But only a little.
A story in many parts by the Safeer
(continued from last paragraph)...The thing quickly regained its composure, and eyed me levelly. It didn't seem offended, which was a good sign.
'You are... the human? My sources... Damien Drake, am I correct?' gentle and unassuming, the voice seemed feminine in nature, but I still couldn't be certain about its gender. He, she, it, for want of a better way to describe them, looked like a deformed emu wearing a coat. In place of feathers, thick golden-brown fur covered the entire length of its body. Fingers like large, delicate needles protruded from its equally long and slender arms, rather than wings, and in place of a beak, long, rubbery lips, no doubt hiding needle-thin teeth. Perhaps it wasn't much like an emu. My mind and I got re-acquainted and by then I was pretty damn certain: this was a Kemorhan.
'Yeah. I help people. Finding things. Finding other people. I assume your sources already told you that, though. So, what the hell is a Kemorhan doing in the galaxy's greatest landfill?' Kemorhans were a pretty high class people. Pacifists, sure, but sharp as a scythe, the frontiersman of peacekeeping technologies. And they weren't generally the dirty types, by nature. There were exceptions: take off a Kemorhan's 'head', and all you'd be doing is taking out an auxiliary brain. You wouldn't have time to find out where to really hit them: their survival instincts kick into overdrive and you'd be a new layer of carpet before you had a chance to find out.
'Something – something terrible has happened to me. The law here, they can not help me – and my own people have abandoned me. They said that you were useful.' Cold way of putting it, but it was true. 'Mr Drake – you must help me. Payment will not be an obstacle. Please, just – accept my offer and come with me, I can say no more unless you agree to that.' I rubbed at my forehead with my fingers. She – 'cause I just couldn't shake off that air of femininity about it – sounded genuine. And I could definitely use the cash. But something itched at my scalp, not painful but merely irritating. Something was definitely odd here. Something obvious, but out of reach. I was still groggy from my placidity. What was I missing?
'You are... the human? My sources... Damien Drake, am I correct?' gentle and unassuming, the voice seemed feminine in nature, but I still couldn't be certain about its gender. He, she, it, for want of a better way to describe them, looked like a deformed emu wearing a coat. In place of feathers, thick golden-brown fur covered the entire length of its body. Fingers like large, delicate needles protruded from its equally long and slender arms, rather than wings, and in place of a beak, long, rubbery lips, no doubt hiding needle-thin teeth. Perhaps it wasn't much like an emu. My mind and I got re-acquainted and by then I was pretty damn certain: this was a Kemorhan.
'Yeah. I help people. Finding things. Finding other people. I assume your sources already told you that, though. So, what the hell is a Kemorhan doing in the galaxy's greatest landfill?' Kemorhans were a pretty high class people. Pacifists, sure, but sharp as a scythe, the frontiersman of peacekeeping technologies. And they weren't generally the dirty types, by nature. There were exceptions: take off a Kemorhan's 'head', and all you'd be doing is taking out an auxiliary brain. You wouldn't have time to find out where to really hit them: their survival instincts kick into overdrive and you'd be a new layer of carpet before you had a chance to find out.
'Something – something terrible has happened to me. The law here, they can not help me – and my own people have abandoned me. They said that you were useful.' Cold way of putting it, but it was true. 'Mr Drake – you must help me. Payment will not be an obstacle. Please, just – accept my offer and come with me, I can say no more unless you agree to that.' I rubbed at my forehead with my fingers. She – 'cause I just couldn't shake off that air of femininity about it – sounded genuine. And I could definitely use the cash. But something itched at my scalp, not painful but merely irritating. Something was definitely odd here. Something obvious, but out of reach. I was still groggy from my placidity. What was I missing?
Noir science fiction. I love it.
ReplyDeleteAs do I.
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