Interlude
Exploratory Spacecraft 67(&%#@, Several Hundred Znargs Above the Teutoburg Forest, Ergtil of the Martyrs 11216
“Can’t you do anything?” asked Sweetasthescentofglowblossoms, or “Blossom,” for short. “Those poor creatures! And they’re all going to die horribly, if you can’t or won’t.” Her language was a series of squeaks, whistles, grunts, and sung notes, punctuated with clicks.
Blossom gestured to the large view screen being fed images from a reconnaissance skimmer, far below. On the screen, some bipedal creatures were having their exoskeletons torn off before being tossed onto fires. The tearers and burners were much larger and seemed rather shaggy. Still others among the insects—for so they appeared to Blossom—were being affixed to trees by some kind of metallic pins, very crude things. The mouths of them all were opened in what appeared to be cries of unbelievable agony.
“I don’t know,” answered Blossom’s mate, Scoutmaster Seetheredglowofmorning, also known as “Red.” The languages were completely mutually intelligible, but Red’s version had rather more grunts and clicks, rather fewer sung notes. “The places where they’re all intermixed, I can’t do anything about. If I move the insects. I’ll move the insect killers at the same time. Same for the ones forming that oval to the planetary east; I can’t help them by anything regulations don’t expressly forbid.”
“But the group to planetary west?” she asked. “They’re not closely beset. Can you help them?”
“I’m working on it,” answered Red. “I could transport them and, if I had several ergtils to do the calculations, I could probably do it harmlessly. As is, given the planetary rotation, the wobble, and the speed at which it orbits its sun, if I am not careful, they could end up a znarg or two up in their atmosphere or in the middle of one of the planet’s oceans. Or in space. I think they need oxygen, so space is right out. And if they could fly, given their circumstances, I imagine they would.”
Blossom focused on where some hundreds of the insects were slowly drowning in the swamp to the planetary north of where the great murder and torture were taking place. Sighing with regret, she said, “I don’t think these poor creatures are adapted to deep liquid.”
Then she asked, “Could you perhaps whisk away all the shaggy-hairies that beset those poor creatures?”
“Strictly against regulations,” Red said.
“Buuut…All right, my dear.”
“Well, dearest, give me a half a thousand beats to try to fine-tune matters enough for them to survive. Or at least have a fair chance. If it looks like they’re going to be destroyed before that, we’ll just push the button and hope for the best.”
“As you think best, Red,” she agreed, stroking one of his twelve shoulders with a soothing tentacle.