koilungfish (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
koilungfish) wrote2007-12-31 05:16 pm
koilungfish) wrote2007-12-31 05:16 pm
Entry tags:
Last ficbit of the year
13/12/07 - 714 words on Cold Fusion
14/12/07 - 16/12/07 - Moving
17/12/07 - 836 words on It's Not Funny
18/12/07 - 23/12/07 - Ill
24/12/07 - 29/12/07 - Holiday
30/12/07 - Ill
31/12/07 - Elsewhere, Still in a Swamp
Manuel guided the Swamp Bug through the bent and dripping brittlewood groves back towards the village. Brad sat on the side of the hovercraft, gazing distantly into the undergrowth. He said nothing, so Manuel ignored him. The offworlder didn't say much other than 'What's that?' It was a relief from some of his previous, more garrulous helpers. Manuel remembered Joe Bob, who'd talked so much he hadn't heard the king condapede that swam up behind him and bit his head off.
Instead of following the sluggish, leaf-filled river back to the village, Manuel turned the Swamp Bug off down a narrow creek, under the twisted arches of a leechwood grove.
"Where're we going?" Brad said, looking up at the slick grey-green branches, their long fat leaves drooping twelve feet overhead. The leechwoods were smooth as plastic, their faint grain a dry shimmer under their living skin of warm, slippery leechbark. As a boy Manuel had once put his hand on a leechwood tree. Just for an instant - a split second - he'd felt the suck of the leechwood. Then he'd pulled his hand back to see his skin shrivelling into the leechbark.
"Dragonflies don't nest near the village," Manuel said, wondering why he couldn't hear the snap and hum of their wings, the tiny plash as they dived to catch swimming tarantulas and tiny velvets. On a long low branch, silhouetted against the cloudy sky, a full-grown vermin-worm hung in slippery coils, its bifurcated head hanging down limply. Its dripping mouth, bright amongst the grey leaves and its own mottled skin, was luridly purple. It looked dead. "Too many velvets."
"No kidding," Brad said, rubbing his hands together like he was washing them. Manuel remembered the fright Brad had had on the first night he'd stayed in the village, sleeping on Manuel's couch. Bosco, Manuel's twelve-foot-long ribbonfoot velvet, all soft naked skin and tiny puckered feet, had crawled under Brad's blanket for warmth. Brad had been woken by the smell as the velvet popped its poison clusters, filling the house with the scent of lemon-drops. Manuel knew Brad hadn't seen the condapede lurking at the window, kill-jaws agape - he'd been too busy shouting at the blind, deaf, harmless velvet, red as strawberry candy and soft as a woman's thigh, curled up at his side.
The brown waters skirled. Manuel felt the bump as the hovercraft's skirt hit the carapace of a submerged creature. Near the back of the hovercraft the round head of a condapede broke the water, faceted eyes glittering with the suggestion of ultraviolet depths. Ahead of the Swamp Bug, six feet from Manuel, the water churned as the condapede shook its lobster-like fantail. Manuel guessed it to be about fourteen feet long - about two years old, still growing its third set of kill-jaws. "Voy es," Manuel muttered, "tu ens sgorgo." He said nothing to Brad. Knowing Manuel had just driven the Swamp Bug over an immature king condapede would frighten the offworlder.
"What's that?" Brad said. Manuel looked back and then looked in the direction the offworlder was pointing in.
Ahead, through a gap in the grove, the trees were blanketed in whiteness. The trunks showed only as pale stripes of shade under the tight white skeins.
Manuel stopped the Swamp Bug and got his binoculars out from the locker under the steering wheel. Looking through them, he swore softly. The trees were tented in white softness for at least two hundred yards ahead. Long curtains of tangling skeins hung down to the water level. The treetops blended softly into the sky, the light stirring as tall filaments blew in the soft breeze.
"What is that?" Brad said again, and Manuel judged him to be worried.
"Palace," he said, offering the binoculars to the offworlder, who looked through them with mouth agape. "It's made by palace spiderettes. Most poisonous creatures on this planet. Even dangerous to humans."
"What?" Brad said, still looking through the binoculars. "I can't see anything."
"You don't see them," Manuel said, sitting back down on the driver's seat. "They are only the size of a little freckle, but they come in big numbers." He scratched his neck. "Somewhere 'bout ten, twenty million in that palace."
Brad swore quietly. "They're dangerous to humans? You said all the poisonous stuff on this planet didn't hurt humans."
"Yeah, yeah. Velvets? Nothing, just make the place smell nice. Vermin-worms, bite you down to the bone and it won't even swell up. Palace spiderettes? They bite and they bite and they keep biting until your skin peels off." Manuel thought about cigarettes, the most he could do until the big cargo delivery next month. "After that they start burrowing. Once I saw a man who walked into a spiderette palace in the dark. When we found him, he was hanging twenty feet in the air, all wrapped up in that stuff. We didn't go close. We just looked at him through binoculars. His head was the size of a pumpkin."
"What did you do?" Brad asked, handing the binoculars back.
"We left him there," Manuel said. "Then we got some flamethrowers."
"And got him down?"
"No," Manuel said, starting the engine to turn the Swamp Bug around and leave, "we just burned the whole grove down to the water and went home."
14/12/07 - 16/12/07 - Moving
17/12/07 - 836 words on It's Not Funny
18/12/07 - 23/12/07 - Ill
24/12/07 - 29/12/07 - Holiday
30/12/07 - Ill
31/12/07 - Elsewhere, Still in a Swamp
Manuel guided the Swamp Bug through the bent and dripping brittlewood groves back towards the village. Brad sat on the side of the hovercraft, gazing distantly into the undergrowth. He said nothing, so Manuel ignored him. The offworlder didn't say much other than 'What's that?' It was a relief from some of his previous, more garrulous helpers. Manuel remembered Joe Bob, who'd talked so much he hadn't heard the king condapede that swam up behind him and bit his head off.
Instead of following the sluggish, leaf-filled river back to the village, Manuel turned the Swamp Bug off down a narrow creek, under the twisted arches of a leechwood grove.
"Where're we going?" Brad said, looking up at the slick grey-green branches, their long fat leaves drooping twelve feet overhead. The leechwoods were smooth as plastic, their faint grain a dry shimmer under their living skin of warm, slippery leechbark. As a boy Manuel had once put his hand on a leechwood tree. Just for an instant - a split second - he'd felt the suck of the leechwood. Then he'd pulled his hand back to see his skin shrivelling into the leechbark.
"Dragonflies don't nest near the village," Manuel said, wondering why he couldn't hear the snap and hum of their wings, the tiny plash as they dived to catch swimming tarantulas and tiny velvets. On a long low branch, silhouetted against the cloudy sky, a full-grown vermin-worm hung in slippery coils, its bifurcated head hanging down limply. Its dripping mouth, bright amongst the grey leaves and its own mottled skin, was luridly purple. It looked dead. "Too many velvets."
"No kidding," Brad said, rubbing his hands together like he was washing them. Manuel remembered the fright Brad had had on the first night he'd stayed in the village, sleeping on Manuel's couch. Bosco, Manuel's twelve-foot-long ribbonfoot velvet, all soft naked skin and tiny puckered feet, had crawled under Brad's blanket for warmth. Brad had been woken by the smell as the velvet popped its poison clusters, filling the house with the scent of lemon-drops. Manuel knew Brad hadn't seen the condapede lurking at the window, kill-jaws agape - he'd been too busy shouting at the blind, deaf, harmless velvet, red as strawberry candy and soft as a woman's thigh, curled up at his side.
The brown waters skirled. Manuel felt the bump as the hovercraft's skirt hit the carapace of a submerged creature. Near the back of the hovercraft the round head of a condapede broke the water, faceted eyes glittering with the suggestion of ultraviolet depths. Ahead of the Swamp Bug, six feet from Manuel, the water churned as the condapede shook its lobster-like fantail. Manuel guessed it to be about fourteen feet long - about two years old, still growing its third set of kill-jaws. "Voy es," Manuel muttered, "tu ens sgorgo." He said nothing to Brad. Knowing Manuel had just driven the Swamp Bug over an immature king condapede would frighten the offworlder.
"What's that?" Brad said. Manuel looked back and then looked in the direction the offworlder was pointing in.
Ahead, through a gap in the grove, the trees were blanketed in whiteness. The trunks showed only as pale stripes of shade under the tight white skeins.
Manuel stopped the Swamp Bug and got his binoculars out from the locker under the steering wheel. Looking through them, he swore softly. The trees were tented in white softness for at least two hundred yards ahead. Long curtains of tangling skeins hung down to the water level. The treetops blended softly into the sky, the light stirring as tall filaments blew in the soft breeze.
"What is that?" Brad said again, and Manuel judged him to be worried.
"Palace," he said, offering the binoculars to the offworlder, who looked through them with mouth agape. "It's made by palace spiderettes. Most poisonous creatures on this planet. Even dangerous to humans."
"What?" Brad said, still looking through the binoculars. "I can't see anything."
"You don't see them," Manuel said, sitting back down on the driver's seat. "They are only the size of a little freckle, but they come in big numbers." He scratched his neck. "Somewhere 'bout ten, twenty million in that palace."
Brad swore quietly. "They're dangerous to humans? You said all the poisonous stuff on this planet didn't hurt humans."
"Yeah, yeah. Velvets? Nothing, just make the place smell nice. Vermin-worms, bite you down to the bone and it won't even swell up. Palace spiderettes? They bite and they bite and they keep biting until your skin peels off." Manuel thought about cigarettes, the most he could do until the big cargo delivery next month. "After that they start burrowing. Once I saw a man who walked into a spiderette palace in the dark. When we found him, he was hanging twenty feet in the air, all wrapped up in that stuff. We didn't go close. We just looked at him through binoculars. His head was the size of a pumpkin."
"What did you do?" Brad asked, handing the binoculars back.
"We left him there," Manuel said. "Then we got some flamethrowers."
"And got him down?"
"No," Manuel said, starting the engine to turn the Swamp Bug around and leave, "we just burned the whole grove down to the water and went home."