Interlude
Exploratory Spacecraft 67(&%#@, Several Hundred Znargs Above the Teutoburg Forest
“I wish I could take them out while leaving their exoskeletons behind,” Red muttered. “The power drain is going to be enormous.”
“I don’t think they’d long survive that,” trilled Blossom, in sweet notes and sharp whistles, ending with a distinct click. “Imagine being skinned alive, yourself.” All twelve of her tentacles shuddered at the thought, right down to their very tips.
He pointed at the view screen. The skimmer was looking down upon a number of the insects below who did not have their exoskeletons. “They seem all right.”
“Maybe they shed their exoskeletons at certain points in their lives. You know there are plenty of insects who do. I’d still bet it’s painful enough to kill them if they’re not naturally ready.”
“You’re probably right. But that stuff has so much mass to move…”
“Are you taking those green upright things, some kind of plant life, I think?” she asked.
“No, though I am—reluctantly—taking their beasts and conveyances. The trees would be just too much. I’m also not going to try to send any of their exoskeletons that are lying around.”
“But what if they need to eat them to help them grow another? Please send those, too. And the upright plant life? They may need those to live. Please send some at least.”
“Oh, all right. Though what insect eats metal I do not know. I am not sending their deceased. Maybe if we had infinite time to study them. But we don’t. I’ll send two and a half tentacle sets’ worth of the large plant life.”
“The universe is full of infinite diversity,” she intoned. “And I agree, if they’ve died, poor little things, there’s no point in wasting the power. Can you heal their injured?”
“Maybe if I had infinite time to study them. But we don’t. I can do something for those with the weakest life signs.”
“I am just about ready. I still have to calibrate…oh…oh, damn. Damn!”
“What is it? Tell me, what is it?”
“They’re starting to move out of the dodecagon I plotted around them. They’re going to destroy all my calculations.”
“Can you save them now? Save them well enough?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, in a high-pitched series of whistles and guttural grunts. “Maybe enough.”
“Send them. Send them now.”
Fearfully, Red stretched out one tentacle, said a brief prayer to his divinity—sacrificed by having its tentacles staked out on a beach and left to dry and die, a horrible fate for one of his species—and pushed a button.