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to its home base.
So you can destroy Chthon? Arlo asked angrily. Get out of here!
She looked at him, unafraid. Arlo, you are of us. You are human and minion. Chthon
is out to kill us all and you, too, when it no longer needs you. Its promises are
worthless, for it is the ultimate enemy. Chthon means to wipe out all life in the galaxy.
Chthon is my friend! Arlo cried, stabbing his spear at her. If there were evil in beauty,
or beauty in evil, the minionette personified it. Surely Chthon had brought him here to
show him this!
Torment parried the thrust easily, smiling. Better learn to fight, young man.
Enraged, Arlo struck at her with his fist. She took the blow on her shoulder, unflinching,
unaffected. Very nice, Arlo. You are strong. But you pulled your punch, and you did
not aim for a vital spot. Try it again.
The bitch was right. His misadventure with Ex, that had almost killed her before he
really knew her, had made him cautious. But now he was beyond caring. He struck
Torment on the cheek as hard as he could.
The blow rocked her back against the wall. But she smiled dazzlingly, still unhurt. You
are not the man your father was but you have good potential.
Arlo struck at her again. This time she caught his hand, spun about, and threw him over
her hip. But he did not land hard on the rock floor, for she held him up. She leaned
over and kissed him on the nose. Tempting as it is, I may not dally with you, cave-boy.
Take me to Chthon.
Chthon is here, he said.
I don t see it.
Then she stiffened. Chthon was applying the myxo siege on her. This time Arlo had no
objection. You wanted to meet Chthon, he told her mockingly. How do you like it?
And while she was struggling, he took her weapons: the short sword, a bright metal
knife at her hip, and a tube of some sort that was lodged in the front of her uniform,
vertically between her remarkable breasts. He sighted down it, but the tube was
blocked: evidently not a weapon after all.
The white slime was forming on Torment s face, arms and legs, staining her uniform.
Arlo pulled up her brief metallic skirt to verify that the myxo extended all over her
body. He discovered that even under the awful white coating, her torso was
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exquisitely shaped. Apparently this was the heritage of every minionette:
incomparable figure that no coating or clothing could make repulsive. She would
become a zombie but an extremely attractive one. Verthandi would be jealous!
He had to smile at that. Jealousy in zombies?
Then Torment smiled. The myxo flaked off, a very shallow layer. Love me some more,
Chthon! she cried. I am in ecstasy!
And abruptly the myxo siege halted.
Arlo stared. The minionette had fought off Chthon!
Torment opened her eyes. She spat out a lump of yellowish pus. We believed we
would be effective against the cavern entity because of our nature. Obviously it used
telepathy, and we she shrugged. This is the reason Life s army has been largely
recruited from Planet Minion. It is good to have this confirmation. It would be sad to
destroy so loving a sentience.
You must not! Arlo cried.
It is either us or it, she said. We are of the living, it is of the dead and Ragnarok is at
hand. All living sentients support our effort, human and nonhuman alike. The Xests and
Lfa and
Not Hvee! Arlo cried. Not the Family of Five!
Your granduncle Benjamin commands this task force, she said. And your brother
Morning Haze pilots our ship.
I have no brother!
You have more than you know, she said. She paused momentarily. Actually, I
misremember. A Xest is the pilot; Morning Haze commands the backup troops.
Her very mismemory argued strongly for her sincerity yet she was speaking nonsense!
Please return to me my weapons, she said.
Numbly, Arlo handed back her sword and knife. Again parts of his dream haunted
him, for it had involved Benjamin and Morning Haze. Had it really been a dream, or
was it in fact a vision? Could Torment have read his mind and fed his fancies back to
him as supposed facts? Yet his vision had indicated that Ragnarok was long over, and
that Chthon had been victorious. If it were false, she should hardly have advertised it; if
it reflected truth, why should he be concerned?
Keep the blowgun, she said. You may need it.
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Blowgun? He looked at the tube.
You blow hard in this end. The dart shoots out to strike the target. Careful it s
poisoned.
Poisoned? Events had dazed him.
Pseudo-curare. Will stun a creature your size in seconds, kill in minutes if not antidoted.
Here you ll want some more darts, and here is the nullifying agent. She brought out
several more and pressed them into his hand, along with a little cube. Oh you don t
have anywhere to carry them, do you!
In my mouth, he said.
She laughed musically. What a delicious thought! You ll carry them right to heaven
that way! In approximately five seconds. Your saliva would dissolve the protective
coating on the tips, releasing the poison.
In my hand, then. His brow wrinkled. With this you could have killed me.
None of us would kill you,,cave-boy, Torment said. You are our ace in the hole.
What?
Archaic slang. These verbalisms continue so long as they are useful. Look it up in LOE.
Arlo realized that this beautiful woman was not only stronger than he, she was smarter.
He turned to go.
A dozen other minionettes blocked the passage behind him. Each was exactly like
Torment: firm, round legs made alluring by the shadows of the short skirts, projecting
breasts, firesmoke hair, lovely even facial features. It was as though copies had been
made. He could not have told any of them from Torment, had he met them alone.
They parted to let him through, smiling as they picked up his dismay. Disconcerted,
Arlo left.
Near his home region, Arlo spied a young chipper about his own size. On a sudden
notion he raised the blowgun, took a breath, aimed and blew. There was a satisfying
release of pressure, a swish, and the dart was sticking in the furry back of the animal.
The chipper turned to him, surprised at the slight pain of the dart. Then it fell over.
Arlo went to it. Hey, chip I didn t mean to hurt you, he said. Get up.
But the animal was dying.
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Arlo looked at the blowgun, then at the darts. He shuddered. He contemplated the
little curative cube, wondering how it worked. It had nothing but a button on one side.
Finally he set the cube against the flank of the animal and pushed down the stud.
There was a ping! from the cube, and it jerked slightly in his hand. Arlo dropped it. But
really nothing happened, and after a moment he picked it up again.
The chipper revived. It raised its head, then hauled itself to its feet. Evidently the cube
had done its job; the victim would live.
Arlo inserted a new dart in the tube and went on.
A stranger sat in the garden: small, short-haired, feminine.
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