Taflak Lysandra by L. Neil Smith

Author:L. Neil Smith [Smith, L. Neil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 978-1-61242-209-1
Publisher: Phoenix Pick
Published: 2015-03-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter XII: Unnatural Selection

“No!”

As if an evil spell had been broken, a horrified Lysandra found herself rushing forward, shouldering the crowd aside despite her small size, in an attempt to rescue the winner of the monathlon. To her surprise, Goldberry was beside her.

In an instant, they’d climbed to an opening in the carnivorous growth and pulled the victim from its vegetable grasp. His feet and ankles appeared covered with acid burns, no doubt the digestive juices of the plant, but, especially considering possible alternatives, he was otherwise unharmed. The Earth girl and the leftenant commander lowered the man to the ground as gently as possible.

“Are you all right?”

The man blinked up at Lysandra and offered her one of Humility’s meaningless smiles, accompanied by a wordlessness that might have meant anything—or nothing at all. He made a few goldfish motions with his mouth, but remained silent.

“I believe,” offered Howell, who’d joined the girls at a more leisurely pace, “he’s in a state of shock.”

Lysandra was drawing on the storage capacity of her suit—water reclaimed from her body and the environment, held in a layer beneath the surface—to wash the corrosive from the man’s skin. Grossfuss, who’d also joined them, followed Lysandra’s example. Goldberry and Howell, neither of whom was wearing a smartsuit, stood and watched. Elsie glanced up, wary of the other Selfquelled, but the crowd had broken up and was drifting back to the village as if nothing unusual had occurred. That struck her as the strangest thing of all that had happened so far.

“Stop!”

The protest had been registered, not by those who’d just thrown their neighbor into the plant—in a few moments all of them would be out of sight—but by the individual they’d sacrificed. He sat up and pushed two pairs of ministering hands away. Lysandra sat back, stunned again. She traded surprised looks with Goldberry.

“Why dost thou treat me,” the man demanded, “in this manner so improper and unnatural?”

“My good fellow”—Howell stepped forward—“they were only trying to save your life.”

“Saving it for what?” came the reply. “In saving my life, thou hast ruined it in ye process. My thanks,” he added sarcastically, “for small favors.”

Goldberry stood up. “Why, you ungrateful little—”

“Wait.” Howell put up his mechanical hand to silence the leftenant commander, turning back to the victim. “Go on, man. How is it we’ve ruined your life?”

“I was to perform a service for my people”—he sniffed back a dirt-streaked tear—“which I, like every other within ye Realm of ye Selfquelled, was born to perform soon or late. My victory was proof that I alone was best suited. But now …”

The tear became a salty flood. Losing control entirely, the man burst out in wailing sobs.

“Why hast thou done this to me? What have I ever done to thee?”

Howell placed his hand on the man’s shoulder.

“What is it that thou wishest—now he’s got me doing it—us to do, instead? Must we leave you—”

“Leave me”—his face brightened with a look of ecstasy—“to ye worthy end which I and my

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