laughed. “Scrape it off, girl, what did you think? It’s like impetigo, only it goes with fever and diarrhea.”
“Now when are we going to get out of here?” Koz said.
“In two days,” Sven said. “According to plan.”
DAHLGREN, BLACK, played P-K4. As the imprisoned shell touched the square of bone he saw that he was the flesh toy of metal giants. He pushed the chair back. “Kill me now,” he said, “I will not play your game.”
The erg-Queen advanced one meter. YOUR SON IS STILL ALIVE, ALONG WITH OTHER ANIMALS.
Dahlgren fixed his eyes on her. They had no rays to burn with.
A SMALL CRUISER HAS CRASHED IN THE NORTHWEST SECTION, the erg went on. YOUR SON SAVED THE PASSENGERS AND THEY WILL LIKELY TRY TO COME HERE AND TAKE THE SHIP. OF COURSE THE SHIP IS NOW ONE OF OUR ERGS AND THEY WILL DIE SOONER OR LATER. PERHAPS SOONER. CONTINUE PLAYING.
As if she had not spoken, erg-Dahlgren said, “You wish to go on?” Dahlgren was shaking. “Your pulse has greatly increased.”
He could feel the arterial swellings in neck and forehead, see them in his eyes. “Perhaps I need a pacemaker.” He smiled sourly. “Go ahead.”
2. N-KB3; N-QB3.
“You usually smile in that way, I think,” said erg-Dahlgren, trying on the half-agonized rictus. “Your humor is what is called dry.”
“I suppose it could be called that.”
3. N-QB3; N-KB3.
The birdsbeak Knights stood foursquare in the field, their tips pointed delicately upward like nose-cones.
Erg-Dahlgren said, “You see what an amateur I am. I have read that Four Knights is a sound opening, and I have not the time to try many with a human opponent. I will have time later.”
4. He played Bishop to Knight 5. Dahlgren echoed.
5. Erg-Dahlgren castled. So did Dahlgren.
“The sides are mirror images,” said erg-Dahlgren. “Very apt. Your heartbeat is slowing, but your face is flushed. Why?”
“I am angry.”
“For what reason? You have been as good as dead for seven years. Before, you were sick and broken. Now you have been brought back to health, you know that your son is alive, and you are playing chess.” 6. He moved Pawn to Queen 3. “Why are you angry now?”
P-Q3. “When you know that, you will be Dahlgren.”
MITZI CAME OUT of it, sore here and there, touch and touch stinging, tickle of coarse hair, giant black tarantula over brushing her wet and cold, waking among fraks and harpies in some scag- jig- or mackhouse in the Twelveworlds of GalFed Central, opened her mouth to scream.
“All these needle marks,” Esther said. “She got some kind of sickness?”
Koz laughed. “Just drugs.”
Mitzi got her eyes open and saw Esther’s, black liquid globes reflecting each a square of pinkish light. No horror there now, just old granny from the backworlds.
“You still feel sick?”
“Yeah.”
“You have a fungus infection with fever and chills. It’ll be better tomorrow. It’ll have to be, because we’re moving out next morning.” She scratched under her chin. “You got a lot of drugs with you?”
Mitzi’s tongue was thick. “Most some joker stole in the spaceport. Nothing left now but the kif ... why, you got some?”
“Ah-ah.” Esther ran her tongue round her mouth, pausing for a moment at the orange splotch, a fallen drop, at the corner of her lip. “Some tricksters from the Declivity, a long while back, were growing a patch of stuff off in a corner, gave me the leaves to chew ... it was very nice, but I fell out of a tree and broke my arm in two places.”
“I bet Dahlgren liked that.”
“He expelled them for trying to turn me into a clown.”
“Huh.” Mitzi tried to sit up, found her head wasn’t screwed on right, and fell back.
“Saved their lives. All the others got killed.”
Esther patted the hot forehead with a wet cloth. “How things turn out, yah, you and me, we’re here. Stay down for a while. You’ll need the strength.”
* * *
Sven butchered half the rabbits, hung them to smoke, and freed the
“Now when are we going to get out of here?” Koz said.
“In two days,” Sven said. “According to plan.”
DAHLGREN, BLACK, played P-K4. As the imprisoned shell touched the square of bone he saw that he was the flesh toy of metal giants. He pushed the chair back. “Kill me now,” he said, “I will not play your game.”
The erg-Queen advanced one meter. YOUR SON IS STILL ALIVE, ALONG WITH OTHER ANIMALS.
Dahlgren fixed his eyes on her. They had no rays to burn with.
A SMALL CRUISER HAS CRASHED IN THE NORTHWEST SECTION, the erg went on. YOUR SON SAVED THE PASSENGERS AND THEY WILL LIKELY TRY TO COME HERE AND TAKE THE SHIP. OF COURSE THE SHIP IS NOW ONE OF OUR ERGS AND THEY WILL DIE SOONER OR LATER. PERHAPS SOONER. CONTINUE PLAYING.
As if she had not spoken, erg-Dahlgren said, “You wish to go on?” Dahlgren was shaking. “Your pulse has greatly increased.”
He could feel the arterial swellings in neck and forehead, see them in his eyes. “Perhaps I need a pacemaker.” He smiled sourly. “Go ahead.”
2. N-KB3; N-QB3.
“You usually smile in that way, I think,” said erg-Dahlgren, trying on the half-agonized rictus. “Your humor is what is called dry.”
“I suppose it could be called that.”
3. N-QB3; N-KB3.
The birdsbeak Knights stood foursquare in the field, their tips pointed delicately upward like nose-cones.
Erg-Dahlgren said, “You see what an amateur I am. I have read that Four Knights is a sound opening, and I have not the time to try many with a human opponent. I will have time later.”
4. He played Bishop to Knight 5. Dahlgren echoed.
5. Erg-Dahlgren castled. So did Dahlgren.
“The sides are mirror images,” said erg-Dahlgren. “Very apt. Your heartbeat is slowing, but your face is flushed. Why?”
“I am angry.”
“For what reason? You have been as good as dead for seven years. Before, you were sick and broken. Now you have been brought back to health, you know that your son is alive, and you are playing chess.” 6. He moved Pawn to Queen 3. “Why are you angry now?”
P-Q3. “When you know that, you will be Dahlgren.”
MITZI CAME OUT of it, sore here and there, touch and touch stinging, tickle of coarse hair, giant black tarantula over brushing her wet and cold, waking among fraks and harpies in some scag- jig- or mackhouse in the Twelveworlds of GalFed Central, opened her mouth to scream.
“All these needle marks,” Esther said. “She got some kind of sickness?”
Koz laughed. “Just drugs.”
Mitzi got her eyes open and saw Esther’s, black liquid globes reflecting each a square of pinkish light. No horror there now, just old granny from the backworlds.
“You still feel sick?”
“Yeah.”
“You have a fungus infection with fever and chills. It’ll be better tomorrow. It’ll have to be, because we’re moving out next morning.” She scratched under her chin. “You got a lot of drugs with you?”
Mitzi’s tongue was thick. “Most some joker stole in the spaceport. Nothing left now but the kif ... why, you got some?”
“Ah-ah.” Esther ran her tongue round her mouth, pausing for a moment at the orange splotch, a fallen drop, at the corner of her lip. “Some tricksters from the Declivity, a long while back, were growing a patch of stuff off in a corner, gave me the leaves to chew ... it was very nice, but I fell out of a tree and broke my arm in two places.”
“I bet Dahlgren liked that.”
“He expelled them for trying to turn me into a clown.”
“Huh.” Mitzi tried to sit up, found her head wasn’t screwed on right, and fell back.
“Saved their lives. All the others got killed.”
Esther patted the hot forehead with a wet cloth. “How things turn out, yah, you and me, we’re here. Stay down for a while. You’ll need the strength.”
* * *
Sven butchered half the rabbits, hung them to smoke, and freed the
Similar Books
