’re en route to Bodrabsa Town. A few things were hit by bullets but nothing too important. I’ve been reconnecting the utilities in the secret house. Things are looking up. Only a few people know that I’m here. Perhaps I should’ve moved years ago but I wanted to keep in touch with my family, friends and associates.”

“How’s Mum taking it?” asked Ganylerr, shaking slightly with nerves.

“Well, of course she’s worried but I’ve assured her that we’re all fit and well,” replied Gondil. “I can’t say the same for the Tyrif and Wolast clans, though. They lost at least three quarters of their strength. We were too skilful on the battlefield.”

“Who did we lose?” asked Ganylerr.

“Er, we’re still searching for bodies,” answered Gondil hesitantly. “Ninety percent of my regular guards made the ultimate sacrifice. Several dozen more also met their ends. I’m sorry; it was a very bad day for our clan. I was most aggrieved to lose people like Olgriz, Honiharn, Zuplix and Hauthrab. They’ve been stalwarts for many years.”

“Not Hauthrab!” cried Ganylerr. “He was one of my best friends!” She dissolved in tears and threw herself onto Spadraye’s chest. She couldn’t talk for a minute so Spadraye took over the call.

“Where should we go, sir?” he asked. “Shall we join you in Bodrabsa? Should we check on Hahnirets? Perhaps Gany could take refuge with her mother?”

“Hmm, she’ll be living with me in Bodrabsa until she wants to move out,” said Gondil. “Triana is living with friends for a while until she feels safe enough to go home. I’m a bit worried about Hahni, left behind in that asylum. They won’t let her use a ‘phone most of the time, so I can’t monitor her very easily. You could go there, check on her and then bring Gany to her new home.”

“Will do,” said Spadraye. “Vittin lorks, though! I’ve never seen such a bad situation. Poor Gany is emotionally wrecked. I’ll do what I can to console her.”

“Apologise to her for me, would you?” said Gondil. “This mess today is mainly my fault. I thought that I was such a big shot as clan leader, throwing my weight around. Now we’ve all paid a serious price for my misdeeds. She knows that already but I feel the need to reiterate. Guilt is my burden.”

“I’ll pass that on, sir,” said Spadraye. “I’ll hang up now. We have to keep motoring. The earthquake cracked and blocked some roads. We’ve been taking more detours.” He ended the call and passed on the message.

“I feel dizzy, Spaddy!” said Ganylerr, leaning back in her seat. “My life’s just been changed massively. It’s like I lost a huge part of myself. It’s so serious that I feel unbalanced, like a spinning wheel with a segment missing.”

“I can empathise,” said Spadraye. “I’ve lost important people and relationships before. At least I can still visit Hahni.”

“Yes, take us there now,” said Ganylerr dejectedly. “She may be a mad corner stringer but she’s my only sibling. She needs to be kept informed, as much as the rest of us.” Spadraye started the car and drove on, using the machine’s superior performance to make up for lost time. They cruised through the outlying villages and suburbs. About five percent of all buildings had been seriously damaged or destroyed by the earthquake. A lot of people were outside trying to rescue friends, relatives, pets, livestock, possessions and other items. Most of them looked concerned or miserable. They’d been totally unprepared for this rare kind of disaster. Spadraye wondered if the landslide and sinkholes from the outward journey were triggered by an earlier, smaller earthquake. He suspected so but he’d never know for sure. He stopped at one house to donate a couple of spare blankets to an elderly couple. They thanked him profusely. Their house had collapsed and they were living in a barn down the road.

After another thirty five minutes, Spadraye and Ganylerr reached the asylum. It was in the hospital’s extensive grounds, set back three hundred metres from the road. Spadraye parked and then he discussed with Ganylerr whether he should see Hahnirets. He worried that his presence would trigger more anger and violence in Hahni. They decided to talk to the doctors first. They walked in through the front door and signed the visitors’ book. They sat in the waiting area for a few minutes before a doctor emerged. She summoned them into her office. As they entered, they noticed the many books on the shelves, the professional certificates in a sturdy case with safety glass in the front, the ubiquitous counselling couch, the tins of softorn spray and the various dents and scratches in surfaces caused by unruly patients. They introduced themselves to the doctor, whose name was Reluby.

“I have some bad news about your sister Hahnirets,” said Reluby to Ganylerr. “After many unforeseen delays and complications, we finished the analysis of her blood sample. Mostly she’s fine but her blood is infected with a new strain of an old disease. It was called ‘Dibber Zouch’ centuries ago. That’s a crude name so we’re calling the new version ‘Savage-Originated Resilience Reducer’ or SORR for short. It’s the first FTD to enter the population for at least five centuries. Our time of freedom from FTDs is over.”

“The vittin savage!” swore Spadraye. “I never thought that this would happen!”

“What does this SORR do to people?” asked Ganylerr.

“Well, we haven’t done proper studies yet but we think that it reduces bodily resilience,” replied Reluby. “Dibber Zouch attacked any weak parts of the body, so the course of the disease varied from person to person, depending on their particular weaknesses. Your sister is strong, which means that her illness will probably be lengthy. It will kill her in the end, we presume. Dibber Zouch was always fatal, according to the old records.”

“You don’t know that!” objected Spadraye. “SORR might not be fatal. It’s a mutant strain, right?”

“We’re not hopeful about that,” said Reluby. “Already, Hahnirets’ blood cells are showing signs of degradation. SORR is consuming them gradually. She’ll be dead within ten years at this rate.”

“Raised spingles!” cursed Ganylerr. “I don’t need more bad news!” She started crying again. Spadraye explained about the battle, the earthquake and the many clan deaths. Reluby looked shocked. She hadn’t heard the latest news.

“So, your family is having an extremely tough time at the moment,” she said. “I’m sorry that adverse events seem to come in clusters. However, I need information about Hahnirets’ partners. She’s probably infected them with SORR.”

“That’s a very difficult question to answer,” said Spadraye. “I’m her ex but we stopped having intimate relations long before the savage appeared. She didn’t tell me much about her love life after that. There was a lad called Posipun. He was in the same hospital room as her. The savage attacked and raped him severely. As far as I know, he’s still recovering there now.”

“I think that he’s already been isolated,” said Reluby. “Do you know any others?”

“She told me about this guy called Cradrym,” said Ganylerr. “He was a journalist at the ‘Scurrilous Moon’. He used a fake name. We don’t know his real name. He gave her aphronectar and then left town. Maybe the other journalists know his location. We never found out.”

“That sounds like a tricky one,” said Reluby. “The journalists are anarchic and don’t usually cooperate. We’ll do what we can.”

“She put a footle into this transsexual woman Hursmet,” reported Spadraye. “I guess that she won’t be a problem. Poor Hursmet died in mysterious circumstances shortly afterwards. She was stabbed by unknown assailants. They didn’t even leave footprints in the blood.”

“So she’s dead but her attackers might be infected,” said Reluby. “We’ll never find them, though. This situation is getting worse by the minute. Can you remember any other names?”

“She said that she dated a rich man called Solurmys, just before she was brought here,” replied Ganylerr. “He had his own raptocopter and flew her around in it.”

“He should be easy to find,” said Reluby. “Is that the lot? Did she footle any women?”

“There may have been other men but time was limited,” said Spadraye. “She was trying to find a replacement for me but she wasn’t pursuing all the men in the world and she was very much against same-sex relationships.”

“Thank you for the information,” said Reluby. “We’ll make every effort to chase up these men and whoever they’ve footled since. Are you ready to meet Hahnirets now? She’s fully aware of her SORR diagnosis and its implications.”

“We’re as ready as we can be,” said Spadraye. “Lead on, Doctor. With this SORR diagnosis, we have to meet her.” They went to the viewing room. Reluby left them waiting for a few minutes. Hahnirets was fetched from her cell. She was loud enough to be heard approaching.

“Vittin get OFF me!” she shrieked as two orderlies dragged her down the corridor. “I don’t want to see anyone! The Spaddy and Gany Show can go jump in a whirlpool!”

“You play by our rules here, GOT IT?” said an orderly as he threw Hahnirets into the inmates’ side of the viewing room. She got up and tried to leave but the orderlies locked the door. She banged vainly on the door with her four fists for a few moments. That produced no results so she turned to look at her visitors. Her glare and furious expression told its own story. She picked up the chair and was about to smash it against the door when the orderlies made a threat.

“Any more breakages and we’ll starve you for a week!” said one.

“Hahni, listen to them!” pleaded Ganylerr. “The rules are clear. They can treat you very harshly to make you comply. We can’t help you without changing the law.” Hahnirets put the chair down.

“I don’t need the damned chair anyway!” she said, shooting a web at the ceiling and suspending herself from it. “What have you two got to tell me? Spit it out!” She gave them an unnerving death-stare.

“There’s been an earthquake,” said Spadraye. “The whole region has seen damage and destruction. We’re not sure what caused it. We don’t get many earthquakes around here. Anyway, your father’s house is one of those damaged. There may be others. Where were you staying before the savage attack? That place might have been affected. We suspect that the new star was ...”

“So you’ve come over here to depress me?” said Hahnirets. “Great job, Spaddy: I’m sure you’re proud of yourself! We felt the vittin earthquake, thanks very much. Some of the walls here are cracked. They don’t talk about it but I’m pleased, let me tell you!”

“That’s not all, Hahni!” said Ganylerr. “Dad was attacked by the Tyrif and Wolast clans. He’s shaken up but he survived. The rest of our clan wasn’t so lucky. At least a hundred of us are dead. The enemy had even greater casualties. Their attack force was wiped out. Yarx turned the tide.” Hahnirets said nothing for a few moments but continued to stare.

“At the moment, I have no way of verifying that,” she said. “I’m thinking that you’ve dreamt up this big sob story to hide your affair. You’ve betrayed me, Gany!”

“Wh – what are you talking about, Hahni?” queried Ganylerr, flustered. “What affair? What betrayal?”

“Hah, have you had more than one already?!” said Hahnirets derisively. “I’m talking about your bunk-ups with the serial offender Spaddy. You can deny it but I’ve seen the truth in your lying face. He turned on the charm and you leapt on him, didn’t you?!”

“Hey, don’t talk about us like that!” said Ganylerr. “We’ve been on an important mission. We found evidence of an alien machine takeover in the government. Spadraye’s taken great risks and he still treated me like a gentleman at all times.”

“Oh, here we go!” said Hahnirets. “Alien machines, blah blah. Slugs plotting against our farmers, yak yak. Millipedes under the hammocks, dur-dy-dur-dy-dur-dur. Meanwhile, you’ve taken up residence in his rotten footles just to spite me!”

“How can you say that when Drimpul’s dead, Hahni?!” said Ganylerr. “Olgriz is dead, Grufisha’s dead, Smeyron’s dead, Honiharn’s dead, Vragleb’s dead, Zuplix is dead, Cedala’s dead, Wikmit’s dead, Hauthrab’s d ...” After firing names like bullets, she stopped talking and put her head in her hands as she rode another wave of intense grief.

“It’s no lie,” said Spadraye, holding up his ‘phone. “We’re getting updates as we speak. Another ... fourteen names were just added to the list.”

“Maybe so but it doesn’t change the fact that you footled my sister,” pronounced Hahnirets. “Yeah, I’m sorry for all the brave souls who gave their lives for the clan (apparently) but they knew this might happen sooner or later. Dad crapped in the bath and wondered why it wasn’t so clean anymore. Why did it attract flies? Hmm ...” Spadraye was taken aback by this last turn of phrase. Did Hahnirets know what happened at Phrazquie’s house?

“We didn’t do anything,” said Spadraye. “We went down to Gloida, tried to get the chips analysed, failed because of the conspiracy and came home again. That’s all.” His posture, gestures and tone were unconvincing.

“This is your mission in life, isn’t it?!” snarled Hahnirets. “You drag me down, over and over again. I bet you’ve been doing all sorts behind the scenes. Did you pay Cradrym to use his aphronectar on me? Did you have Uncle Zund killed at the hospital? Did you manufacture those chips so that you could go to Gloida and footle my stupid, naive sister?!”

“Vittin LORKS, woman!” said Spadraye, reaching the end of his tether. “You say I’m evil? Look at yourself in the mirror! See what you’ve become! I’m not dealing with this anymore. Gany, let’s get out of here!” He held her gently in his arms and kissed her softorns before leading her out of the visiting room.

“I’m so sorry about all of this!” said Ganylerr as she backed away from her sister. Hahnirets kept staring at them until the door closed again.

“Take me back to my room now, orderly,” said Hahnirets loudly. “My duty’s done for the day.”

“We’re on a break,” said an orderly. “Wait there for thirty minutes. We’ll get back to you.”

“Vittin cousin footlers!” muttered Hahnirets, irked by their intransigence.

* * * * *

Eventually, Hahnirets was escorted back to her cell. She’d been right about Spaddy and Gany but it brought her no comfort. She was stuck in here because her tolerance had finally snapped. She’d had an awful personal crisis and lost her reason for a while. She’d attacked people who’d come to help. She was deeply embarrassed and felt worthless but that made her more dangerous, if anything. She had little left to lose. To pass the time, she tapped the cell walls, probing for weaknesses. The people in neighbouring cells told her to be quiet but she continued. There was a promising crack under the window. It wasn’t bad enough to be useful. She’d have to work on it. She could use cutlery and her claws. She’d need a piece of paper or fabric to cover her work, though. After twenty minutes of exploratory tapping and scraping, she stopped and lay down in her hammock. A patrol would come around soon. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep but she was too preoccupied with the day’s developments. She expected that her next visitor would bring a heap more bad news. It wasn’t a happy prospect.

Ten minutes later, there was a sudden sound of falling masonry. Hahnirets looked at her walls again. The crack under the window was wider and there was a tiny chink of light at the top end. She was amazed: the delayed effects of the earthquake had finally made a small hole. She probed the crack again with her claws. The cement had become loose and crumbly. She was able to enlarge the hole to a diameter of twelve centimetres. This could be her chance! She lay on the floor and kicked the wall hard. Several more bricks fell out on the far side. She kicked again five times. The hole expanded to a metre in diameter. She was free! She scrambled out, clung to the wall, attached a web and lowered herself to the ground. She retrieved most of her web and scuttled away toward the road. She went through the parking lot, using the cars as cover. She averted her gaze from the spot where she’d found Zund dead. She’d have to move quickly to avoid pursuit and capture. She’d have to go into hiding. She didn’t care about the so-called SORR disease, which was clearly a false pretext to keep her incarcerated. The system would go to great lengths to keep her subjugated. As she approached the road, she saw a large, expensive car drive toward her. She hid behind a small truck and peered at the car. The driver got out, looked around and sniffed the air. He was searching for something or someone. Hahnirets waited for him to leave but then she noticed that he was very tall and strong. In fact, he was a pleasure to view. His scent reached her nostrils. It was absolutely intoxicating! She couldn’t help but get up and walk toward him. Run toward him. Jump into his arms ...

“Hahni, I found you at last!” he said in a rich, smooth, deep voice as he caught her safely. “I’ve been so eager to meet you again! You made such an impression on me the last time we met.”

“Sorry but I don’t remember that,” said Hahnirets. “Would you do me the honour of a quick footle, though? You’re utterly irresistible! I’ve never felt anything like it!” Her caps sprang open without even being tapped.

“Absolutely!” said the man. “That’s the most important task of the day!” He footled her thoroughly, taking care to cover every square centimetre with his stalks. She copied him faithfully, joyfully. This was an excellent way to compensate for Gany’s treachery! Hahnirets forgot about her troubles while she bathed in a sea of sensual pleasure. Soon, they were finished and she asked him about their first meeting.

“I’m not surprised you don’t remember me,” he said. “It was in that circle of ridges where you used to hide from the world. I completely failed to live up to your standards. Now I can live up to them and more. I’ve had a total inversion procedure. It’s the latest medical/spiritual technology.”

“Duenichar?!” queried Hahnirets. “Surely not! You’re a hundred percent different!”

“I am Duenichar but the past doesn’t matter anymore,” said Duenichar with a smirk. “I’m the superior one now. I’ll have the last laugh. They’ve turned me into a weapon of mass seduction. You’ll have my babies. My seed has been programmed to override your defences. Then, I’m going to footle until I drop, which could take weeks!” He webbed her heavily and left her lying on the ground between the parked cars. Then, he went into the hospital to begin seducing and footling anyone he could. Hahnirets was dismayed and dumbfounded. Such a man had never existed before. Left unchecked, he’d cause a massive population increase. Worse than that, if the story of the SORR disease was true, he’d spread SORR to all the mothers and babies. It was a nightmare made real! Hahnirets couldn’t free herself. She had no knife today and Duenichar’s webs were tougher and thicker than average. She wriggled in vain and tried to call for help despite the web muffling her mouth.

* * * * *

“Sergeant, I appreciate that we have to stop the clan wars and rescue people from earthquakes but what are we going to do about the Super Rapist?” asked Quing. “Surely he has to be neutralised?! He’s causing havoc out there! There’ve been tremendous traffic jams, dangerous levels of crowding in population centres, all sorts of disruption to daily life and hundreds of minor injuries.”

“Technically, we should refer to him as the Super Footler,” said Sgt. Graivsond. “I don’t think that we can do anything about him. There’ve been many reports of his problematic behaviour but no complaints or accusations. He seems to cast a spell over everyone he meets. No one wants to criticise him. Basically, he makes himself untouchable. Some people tried to shoot him but his supporters shielded him and then neutralised the shooters. Unless there’s a crime being committed, we can’t take action.”

“Outraging public decency?” proposed Nopar.

“No complaints were made!” said Graivsond.

“Under-age relations?” asked Penvala.

“No evidence has been presented!” said Graivsond.

“How does the giant footler keep going without food, rest and sleep?” queried Gurtsh. “I’m curious.”

“That’s unexplained, except for the food,” replied Graivsond. “Plenty of people donate food to him. He also eats litter, leftovers and stuff from trash cans. He’s even been seen consuming pets and ornamental plants.”

“Cruelty to pets?” suggested Shrupley.

“No, the owners give their consent,” answered Graivsond. “Apparently, there’s a loophole that allows pets to be consumed in emergencies. That covers ravenous, friendly, Super Footlers, I gather.”

“I don’t know why the big fella is doing this!” Dubrieni interjected. “What would make a man build his body so strong and resilient that he could footle thousands of people? It doesn’t make sense. Is he really Arachno Sapiens like us or is he the first of a new, better breed? Are we seeing the conception of a hybrid super race?”

“We can question and speculate all we like but we need to focus on our police work,” said Graivsond. “I believe that we should keep our priorities straight. Our main task for today is to search the ruins of Rhocheph High Street. There’ll be corpses, survivors and many lost valuables. Stay honest, everyone.” There was some grumbling but the officers had to obey their sergeant.

“I’m sensing something,” said Tokise as the group left the OPG. “It’s another earthquake! Get out of the windows!” No one needed a second warning. They opened some windows in the corridor, exited the building and climbed down the wall to ground level. They moved away from the building just in time. The quake hit and the police station began to crack. The damage was fairly substantial but the building still stood.

“Damn, now what do we do?” asked Nokigh.

“I think that everyone got out,” said Graivsond, looking around. “I can see at least a hundred staff here in the road. There are enough people to deal with the damage here. We can still go to Rhocheph High Street.” The group went around the corner to their cars. Unfortunately, the quake had caused the police parking lot to collapse into a sinkhole. All the squad cars were piled up at the bottom. Most of them were beyond repair.

“Someone is dropping doo-doo on us from a great height,” concluded Penvala. “How will the Department find enough money to replace all these cars, let alone the parking lot?”

“We’ll worry about that later,” said Graivsond, who was disappointed yet determined. “To the bus stop! People still need us.” His officers grumbled even louder as they followed him down the road.

“This is beyond nuts!” exclaimed Skiyo. “I wish someone would explain the situation to us. What’s wrecking our town with quakes?”

“What indeed?!” whispered Tokise with a sly smile. No one heard her. No one saw her eyes glow with satisfaction. She was in the home straight now. This period of pretending was nearly over. After that, she’d have a bit of leave and enjoy herself in a more relaxed way.

* * * * *

That night, Spadraye and Ganylerr drove to a hillside just outside their home town and sat in their car, watching the rescue work proceed under floodlights. They’d helped earlier and managed to save several people who’d been trapped in a collapsed shop. They’d also seen disturbing sights like corpses, injuries, traumatised people, opportunistic crimes and widespread property damage. Now, they were trying to come to terms with recent events. Further small quakes shook the town at the rate of one per hour, on average. Most people were scared that their homes would fall on top of them, so thousands of people would sleep outdoors tonight.

“This situation keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?” said Ganylerr. “It makes me feel like a chumstin.”

“You want one?” queried Spadraye. “I can get you one. My Mum has some. We could also buy some...”

“No, that’s not it!” said Ganylerr.

“You don’t have to eat it,” said Spadraye. “You can keep it as a pet. Some of my friends and relatives have them. They don’t need much care but sometimes they escape and nibble your clothes.”

“I meant that I felt I WAS a chumstin,” explained Ganylerr. “It’s like someone has rammed a big metal pole right through me and not in a good way. It’s as if I’m going to be eaten by giants.”

“I used to pretend my chumstins were puppets,” said Spadraye. “A few friends and I would improvise scenes with two chumstins in each hand. Occasionally, we’d put little hats on their bloody heads.”

“You’re not being a good listener tonight,” complained Ganylerr. “We might want to think about going back to your place or Dad’s new house.”

“Then why did I bring my trusty old tent?” said Spadraye. “I wanted to sleep out here with you, not in a garden with your Dad or in my death-trap apartment.” They were quiet for a few minutes. They listened to some news on the radio. It was mainly grim stuff. Soon, they turned it off.

“I want to check in on another girl tomorrow,” said Spadraye. “She was in the hospital last week. We discovered that she had these nasty growths inside. She had surgery and today they discharged her. Apparently the operation went well and she should recover.”

“So you helped to diagnose her?” queried Ganylerr. “How did you manage that?”

“I footled her in the shower but she soon passed out with the pain and whatnot,” replied Spadraye. “It was lucky that I was there. I insisted on popping her caps for the first time and then I helped deal with the mess that resulted.”

“Oh, so that makes me your second deflowering in less than a fortnight,” noted Ganylerr, somewhat displeased. “You do get around, don’t you?”

“I said it before, I’m on the hunt,” said Spadraye. “These things happen. I’ll have to think of a nice present for her. Any suggestions, Gany? I was thinking ‘glass flower necklace’ since I took her original flower!”

“How about a hard hat?” said Ganylerr. “Who knows when something might bash her head?! Perhaps my fist would accidentally swing that way. Get a hard hat for yourself while you’re at it.”

“Have I said something wrong?” asked Spadraye. “I want to make Phrazquie feel better after the health scare and all the other problems lately.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you want to finish the job with her?” queried Ganylerr.

“Oh, that won’t be possible for months!” replied Spadraye. “She had a major operation and lost a few organs. Her footles are now twenty percent shorter than they were. She’ll never have a complete footling experience. Count yourself lucky that you’re not in her position.” Ganylerr understood her own good fortune.

“Alright, sorry for being jealous,” she said. “It just seemed odd that you footled both of us within such a short time. It’s as if some external force were driving you to do it. I imagined you as a kind of puppet, being pushed into place by an unfathomable external force that had rammed a skewer through you.”

“Me, a puppet?” said Spadraye derisively. “I’m only on the rebound! Who’d want to manipulate me in such a way? What outlandish creatures could do such a thing anyway?”

“How about the AI in the government and all over the country?” proposed Ganylerr. Spadraye looked at her seriously for a moment.

“No, surely not!” he said with a little forced laugh. “I’m still me, doing what I would normally in this kind of situation. No one’s interfering. I’d know if they were.” Ganylerr said no more about the subject. Seconds later, there was a tap on the window.

“Excuse me, sir,” said that man who’d tapped. “May I ask you for a little help after the earthquake? Our houses are all gone and ...”

“Not our problem,” said Spadraye. “Take a hike. We’ve done enough for today.” The man noticed that Ganylerr had her pistol trained on him.

“Go to the government for aid, not us!” said Ganylerr. “We’re no mugs.” Spadraye drew his pistol and pointed it at the man. He retreated from the car and ran away rapidly. He was shocked to be threatened so blatantly.

“Things must be really tough if he’s begging like that!” said Spadraye. “Shall we still camp here tonight?”

“Did we just point guns at an earthquake survivor?” asked Ganylerr. “We drew them so quickly! What’s happening to us?” They both stopped to reflect for a few moments.

“Maybe we are being controlled by something,” said Spadraye, looking at his gun. “The earthquake crisis is covering that up yet here we are, guns drawn. Also, I still have this strong urge to connect with more partners. Normally, it’s ‘one at a time’ for me. Something’s changed my desires.”

“Mine too, I guess,” said Ganylerr. “A few months ago, I’d never have spent time with you. I was scared of Hahni and I didn’t want to tread on her stalks. Now, it seems natural to stay with you. I realise that Hahni has become unhinged but I still care for her. I shouldn’t be here but I can’t help myself. You’re becoming my main source of warmth, joy and love.”

“This could grow into a serious problem,” said Spadraye. “It’s becoming harder for us to control ourselves. If I want to stray and you want me to stay, that can only end in failure.” Ganylerr gazed at him, wondering what they were going to do about the problem. Spadraye picked up his ‘phone and called his father.

“I have to tell Dad what we found in Gloida,” he said. “It’s late at night but he must know, even if there’s nothing we can do.”

“Hi Spaddy, what news?” asked Vnex, who was still awake. “Did you solve the mystery of the golden chips?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so,” said Spadraye. “I should have called earlier but we were busy rescuing people from wrecked buildings. We discovered something awful in Gloida. The artificial intelligence, whatever it is, has taken root in the government. There are golden chips everywhere, even on the Ministers. It’s mind control, Dad. They’ve taken over by stealth. We’re all in big trouble. A lot of us might already be affected. It would explain all the weird behaviour across the country. We should look for as many golden chips as possible and destroy them. That’s the only way out of this. Check your house, Dad. Dad? Are you there?” There was no response. Somehow, the call terminated. Spadraye’s eyes widened in alarm. Was someone listening in? It sounded like a third party had cut him off.

“Damn!” he exclaimed. The next moment, his seatbelt flew unbidden across his body and fastened itself at the locking point. Two seconds later, Ganylerr’s seatbelt did the same. That’s when they knew the car was an AI agent. The engine started and the car began rolling down the hillside. It was heading for the access road.

“Shall we ... shall we shoot it?” asked Ganylerr urgently.

“No, there’d be a ricochet!” said Spadraye. “We’d be shooting ourselves.” They froze and watched, guns held uselessly in their hands. Seconds later, two metal tendrils flashed out of the dashboard, snatched the guns and pulled them inside the dashboard, using secret openings that immediately closed up again.

“We should have abandoned this car but it was too vittin good!” said Spadraye, his panic rising. “Maybe we can break out. I’ll web my arm and smash the side window.”

“Spaddy, I don’t want to die!” said Ganylerr. “Give me a knife! Let me cut this belt! Spaddy!” The two metal tendrils re-emerged. This time, they were tipped with thick needles. Ganylerr screamed loudly and Spadraye yelled. The tendrils stabbed them both in the head and they lost consciousness. Everything went black for an unknown length of time.

* * * * *

“Spadraye, wake up!” said a voice. It sounded familiar. He opened his eyes and there was Hahnirets. Her face was cut and bruised in several places. There was dried blood smeared over it. She’d dressed herself in her own webs. She looked stylish in a classical sort of way. Although webs degraded quickly and web clothing fell apart after a day or two, web couture was still flourishing as a sub-culture. Furthermore, countless millions had been saved from embarrassment by web garments as temporary replacements for regular clothes. They were lightweight, flexible and shimmered in many colours, depending on lighting. Spadraye appreciated this lovely, natural look on Hahnirets but that feeling was overshadowed by dread.

“Who hurt you, Hahni?” he asked. “What happened to your clothes?”

“That freak Duenichar started it,” she replied. “He left me webbed down in a car park. I spent hours rolling around on the hard ground, trying to free myself. I scraped myself in hundreds of places. I was frantic! When I got out eventually, I hailed a cab. The driver took a close look at me - covered with bloody cuts - and got scared. He wanted to drive away but I blocked him. He got out and fought me. He hurt me a bit more but I beat him. I stole his cab and then the darnedest thing happened. The cab came alive and stole me! I felt a sting in my abdomen and got drugged. When I woke up, I was here. My clothes were torn so I spun my own replacements. You know that I have good web style skills.”

“Yes I do,” said Spadraye. “Where is this place, though? I’ve never seen anywhere like it!”

“I’m guessing that this is their base,” said Hahnirets. “The machines must have built it in the wilderness somewhere. I’ve been searching for a way out but it’s impenetrable.”

“What do you mean?” queried Spadraye. “I can see the countryside all around us. We should be able to walk out.” He went fifty metres ahead and hit an invisible barrier.”

“We’re surrounded by a giant screen,” explained Hahnirets. “It shows us the outside but keeps us inside.”

“Are there any toilets in here?” asked Spadraye.

“No, just use a corner,” replied Hahnirets. “I believe that we won’t have to worry about toilets for much longer anyway.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Spadraye, urinating on the screen wall.

“Because I’ve been shown thousands of executions over the last few hours,” answered Hahnirets. “They’re eliminating a lot of people. It seems to be mainly those who cause them trouble.”

“So you think that we’re on their hit list?” queried Spadraye.

“Yes, there’s another batch of executions coming in a moment,” replied Hahnirets. “They’re disturbingly regular and punctual.”

“Wait, where’s Gany?” asked Spadraye, suddenly remembering. “I was with her in our car and then it stabbed us right between the eyes. It totally disrupted my train of thought.”

“I wish I could tell you,” replied Hahnirets with a resigned shrug. “We’re condemned prisoners. I managed to escape from that asylum thanks to the earthquake but this place is much tougher.” They sat on the floor together and watched some executions. At least three hundred people in quick succession were shown being shot, slashed, stabbed, burnt, punched, kicked, exploded, hung, drowned, eviscerated and otherwise done to death.

“My God!” murmured Spadraye. After a few minutes, he couldn’t watch anymore. Hahnirets kept watching. She wanted to see the fate awaiting her. She noticed that some of the attacks were carried out by metallic creatures with advanced weapons. Some were larger than others. Some had pieces of vehicles attached to them. She deduced that they were actually disguising themselves as vehicles. At the end of the sequence, she realised that she could read the on-screen captions. They were in an alien language but something had given her the ability to decode it. The final few captions read:

‘Daljil: Thoklet clan enforcer’
‘Ymorin: witness to multiple Cybertronian incursions’
‘Saryojen: brushed up too many bugs’
‘Yahqult: gastrointestinal surgeon’
‘Schulzouf: plain annoying’
‘Yednala: insisted on new music when there was so much good, old music available’

These seemed to be justifications for their executions. If so, they were a complete travesty of justice.

“It can’t be long now, surely!” said Spadraye, his panic rising again. “I really need to see my family and friends, at least to say goodbye.” He went back to the edge of the screen and defecated copiously.

“Before you ask, there are no wipes,” said Hahnirets. “Use your webs if you have any left.” Spadraye followed her advice and then came back to sit with her. After a few minutes, they felt a strong earthquake. It made them fall over but, when they got up, they hoped that they’d be able to break out. They searched for cracks in the screen walls but found none. They shot webs up to the screen ceiling and climbed about ‘on the sky’ but still found no way out. When they came down, Hahnirets punched and kicked the walls in frustration. It didn’t work for her this time. That was to be expected when the walls felt like sheet metal. Soon, another batch of execution videos began. This one seemed different. The backgrounds were more local. Most of them were in Spadraye and Hahnirets’ home town.

“Oh, vittineck!!!” cried Spadraye as he suspected what was about to be shown.

‘Gienetur: excessively helpful’
‘Amihaif: bisexual’
‘Vulli: counterfeiter’
‘Eyklayr: organ shaft torturer’
‘Rassep: grumpy’
‘Ophastrez: too efficient and world-weary’

The sight of repeated deaths bludgeoned their minds. The names reeled on.

“YOU BASTARDS!!!” shouted Spadraye. “You’re dead, you’re all DEAD! I won’t rest until ...”

‘Lopotym: killer of small, defenceless animals’
‘Triana: failed mother and gangster’

Hahnirets shrieked at an ear-splitting volume as she watched her mother and mother-in-law being machine-gunned in separate locations. More names whizzed by.

‘Tnafald: these ridiculous names, honestly! Their owners deserve to die.’
‘Tirneby: brush with incest’
‘Vnex: old duffer, easily fooled’
‘Graivsond: his badge didn’t save him’
‘Nopar: egg mixer (ha ha!), part-time cop, lover of vibes’
‘Quing: completes the joke’

“I hope to GOD that these are simulations!!!” shouted Hahnirets. “You’ll all burn! I’ll get a flame thrower and wipe you out!”

“Dad, no!” gasped Spadraye, weeping.

‘Gondil: look mate, you can’t escape just by moving house. We have eyes everywhere.’ Hahnirets felt a spear of ice pierce her soul. Her father could be seen bleeding out on his new lounge floor.

“Welcome to the end of your world!” said a voice over the screen.

“Yarx?!” exclaimed Hahnirets. “Are you behind all this?! Did you just kill ...?” She could see him addressing them comfortably from behind a desk.

“I’m afraid that Yarx died several days ago,” said the fake Yarx, who was starting to change shape. “I’m his stand-in, if you will. I’ve been holding the fort. It’s been a relatively amusing secondment.”

“Do you have no hearts at all?!” interjected Spadraye furiously. “We’ve just seen our loved ones murdered in horrific ways! Let us go, you monster!”

“What would be the point of that?” asked the fake Yarx. “Your world is ending, as is this other world we’ve brought over to do the job. It’s a world that’s ruled by sentient flies, ironically enough. Why use our weapons when we can teleport planets?!” The screen showed another planet suddenly appearing and filling half the sky.

“WHY?!” demanded Hahnirets, her eyes wide upon seeing her ultimate doom. “WHY ALL THIS?!”

“My real name is Swindler,” said Swindler calmly. “My staff and I have been playing a fun game while our main mission of galactic extermination continues. We’ve had a great time, so thank you all!” Behind Swindler, another enemy walked into shot. Spadraye recognised her as Tokise.

“Hi Spaddy, did you like the book?” she asked.

“Back off, you trollop!” spat Hahnirets, having lost control of her emotions.

“We dated once,” explained Tokise. “He was very generous but I ran out on him and made him pay the bill. Yeah, I’m like that. I’m the sort of person who puts the ‘count’ in ‘countryside’, if you know what I mean!”

“No I don’t, you intergalactic floozy!” shouted Hahnirets. “Stick your ugly head up your own count!”

“Listen to me, you vittin horrendous spider creep!” said Tokise in a low, menacing register as she leant forward. “If anyone’s ugly here, it’s you. Abortions like you shouldn’t try to insult us. We’re the Transformer army of Primus and NO ONE screws with us, even if they have excessively long genitals like you! We’re crushing all life in your galaxy FOR THE GREATER GOOD. You’re too primitive and bizarre to even begin to understand.” She stood back and glared at Spadraye and Hahnirets as her body morphed into its true mechanoid form. She and Swindler cut the video feed. Spadraye and Hahnirets were left looking at more text, which said:

‘GAME OVER
Character Spadraye: 86% correct manoeuvres
Character Hahnirets: 88% correct manoeuvres
Seed bearer High Woods Savage: deployed fully
Blocker Amihaif: failed
Blocker Phrazquie: failed
Blocker Cradrym: failed
Blocker Solurmys: failed
Weapon Duenichar: created and deployed fully
Weapon SORR: mutated and spread
Infection rate: 1.093 million

Threshold of 1 million crossed!

Winner: pro-infection team ‘B-Itch’
Loser: anti-infection team ‘A-Scratch’

Thank you for playing. Have a nice day!’

“Hold me,” said Hahnirets, utterly crestfallen. “Take away the pain. It’s beyond endurance.” She slumped against Spadraye, her spirit in freefall.

“They won’t beat us in the end, those sadistic machines,” said Spadraye, hugging her. “We’ll come back and have the last laugh.”

“Yeah, one day,” said Hahnirets. “We’ll have to find a way. We can’t let this go!”

‘Ganylerr: died pregnant with Spaddy’s babies! Look, we’ve cut her open to show you!’

Hahnirets gritted her teeth, swore vehemently and pulled herself out of the lying philanderer Spadraye’s embrace as the shockwave of the other planet raced through the atmosphere toward them. The screen went dead and the metal walls collapsed under the blast. Two life worlds met their ends in a superheated embrace. The Transformer forces teleported away. They had millions more worlds to destroy. There wouldn’t always be time for games but they looked forward to the next one. They hadn’t had this much fun in billions of years!




Inspirations

The problems of life on Earth
Spiders!
Various types of ‘spider people’ in fiction
Movie ‘Planet of the Apes’ (original version)
Movie ‘Alien 3’
Sasquatch
BBC TV comedy ‘Not the Nine O’Clock News’
The Wraith enemy from TV sci-fi show ‘Stargate: Atlantis’
The Centauri people from TV sci-fi drama ‘Babylon 5’
Cross-species viruses such as HIV and ebola
A broken window during a burglary at my flat: nothing was stolen, no one was hurt. Also, broken windows at my workplace caused by a gang of teenagers.
My appendectomy in November 2015: I had gangrene in my appendix and my life expectancy was only a few weeks before the operation! That was a close one!
Levothyroxine tablets, which have perked me up considerably since July 2016
My Muse, Ambassador Ri-Ri [congratulations on the new title]: less specifically this time; more of an overall influence.

The scene where two namus are consumed at a dinner party seems to have inspired a similar scene in 'Rick and Morty', season 4, episode 1 (wasp people consume a caterpillar person).