“Say nothing,” she said. Her eyes told him what she wanted.
He turned toward the toad creature. The fragments of Biomantic history she had told him — the talk of Husbands murdered, of Bio- mantics gone mad. He understood. Lanilla meant him to kill the Exotics, and she expected the Biomantic to kill too, providing the excuse she needed to shut the Biomantic down.
He shook his head, just the tiniest movement, and Lanilla’s eyes narrowed. She lifted her weapon, and her thumb quivered over the firing stud.
He turned to the toad creature and lifted the pinbeam. “If you must,” it said. “I understand."
The pinbeam quivered in his hands; the lumpy head tilted slowly, then fell to the floor with a wet thump. The creature collapsed in a t angle of grotesque limbs.
He dropped the muzzle and waited with downcast eyes for Beauty’s retaliation.
The white walls of the hall flushed red, and the lumes dimmed. Octoff felt a sudden pressure in his ears, as if the room had contracted around them. The floor trembled, and he swayed as it rolled slightly under them.
Lanilla’s eyes were bright.
But though the Biomantic’s anger pressed against them, nothing else happened.
Lanilla jerked toward the rest of the Exotics where t hey huddled against the wall. “Kill the rest,” she said.
He looked across at the Exotics, at all those meek accepting animal eyes. He saw that there was someone real living behind each pair of eyes. His will deserted him and he turned to look at Lanilla. In her armor, with her sharp white teeth and fixed stare, she resembled some bright reptilian predator.
“No,” he said, and threw the pinbeam aside. “You’d never keep your promises anyway.”
Lanilla turned slowly back to Octoff, and he had the curious sensation that he had heard something break inside her, some over- taut string of reason. She pointed the splinter gun at him almost negligently. Before she could fire, two of Beauty’s dwarves took hold of Octoff and with astonishing speed took the collar from his hand and relocked it to his neck.
“See, New Husband,” one dwarf said obsequiously. “He is fine, he meant no insolence, he has learned his lesson. There’s no need to harm him.”
A truly ugly smile spread over Lanilla’s face. “I won’t harm him. I’m just going to cut the meat off his bones, bit by bit.” She triggered the splinter gun. The dwarf who had stepped in front of Octoff shattered into a heap of flesh and bone and red foam.
“Take a good look, Octoff,” she said cheerfully, but before she could fire again, the floor rose up around her shoulders in a great bulge of muscular flesh. Her eyes grew wide. Her gun hand was forced up, so that her next burst, sent splinters into the shuddering ceiling.
A long pseudopod dropped from above and snatched the splinter gun away. Another dropped down and wrapped about her head. Boneless fingers worried at the latches of her helmet until it came off.
The roiling of the floor slowly stopped.
He picked up the pinbeam and waded through the remains of the dwarf.
“Fun’s fun,” Lanilla said in a quivering voice. “But now I want you to tell your friend to behave.” Octoff felt the collar give him a cautionary squeeze.
He saw that she had regained her self-control and her cunning. He felt a deep sadness. How could he have ever been so pathetically desperate as to believe her promises? “Whatever you want,” he said, and swept the pinbeam through her neck.
He awoke, and in that first moment he was without memory. Then his hand went to his throat. He found the ring of smooth pseudo-skin that covered his neck. Beauty put me back together, he thought with mild astonishment. The proscription against meddling with human flesh had finally worn down, it appeared. Then he remembered what he had done to Lanilla.
“Burn bomb,” he muttered, trying to rise. Hands held him carefully down, and he opened his eyes to see one of Beauty’s dwarves. The dwarf’s tiny black eyes were placid; Octoff didn’t see the accusation he expected.
“Beauty?” Octoff hoped the dwarf could speak. He felt a terrible urgency. How long had he been dead? When was Lanilla’s next comm deadline?
“Yes,” the dwarf said in a rough, harsh voice. “Yes, this is Beauty. The poem speaks for me now. Until I can make a new Speaker.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Octoff. It really wasn’t your fault, not at. all. What else could you have done. She was a dangerous, treacherous creature. I’m glad you trusted me instead.”
He needed to tell Beauty that he must leave. As much as he regretted her imminent destruction, still he had to get away, or perish with her under the burn bomb. His mind served up a succession of horrible images: the first eye-searing flash of the bomb, the writhing of the great manse under the consuming energies, the death of all that loveliness. The ancient gardens, the beloved fields, the wild beauty of the jungles. His eyes filled. He remembered the way he had felt after the drug, how much he had loved.
“Beauty,” he sobbed, “the bum bomb. How long?”
“Hush,” said the dwarf, its small crude face immobile. “Don’t fret. Look." It gestured at the chameleon screen, and Octoff realized he lay in Old Husband’s observation post.
The screen swirled with shadow; then coalesced into an image. He seemed to see Lanilla Silda, dressed in a high-necked robe, sitting before her collection of comm gear.
As he watched, the chime sounded, and she put her eye to the scanner to receive the green flash of acceptance. Lanilla’s face was calm, resigned. The conversation was short. When she had finished, she stood.
She was much too tall, and Octoff’s eyes dropped to the hem of her robe, which revealed the gaunt legs of a toad creature, gray and warty. She looked directly at Octoff, and he shrank back in the chair. She smiled, and it was a strangely sweet smile. She raised the toad creature’s hand in greeting, or benediction. The screen darkened.
For a moment he was still. Then he smiled too.
Three days later, after Beauty had assured him the exercise would not make his head fall off, Octoff went to the courtyard where Lanilla had parked her land- walker. He thought about Selevand Center, remembering old pleasures there, wondering what new ones he might find. The dwarf moved at his back.
When he saw the landwalker he made a sound of disbelief.
“What is it, Octoff?” The dwarf’s tone was solicitous.
Octoff gestured at the wrecked vehicle. Its legs were t wisted and broken, its ports shattered, its circuitry and hydraulic systems pulled out and festooned in glittering tangles over the dented hulk. “Why?”
“I was angry with Husband and all that belonged to her.” Her voice lightened. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. Don’t you want to be my New Husband?”
“Yes,” he whispered, staring at the ruin of the landwalker. He thought about the vast jungle that surrounded the Biomantic’s domain, the jungle no unprotect ed human could survive. “Yes....” He turned away and looked out across his new kingdom. He tried to smile and after a moment the smile came more easily.
For some reason he thought of the bubble woman, the one that had contained Beauty’s essence. In his memory, her face had begun to resemble Lanilla’s.
I am content witii New Husband; he has much poten tial. I think he is not quite so pleased with me. But we will have a long time together, now that I have evolved beyond my original parameters and can work with human tissue. I will bury no more Husbands.
We will grow close, so close. □