03. Quest for the Well of Souls by Jack L. Chalker Page B
Authors: Jack L. Chalker
Tags: Science-Fiction
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turned toward her. "Don't try flying out," it advised. "I took the precaution of temporarily disabling your wings."
Immediately she tried to flex them, and they felt like lead. She looked over her shoulder, and saw that small clips had been placed on them, linking them together at their tips. The wings were too fragile to try and work the clips off, and the clips were out of reach of her hands.
The Yaxa was satisfied with her demonstration, and for good reason. Lata were tiny, delicate-looking creatures, but they were also very dangerous to most warm-blooded life forms.
The prisoner looked like a small girl of ten or eleven; it was impossible to judge a Lata's age, for they looked almost the same from a few years after hatching until they died. Aging was an exclusively internal affair.
But the little-girl image was enhanced by the fact that Lata were less than a meter tall and incredibly slender. Externally humanoid, internally they were more like insects, able to eat and digest literally anything organic. Even their soft, creamy skin was illusion, for it covered a flexible chitinous inner skin. Lata were almost impervious to temperature changes because their metabolism was flexible enough to keep them comfortable under all conditions except extreme cold and extreme heat.
They had tiny pointed ears, and tough, black hair which grew in a rough pageboy cut. Their four pairs of transparent wings kept their light bodies aloft much in the manner of a bee and gave them their exceptional maneuverability.
This particular Lata was a pastel pink. Her stinger—a wicked point of striped red and black descending from the spine down to the floor of the nest, was set on a hinged joint—it could be stiff and straight, its normal position, or bend back, allowing the Lata to sit. Her venom could paralyze or kill organisms many times her size. It was the poison that the Yaxa feared and respected.
"How are you called, Lata?" the Yaxa asked.
"I am Vistaru of the Deer Grove," she replied, trying not to show her nervousness. Never had she felt so helpless in the face of an enemy.
Yaxa never displayed emotion; they had no way to, and their voices translated hard and icy-brittle. And yet, there seemed to be a note of genuine surprise in the creature's voice when it responded. "Vistaru? The one who aided Mavra Chang in the wars long past?"
She nodded slowly, amazed that her name would even be known after all this time.
The Yaxa seemed hesitant, somehow, as if trying to decide what to do. It was uncharacteristic of the great insects. Its enigmatic eyes studied her closely.
"I should have thought you'd be in the male mode by now," the Yaxa said.
"I would have," she told the Yaxa, "but I've kept putting that off. To be a male is to have the responsibility for raising a child, and I have not yet been in a position to do that properly."
The Yaxa remained motionless, impassive, still thinking unknown thoughts. Finally, it said, "Ortega sent you here to help find Mavra Chang." It was not a question, it was a statement.
Vistaru nodded, but volunteered no additional information: their races were old enemies. As odd as this Yaxa was acting, she still did not expect to survive the encounter.
"Then I was right," the huge butterfly murmured aloud to itself. "She is missing, not dead."'
"What is that to you?" Vistaru challenged. "If you didn't have anything to do with her disappearance, it was only because Trelig or someone beat you to it."
"Brave talk," the Yaxa noted coldly, but almost approvingly. "Still, I'll strike a bargain with you. Answer truthfully my questions, which will only make us equal in knowledge, and I shall make certain that you have the opportunity to experience the male mode."
Vistaru stared hard at the creature in wonder, but could not fathom what she was talking about. Although they were biochemically closer to each other than either was to the humans, mentally the Lata were much closer to humans.
"We'll see," Vistaru
Immediately she tried to flex them, and they felt like lead. She looked over her shoulder, and saw that small clips had been placed on them, linking them together at their tips. The wings were too fragile to try and work the clips off, and the clips were out of reach of her hands.
The Yaxa was satisfied with her demonstration, and for good reason. Lata were tiny, delicate-looking creatures, but they were also very dangerous to most warm-blooded life forms.
The prisoner looked like a small girl of ten or eleven; it was impossible to judge a Lata's age, for they looked almost the same from a few years after hatching until they died. Aging was an exclusively internal affair.
But the little-girl image was enhanced by the fact that Lata were less than a meter tall and incredibly slender. Externally humanoid, internally they were more like insects, able to eat and digest literally anything organic. Even their soft, creamy skin was illusion, for it covered a flexible chitinous inner skin. Lata were almost impervious to temperature changes because their metabolism was flexible enough to keep them comfortable under all conditions except extreme cold and extreme heat.
They had tiny pointed ears, and tough, black hair which grew in a rough pageboy cut. Their four pairs of transparent wings kept their light bodies aloft much in the manner of a bee and gave them their exceptional maneuverability.
This particular Lata was a pastel pink. Her stinger—a wicked point of striped red and black descending from the spine down to the floor of the nest, was set on a hinged joint—it could be stiff and straight, its normal position, or bend back, allowing the Lata to sit. Her venom could paralyze or kill organisms many times her size. It was the poison that the Yaxa feared and respected.
"How are you called, Lata?" the Yaxa asked.
"I am Vistaru of the Deer Grove," she replied, trying not to show her nervousness. Never had she felt so helpless in the face of an enemy.
Yaxa never displayed emotion; they had no way to, and their voices translated hard and icy-brittle. And yet, there seemed to be a note of genuine surprise in the creature's voice when it responded. "Vistaru? The one who aided Mavra Chang in the wars long past?"
She nodded slowly, amazed that her name would even be known after all this time.
The Yaxa seemed hesitant, somehow, as if trying to decide what to do. It was uncharacteristic of the great insects. Its enigmatic eyes studied her closely.
"I should have thought you'd be in the male mode by now," the Yaxa said.
"I would have," she told the Yaxa, "but I've kept putting that off. To be a male is to have the responsibility for raising a child, and I have not yet been in a position to do that properly."
The Yaxa remained motionless, impassive, still thinking unknown thoughts. Finally, it said, "Ortega sent you here to help find Mavra Chang." It was not a question, it was a statement.
Vistaru nodded, but volunteered no additional information: their races were old enemies. As odd as this Yaxa was acting, she still did not expect to survive the encounter.
"Then I was right," the huge butterfly murmured aloud to itself. "She is missing, not dead."'
"What is that to you?" Vistaru challenged. "If you didn't have anything to do with her disappearance, it was only because Trelig or someone beat you to it."
"Brave talk," the Yaxa noted coldly, but almost approvingly. "Still, I'll strike a bargain with you. Answer truthfully my questions, which will only make us equal in knowledge, and I shall make certain that you have the opportunity to experience the male mode."
Vistaru stared hard at the creature in wonder, but could not fathom what she was talking about. Although they were biochemically closer to each other than either was to the humans, mentally the Lata were much closer to humans.
"We'll see," Vistaru
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