The door opened again. Several things that resembled the golden slug emerged, carrying a bench made of some silvery bright metal. Seated on the bench was a creature thinner and probably more frail than anything she had seen so far.
It was perhaps five feet tall, and its fully fleshed limbs weren’t much thicker than the bones of a human adult. It reminded her of a mantis, again with the faceted eyes, and delicate insectile movement.
The carrier slugs brought her into the middle of the circle in which the gamers were arrayed. The bench settled, and then began to turn, as if the slugs were spinning like schoolchildren trying to get dizzy and throw up.
Slowly at first, then a complete revolution every two seconds, the greenish creature spun to survey its captives.
The chamber was awash with a dull, mourning buzz. A whispering voice filled her ear:
“Who are you? What do you want? Why have you come?”
The voice repeated once, twice, and then again.
The other gamers had begun to speak, but when they heard Angelique’s voice rise, they quieted. “We come to rescue Professor Cavor. Give him to us, and we leave in peace.”
“And if we do not?”
“Then our two great civilizations will be in conflict, a thing I dearly wish to prevent.”
“You will regret coming here. We know of your violent ways. Cavor told us, long ago.” Its glittering eyes shifted color from greenish to red. Anger? Fear?
“We dealt with him then. We will deal with you now. You will regret ever coming here.”
The shrill whine spiked again, and with it came a prompting tickle. Pain. The Earthlings were deep in torment, and were expected to act that way for the hidden cameras. Worse, they were confined, and obviously intended to just lie there and take it.
She hated this, hated the sense of powerlessness in being whiplashed by psychic or magical forces, unable to fight. Suddenly, a well of old emotions filled and brimmed over: anger and frustration and even a bit of fear. Suddenly, she was the nine-year-old girl who had crawled into Lewis Carroll and J. K. Rowling to find refuge from a house filled with screaming adults. A girl who had found the world of fantasy far more pleasant than Wait. Wait. Angelique realized that her breathing had shifted up into her chest, become rapid and shallow. Her blood felt like it was boiling, and the world tasted oddly sour.
Fear. She was filled with it, and even with the emotion clawing at her, she knew that something was wrong. Wait. This thing is trying to get to me, trying to make me even more terrified than I already am.
Wait. That last thought had been from the position of the character, not the player. The fantasy wall was breaking down a bit. She imagined Xavier performing an act only a perverted yogi could love. The little skinhead was cheating somehow. He had set some kind of trap for her. She didn’t know how he was doing it, but he had just used his knowledge of her personal history to attack her. Legal, but nasty.
The gamers all around her were arching their backs and screaming, those sounds peaking to some kind of crescendo when The wall exploded.
18
0920 hours
Smoke and dust choked the air. Juice from shattered insect cocoons slicked the floor. Several embryos were dead and still, but others curled and crawled blindly, seeking shadows.
Ali wriggled out from under his sticky bonds. He’d left some outer clothing, but he had his sword. He swept it around him and slashed along Wayne’s left side, Wayne being the nearest.
A dozen insect soldiers stepped through the wall, climbing with a segmented angularity no human being could manage. Angelique had the bizarre impression that they were holding their power-spears in the same fashion a British soldier might have held his rifle in bayonet-ready position. As disciplined as any corps of Beefeaters, they advanced in a line. The one behind them might have been an officer: larger, scarier, four arms ending in metal claws, and a demon mask with teeth like a saber-toothed cat’s.
The emerald creature shrieked, and a dozen guards appeared in the room, positioning themselves between the green interrogator and the sudden incoming threat.
Ali was trying to cut other gamers free, but it was slow work. Wayne was still half tethered. Only his arm and the Selenite blasting spear were free.
The guards scrambled, thrusting with stun-staffs and sharp objects that looked as if they might have been snapped off a praying mantis’ foreleg.
The newcomers thrust and parried in a manner reminiscent of classical European swordplay. The parries, ripostes and degages might have seemed perfectly at home in a French saber salle. The green one had retreated against the wall. It opened to receive her just as the newcomers pushed the guards back and formed a line between Selenites and gamers.
Wayne aimed his blasting spear at the newcomers’ officer. Its weapon swung toward Wayne-as Ali knocked his weapon aside.
What?
“Ally,” he said. A beat. The officer could have killed Wayne, but didn’t. How the hell did Ali figure that one? Wayne gaped, then nodded.
Angelique gasped as several of the newcomers lifted her up like a sack of potatoes and carried her out of the room.
And from that point, aside from the sound of insectile screams and metal-on-metal, she knew no more of what happened in that chamber.
The gamers were swiftly spirited through a maze of darkened tunnels, until she lost track of all the twists and turns. Perhaps ten minutes later, they were in a chamber with softly glowing golden walls, with shining cushioned floors, and a shining ceiling.
Their rescuers deposited them on the ground gingerly, with a degree of respect and consideration that their previous hosts had entirely lacked. Ali was being led; though armed, he remained docile. As for the rest, their bonds were slashed, and the gamers rolled to their feet-except for Asako, whose pod treads finally activated again, so that she was able to roll around the room, exploring.
Wayne asked Ali, “How did you know that thing-”
“Sir, I know my Wells. And I believe he described such a creature, and gave it a friendly disposition.”
What? Where? But… well, damn, Wells had a gigantic oeuvre, and it made sense that the kid might know something he didn’t. Still, it irked him. “Fine.” Exasperated. “It didn’t kill anyone. Now it’s taken us to this hive-”
Ali said, “What do you think is going on?”
“Civil war?” Wayne asked.
“Is this a cell? What are we supposed to do now?”
“Save us.”
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Angelique turned this way and that, hoping to catch a glimpse of her benefactors, but the shadows defeated her.
“In the walls,” Maud said, and pressed her hands against a golden surface. Did she see something? Mickey wore virtual gear, contact lenses capable of receiving images from the central gaming computer: magic users and psychics who wore such lenses could literally see things the other gamers could not.
She and Mickey joined hands, and Ali came to stand beside them, lending his magic to their efforts. And…
The walls dissolved. At least, that was the visual effect. Became translucent, perhaps. Arm-sized, glowing grubs appeared in the hexagonal wall chambers. Dozens of them. Perhaps hundreds. Unborn, but moving slowly, like restless, sleeping infants.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“We are the future of our nest, and we need your help.”
“Where is Professor Cavor?” Wayne asked.
“The great one is lost to us. He showed our people a new way, and then was taken from us. But we remember him, and follow his teachings.”
“His teachings?” Angelique said.
“He told us that we have the right to decide what our lives will be, that we are not only to toil unto death in the darkness, at the pleasure of our Queen. And for these teachings, he was sentenced to death.”