Zildiz felt her exomorph go rigid as it lost contact with her central nervous system. Curse that wretched Leaper! She’d forgotten just how durable their physiologies were. Their exomorphs had three times as many backup systems as those of Gallivants, unsurprising given that they had to retain control over their complex musculature. She’d been a fool for thinking that merely cutting it in half would do the trick. The error would wind up costing her life in these next few moments unless she took drastic action.
She was blind—her helm and its sets of eyes had sustained catastrophic damage and left her soft innards exposed. Even worse, she was crippled, the exomorph’s augmented muscle fibers unresponsive to her nervous system's inputs. But perhaps she still had the sheer physical strength to swing her blades. Zildiz tried to flex her wrist and was rewarded by a vigorous twitch of her pinky finger. Just in time; she could hear the Leaper close by, the leaf litter crackling as it approached.
Not yet, she told herself. Just a little closer. Hands pawed at her face and tore off the remnants of her helmet, scraping the hemolymphic gel from her naked face. What the hell was it doing? Zildiz had to restrain herself from crying out and striking at the air in panic.
Not yet! It was a crime to interrupt a fool when he was digging his own grave. Zildiz lay perfectly still as the Leaper fiddled around with her exomorph, feeling helpless and violated as never before. Vowing to give the bastard a slow and painful death for this, she curled her hand into a fist and waited until she felt its fingers caress the surface of her innards. Letting out a scream of incoherent rage Zildiz thrust at her unseen enemy, heard a cry of pain and the Leaper stumbling away, swearing profusely.
“Ow! That hurt, you witch! What the blazes are you?” the Leaper cried out. Zildiz frowned. That hadn’t sounded like the croaking of a Leaper. Speaking a slow and halting fashion, she replied:
“I would ask you the same thing.”
“I am Rene Louvoture, assistant navigator, 9th Battalion, 3rd Pathfinder Regiment.”
Zildiz shook her head at the string of gibberish.
“I am Zildiz, of the Blade-Wings. Why haven’t you killed me?”
“Why would I?" said the voice, sounding both shaky and incredulous, “You’re just like me, aren’t you?”
“How so?”
“Open your eyes and see for yourself.”
Zildiz realized with a start that it was referring to the primitive ocular organs of her innards. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. The last time she’d been out of her exomorph was when she and Menash had been together, many cycles ago. With great effort her atrophied facial muscles remembered how to lift her eyelids, and she beheld a world of total darkness.
Bioluminescent growths from the surrounding vegetation gradually helped her to see with her naked eyes, and she beheld the prey-form standing over her with a hand clamped to its bleeding shin. Its albino exoskeleton was ripped and stained with blood. In its fist it clutched a short blade that emitted a constant, low hum. Zildiz propped herself up on her elbow and locked eyes with the creature. To her disgust she found that its exomorph had a completely transparent helm allowing her to see its bare face in all its lumpen hideousness. It had a head of curled black hairs, matted and moist like the growths on a Leaper’s belly. The prey-form’s flat, broad nose gave it a singularly pugnacious look, while its skin was as milk-white as that of a flesh-eating maggot’s. Zildiz dragged herself back, her first instinct being to recoil from it.
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“Don’t move,” Rene advised her, “You’ve suffered some sort of spinal injury, I think. Can you feel your legs?”
“No,” Zildiz lied, thrusting out her chin at him defiantly, “What do you care?”
“I told you, I’m not about to kill you. We’re the same, can’t you see? Human!”
“We share the primal pattern, but I am a Gallivant. You are not. That is all that matters.”
“Right,” Rene sighed and sat down on the rotting log, “Whatever that means. Ye gods, I need a stiff drink right about now.”
Zildiz eyed him suspiciously, convinced it was some sort of ruse. He was just gauging how crippled she truly was and waiting for her to lower her guard. Very well; two could play at that game. In the meantime, she would try and work some feeling back into her exomorph.
“Are you really a hatchling?” she asked it suddenly.
“You heard that nonsense, did you?” Rene glanced up, “Of course not. I was just leading them on. The ‘fire giant’ isn’t a living creature, it’s a machine—a Divine Engine. What, don’t you have them wherever it is that you come from?” he joked, smiling at her. Zildiz grimaced at the sight, and he stopped.
“A machine,” she said slowly, “Like this one?”
Zildiz gestured at her disabled exomorph. Rene chewed over that piece of information. So that was what she was wearing: a living machine, a sealant suit of chitin and muscle equipped with weaponry and capable of flight. Like the Engine, it was a level of technology he hadn't even known could exist.
“Not exactly,” he finally replied, “I mean, it isn’t quite as revolting as yours. No offense,” he added quickly, snatching a quick glance at her face. She had a hawkish look about her, all thin lines and edges, but somewhere in there was a wild and timeless beauty which defied his attempts to pin down as some definable quality of womanhood.
“So you have been inside of it,” she confirmed with a look of satisfaction.
“I didn’t say that,” Rene stammered, feeling like he was losing the battle for information, “I merely observed it from a distance. I mean, the sheer size of it. Who wouldn’t have? You saw what I—what it—did to the Amit mound.”
Rene bit his lip, mentally kicking himself for his careless slip of the tongue. Zildiz narrowed her eyes at him, partly out of mistrust and partly due to the head-splitting migraine she was feeling. It had been so long since she’d been forced to rely on this basic sense organ, and its rods and cones were out of practice.
“The grey behemoth, this Divine Engine, as you call it. Did the Vitalus send it to cull the colony? Are you a Hollowore?”
“A Hull-of-War?” Rene repeated dimly.
"A Inkarnid? An Aspect of the All-In-One?"
“Look, I haven’t the foggiest notion what you’re talking about. And I’m the one asking questions here, don’t you forget it. Flame and perdition!” he swore, “You really nicked me, you know that?
Rene set his sword to aside and bent over to poke at the shallow stab wound on his shin. Zildiz chose that moment to burst into action. She was on her feet before he knew it, slicing at him with her blade arms. Rene yelped and rolled backwards off the log, narrowly avoiding dismemberment and flipping over nimbly to his feet, cursing himself for letting her gain the upper hand.
“Stop! Please, I don’t wish to hurt you!” he shouted at her as he ran circles around the dead tree, keeping it between himself and her wicked blades. Her movements were awkward and ponderous, as though her legs weren’t used to supporting the weight of her body. Scowling wrathfully, Zildiz kept after him as he jogged just out of her reach, the two of them playing a very earnest game of ring around the rosy. Finally Rene had enough and took up the club again, whacking her on the back of the knees so that she fell forward onto her hands. Her nose flattened itself against a pebble, producing an indescribable pain. She groaned and clutched at her face while Rene sat on her back to keep her pinned down.
“Sorry! Sorry! I really am. But it seems at this point to be abundantly clear,” Rene shouted as she flailed at him ineffectually with her blades, “That I have no other option but to take you in!”
“Just try and feed me to your brood, I dare you!” she screamed as blood trickled from her nostrils, “I’ll carve out their eyes and feed it to them!”
“What? No! That’s not it at all!” Rene cried, mortified, “As a soldier of the Fleet, I am hereby placing you under arrest as a hostile belligerent. Henceforth, you may consider yourself my prisoner of war!”