Tara returns, followed by two pallets of seeds on a hovercart. “They’ve been pre-soaked in Root Riot so that the seed-coats are tender.” She scans the facility. “This would go much faster if we could’ve used hydroponics.”
“Absolutely not, and we’re all in agreement on that. These aren’t laboratory specimens. They deserve to have soil beneath their roots.”
Tara frowns. “Are you sure they aren’t? What we’re planning to do…”
“It’s the best solution we could manage.”
“It’s unethical, isn’t it?”
“They’ll have a choice. If they don’t like the Denolin Turym, they can remain Cu’ensali.”
“And they’re stuck on a platform in a geriatric galaxy with no other life except the Hreck and a handful of Quicknodes? It isn’t exactly the Dolparessan forest, is it?”
As we are talking, the Hreck are busy with the pallets. Several dozen seeds are planted, watered and fertilized. I sense it first; then there is a commotion, claws snapping, little legs scuttling backwards towards the hilift descending to the lower decks.
I grab Tara’s hand. “Run!”
The Denolin Turym lunges at the station, nearly ramming the section of domes where the seeds had been planted. The creature thrashes, emitting a pale reddish light as its armor fluxes in and out of manifestation. From our position, we have a good view of its mouth, sucker-like and full of teeth, like a lamprey, positioned behind the vicious forcipules.
But it is ignoring us. We reach the hilift, but Tara stops. “That has to be one of the most repulsive things I’ve ever seen.”
“Let’s go down a level or two where you don’t have to see it.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not attacking. Look.”
Some of the seed beds had begun to glow with a ruddy darkness. A tiny sprout pushes upwards, growing before our eyes. Then the ground is permeated with energy, a fountain of power rising upward, shoving aside the soil. In the air above the tiny plants, energy spirals into orchids, into wings, into mothmen, faceless and genderless.
No, they aren’t all moths. Some of them are like dragonflies, and they’re red.
Several dozen hover in air for a moment, regarding the Denolin Turym, insect meeting insect.
Then, as quickly as it happened, most of them uncoil, spiraling back into a fountain of light which disappears into the ground. But a handful remain, the dragonflies, descending, folding their arms.
One becomes human, another a Floatfish, a third, something vaguely arachnid, a fourth almost protoplasmic. Three more Denolin advance towards the station.
The newborns encase themselves in force bubbles, then open the airlocks. They drift away for a few moments. Expertly, one of the Denolin flips a tentacle, snatching up a force bubble without touching the station. The other three follow suit.
I force myself to watch. I feel I owe them at least that. But then my attention is grabbed by an internal commotion. Before I can stop myself, I feel my arms lifting.
It’s Lorcan.
I find it impossible to resist. There’s a solid wave of blue, then Lorcan is running for one of the domes, screaming, “Finish me! Finish me, damn you!”
“Lorcan, no!” Tara screams, bolting after him, but he is faster. The dome opens; Lorcan formulates separate force bubbles for himself and Tara.
By this time, Neliit and Johannon, who had taken shelter from the approaching Denolin, have returned to the platform. “Now what?” says Johannon. “Shall we tell the Hreck to fire?”
“No!” screams Neliit. “If we do, it’s over. The Denolin will think this was an elaborate trap.”
Another Denolin moves rapidly into view. For a moment, it stops, looking directly at Tara. There is very little that seems to faze her, but now she is screaming her lungs out.
It moves away from her, towards Lorcan.
The Hreck are dashing about in confusion. “Don’t move!” Neliit orders. “Do nothing. It didn’t attack the Matriarch. Lorcan offered himself to it. Let it be.”
“It can’t really hurt him anyway, right?” says Johannon weakly, edging back towards the hilift.
Now Tara is screaming in rage, her fists pounding the side of the force bubble, but her inertia is dampened. She can’t do anything but watch Lorcan be consumed by the monstrosity.
We can’t feel it. We can’t feel anything. The wall of glass is back.
It’s even darker than the time Lorcan tried to strangle Tara, says Tarlach.
I can see, says Lens, but I think I’ll take off my spectacles now.
Minutes pass. Then we feel the wings, the wave of energy. The mothman descends to the platform, pushing Tara’s bubble inside of one of the Domes. The airlock closes; the dome re-pressurizes. As the force bubble evaporates, Tara runs at the mothman screaming, “What the fuck, Ash, what the fuck?”
The mothman’s arms fold; Malachi appears and falls to his knees, weeping.