In Search of the Alter Dom (23 page)

‘Listen,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘my spectacles make my eyes look big, and I do not have a hump back – that is my backpack – I am not a She-male or a female wine guzzler!’

‘Thank the Gods for that,’ mutters Pan.

‘This is the female Terasil who warned me of the danger to False Arcadia and Quilla Prime,’ says the Goat-Man Pan. ‘If Arcadia is lost – where can we roam? Earth is not the same anymore – I seldom return there.’

‘My name is Blodwyn – you Satyrs may not wish to fight but you can bloody well do something. Go, find the nearest Ida Jaade patrol – warn them that the Na Idriss, led by a Cold-blood, are heading for the lake – to poison it!’

‘Oh, no, we can’t do that,’ protest the two Satyrs, ‘we are frightened of the Ida Jaade – the way their crests go up and down.’

‘You pair of useless wimps – you both need a good lampooning!’ says Blodwyn angrily. The two Satyrs clutched each other nervously; making whimpering noises while their feet delicately drummed the ground.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ Blodwyn asks.

‘We are having a panic attack!’ the Satyrs answer.

‘Get going you insult throwers – before I twist your ears,’ says the Centaur. The two cowardly Satyrs reluctantly leave.

‘We have a problem,’ says Blodwyn, ‘when the Cold-blood believes he has poisoned the lake – he will send a signal to their battle fleet – who will then bombard Quilla Prime.’

‘The main Galla Quall war fleet is in the Alpha Centuri Sector of the Lupus Quadrant, they must be warned,’ says the Centaur. ‘They may be able to intercept the Malis Afar battle fleet – before they attack Quilla Prime!’

Blodwyn had been studying the two beings before her. The Centaur was unshod, around fourteen hands and smelt like her pony, whereas Pan was rather ugly in appearance, with a big nose, and two small goat horns that protruded from his dark curly hair.

The Goat-Man constantly flicked his stubby tail. (There were no flies on Quilla Prime.) He often stroked his goatee beard. Blodwyn also noticed that his cloven hooves were much larger than any goat’s. Unfortunately the Goat-Man ponged rather badly.

‘Now this is my plan,’ says Blodwyn. ‘I will take you to the captured Galla Quall frigate. The two Na Idriss crew have been ordered to remain inside – we must capture the frigate!’

‘How can we enter a frigate that has a Tellium skin?’ the Centaur asks.

‘Now hear this!’ answers Blodwyn, copying Karak. ‘The Na Idriss are carnivorous – they have not eaten for a week – they are starving, I know how we can tempt the crew out!’

‘We could have used the two useless Satyrs as bait,’ suggests the Goat-Man.

‘What we need is a fine brave male specimen,’ announces Blodwyn. Pan puffed himself up like a robin on a cold day and volunteered.

‘Sorry,’ says Blodwyn, ‘I need you for another brave task.’

‘Then it’s me,’ announces The Centaur. ‘Can you ride bareback?’ Blodwyn leapt onto the Centaur’s back. ‘You, Pan,’ says the Centaur, ‘can run – for you have a bony backside.’ “And probably a smelly one too,” thought Blodwyn. She grabbed the Centaur’s hair. ‘Ouch!’ cries out the Centaur. ‘That half is human, grab my quiver strap.’ The Centaur then folded his arms and went straight into a gallop. Blodwyn was surprised that the Goat-Man could keep up!

Meanwhile, some way away, Karak stops. ‘Where is the Terasil?’

‘The last time I saw her – she was talking to a bush!’ a Na Idriss replies. ‘What a waste of good furless meat!’

‘Fool! – You have let the Terasil female escape,’ the Cold-blood hisses.

‘Unhappy about the coming marriage – no doubt,’ mutters Captain Timasek under his breath. A Semmi Tal interrupts. ‘Commander Karak – we cannot hold our shape much longer, we have only two hearts – we must revert – the strain will kill us!’

‘Very well,’ answers Karak, annoyed. The two Semmi Tal return to their normal shapes. ‘Look Sir, two strange beings on the rock,’ says a Na Idriss. All eyes turn to the two cowardly Satyrs’ excitedly prancing on the rock above them. ‘Ignore them,’ orders Karak – they are feeble minded morons.’

‘I feel like hurling an insult,’ says one Satyr, ‘but I am afraid…. you first.’ ‘Go on,’ encourages the other, ‘a real insulting, insinuating, insult.’

‘Ok,’ answers the first Satyr; taking a quick cautionary look behind first.

‘Hey – you down there!’ The Cold-blood and the Na Idriss look up.

‘Yes you,’ continues the Satyr looking down at the Cold-blood. ‘You pasty faced, pimpled, petticoat pilfering, pansies pulling, posy tosser – how would you like me to chase your mother? There, I have done it!’ the Satyr boasts. Encouraged, the other Satyr speaks. ‘I feel like throwing an insult now.’ ‘You lot down there listen to this – your ancestors were deformed, dirty, dainty dung eating dwarfs and stone lifters – now how do you like that?’

The groups below stare up. ‘Imbeciles!’ shouts Karak – baring his teeth at the two prancing Satyrs above. This is enough to frighten the two Satyrs, who skip away; pleased at their daring deed.

After a hard ride, the Goat-Man and the Centaur stop at a stream and drink deeply. Then the sound of female laughter sparkles over the babbling flow of water. Two lovely curvaceous wild-eyed Silkies run past giggling; closely chased by the two cowardly Satyrs – who had forgotten their task. The Centaur and the Goat-Man grabbed the two bambi eyed Satyrs by their long ears. ‘You lily livered – wine swilling – prancing philanderers,’ growls the Centaur as he and the Goat-Man twist their long ears, making the two Satyrs squeal. ‘Now to your task,’ roars the Centaur. The two Satyrs quickly pranced away followed by a few well-aimed stones from the Goat-Man. Reaching the captured Galla Quall frigate; Blodwyn, the Centaur, and the Goat-Man, approached cautiously. ‘Now this is what I want you to do,’ says Blodwyn.

Back on board the captured frigate, the two hungry Na Idriss peer into the countryside, the guard’s stomach is rumbling. ‘Targa,’ says Lt Sanger, ‘do something about your rumbling gut – you are making me feel hungry.’ ‘Sorry sir,’ replies Targa, ‘we have not eaten for days – that’s the trouble with being led by a Cold-blood.’

‘Watch your mouth,’ warns Lt Sanger, ‘or I will….’

‘Look sir,’ interrupts Targa, ‘a large animal in the bushes!’

Outside, the Centaur’s large rounded hindquarters are temptingly visible, protruding through the foliage. ‘Enough to feed the whole crew,’ says Targa. ‘Can we use our laser rifles to bring it down?’

‘No,’ answers Lt Sanger, ‘our orders were – no weapons are to be used. You go out and bring it down with tooth, claw and sword.’

‘What! On my own?’ protests Targa. ‘It is a big animal – I will need help!’

A few miles away on a wooded trail prance the two useless cowardly Satyrs; they share a jug. They stop and listen, their long horses’ ears pricked and their tails held high. ‘Someone is coming,’ says one. ‘We must hide,’ answers the other. Both Satyrs hide behind a bush – but their long ears are clearly visible! Along the track appears the sabotage party led by Karak who stops. ‘We will wait here – for the scouts to return.’

Captain Timasek sniffs the air and soon detects the two sets of long ears sticking up from the bush – he grabs both sets of ears; one in each hand, and holds the two terrified Satyrs aloft. ‘Well what do we have here?’ says Captain Timasek.

‘It’s the two namby-pamby bambies – the throwers of insults,’ says the Cold-blood. ‘So I am a pasty faced, posy-tosser – am I?’

Several hungry Na Idriss warriors inspect the Satyrs and squeeze their plump rumps – like housewives checking a chicken for the table.

‘Ooh that tickles,’ says one Satyr. ‘Do you mind?’ says the other indignantly, ‘we are not that way inclined!’ The Na Idriss scout returns. ‘Sir the lake is just a mile away, but three Ida Jaade warriors are patroling its perimeter.’

‘We will take up ambush positions,’ orders the Cold-blood.

Back at the frigate, the door opens. The two Na Idriss stealthily stalk the tempting rump of the Centaur. ‘Now!’ shouts Blodwyn. The Goat-Man bursts from cover and throws a stone: felling the Na Idriss guard Targa, with a blow to the head. Lt Sanger draws his knife and is about to throw it at the Goat-Man, when an arrow, shot by the Centaur, hits him in the chest – Lt Sanger falls. ‘Quick,’ orders Blodwyn, ‘into the shuttle.’

‘Not for me!’ the Centaur announces.

‘I will,’ answers the Goat-Man eagerly and leapt aboard. Blodwyn could hear his cloven hooves rattling all around the frigate, as if desperately seeking something. He was – alcohol!

Blodwyn decided to have a quick look around in case the two Lings had been captured; entering a part of the frigate she had not seen before. Suddenly she was confronted by a large transparent sphere, inside of which, hung something that looked like a dripping wet blue bed sheet!

She studied the object closely – “My God it is the Galla Quall Sebus!” (The cruel Cold-blood Karak had broken his word; not turning the re-hydration chamber on; condemning the Galla Quall to a slow death by melting and dehydration!)

Blodwyn desperately twiddled and turned the various control knobs outside the sphere – there was no time to lose – the Galla Quall was already dead or dying. After what seemed like an eternity, a shower of ultra violet liquid spray covered the shriveled Galla Quall’s body. Blodwyn watched the still, lifeless, dehydrated body of the Galla Quall – was she too late?

In the sickbay of the frigate, the Na Idriss guard whom the Lings had wounded, in their rescue attempt of Blodwyn on the planet Tarrea was wakening from a drugged sleep. His shoulder was bandaged – he was groggy – the Na Idriss presented a horrific sight without the veil to hide his hairless feline face and the two scimitar shaped canines.

A noise behind made Blodwyn turn quickly – it was Pan, the Goat-Man holding a skin of the disgusting Na Idriss alcoholic drink Tarish.

‘Put that down!’ Blodwyn warns, ‘it’s Tarish, a horrid alcoholic drink.’

‘I hope so,’ answers the Goat-Man; pulling the cork with his teeth; he took a mighty quaff and swallowed!

The skin dropped from the Goat-Man’s hand and a look of horror spread across his face. ‘It’s made from congealed blood – I tried to warn you,’ informs Blodwyn. On hearing this, the Goat-Man held his stomach and turned green – then made a dash for the door, followed by Blodwyn. Reaching the door, the Goat-Man gave out a high velocity ‘rainbow yawn.’ Blodwyn had never seen anything like it.

The ejected Tarish climbed twenty foot into the air before falling on some bushes – out of which shot the Centaur – cursing! ‘What on Earth was that foul brew? To the river,’ he shouted. Pan and the Centaur quickly dash away!

‘Aren’t you coming with me?’ Blodwyn shouted after the two beings; there was no answer. Blodwyn realized the Goat-Man’s only intention was to search the frigate for wine. “Demi Gods could not be relied on,” she concluded. If you want a job done – do it yourself.

Back at the ambush site by the lake, three Ida Jaade and a Na Idriss lie dead. ‘A perfect ambush,’ exclaims Karak, ‘I will now pour the poison into the lake – cover me from the woods.’

Having escaped during the ambush, the two Satyrs are already at the lake’s edge, prancing nervously on the bank, and drinking from a jug. The drumming of their feet brings two Ida Jaade to the surface of the lake. One is a Centurion. ‘What do you want?’ the Centurion asks.

‘You tell him,’ says one of the Satyrs.

‘No, you tell him,’ answers the other.

‘Well spit it out!’ says the Centurion, ‘I do not have all day.’

‘Danger – danger!’ the Satyrs cried in unison.

‘Danger from who and from where?’ asks the Centurion.

‘Over there,’ the Satyrs cried. ‘They lifted us up by our ears and squeezed our bottoms!’

‘Idiots,’ says the Ida Jaade Centurion, ‘you are drunk again.’ His red crest rises to its full height in anger! This sent the two Satyrs into another panic attack – prancing, whimpering and hugging each other.

‘Stop that,’ orders the Centurion.

‘We can’t – your upright crest is scaring us.’

The Centurion’s crest slowly drops. The two Satyrs regain some composure. ‘Now,’ continues the Centurion, ‘speak sense.’

‘We are being attacked by the Na Idriss – led by a Cold-blood!’

‘We must alert the guard!’ orders the Centurion, ‘and form a perimeter defense around the lake, I will take out a patrol. You two – stay here, I will be back.’ The two Ida Jaade enter the lake and disappear.

The two nervous Satyrs jump up and down on the bank – a movement catches their eye – Karak comes into view.

‘Ooh, there’s that nasty Cold-blood again,’ says one of the Satyrs. The two Satyrs go into another panic attack, hugging each other. Karak empties the harmless substituted phial of wine into the lake; then grabs the two Satyrs by their ears. ‘Are fools like you valued by the Galla Qualls?’ asks Karak.

‘Oh yes – we are very rare indeed!’

‘Good,’ answers the Cold-blood, Karak, ‘then you will make excellent hostages. If there are negotiations – which we of course will dishonour – my Na Idriss can eat a rare dish!’ The two Satyrs begin to tug at the jug for a drink to steady their nerves. Karak pulls it away and smashes it. ‘I think you have marinated yourselves enough already.’

Back at the captured Frigate, Blodwyn checks the dehydrated Galla Quall. The ultra-violet spray of water in the re-hydrating sphere is slowly reviving the alienoid. Blodwyn makes her way to the bridge of the frigate and stands at the console studying the controls. She remembered every procedure of take-off, and landing. Blodwyn’s acute hearing picks up a scraping sound coming from the open doorway.

“Who could it be? The Galla Quall – the Goat-Man? No, this sound was sinister!” Turning, Blodwyn saw to her horror, the wounded Na Idriss guard. She had never seen a Na Idriss without a veil before: it was terrifying. The split upper lip was drawn back exposing long canines. The mouth was salivating. The Na Idriss’s yellow unblinking cat eyes held her. (Blodwyn knew never to take your eyes off a nasty cat: big or small). The Na Idriss’s left arm and shoulder were bandaged, but his right arm was uninjured; his claws were unsheathed. She knew the Na Idriss were afraid of their masters the Malis Afar: Cold-bloods.