Chapter 3: “The Holy City”
Valkarr followed the lead of his newly converted devotees and, after a few hundred paces, the quiet trekking through the forest brush came to an end in a clearing, which, in the light of the now rising green moon, looked to be a cultivated field.
Their trail had led directly to the small transport which Corlman had spoken of. A small open-air four-seater, in which Valkarr saw influences of Kaldarian engineering, the machine hinted at the trading ties of the locals.
Not only was the Journeyman’s slime coat no longer uncomfortable, he was happy to note that it hadn’t recently glowed. That peculiar characteristic still had him mystified, and he found himself terribly anxious to have the substance analyzed.
One thing had changed. While the color of the now rubber-like coating had remained homogeneous, it had changed from off-white to a slightly iridescent blue.
Valkarr indicated that the two natives should board first and he took to sitting on the frame behind the rear bench seat. Corlman took the left front seat, and had begun to power-up, when he reflexively touched a comm switch. His hand shook, and he smiled feebly at the Journeyman.
Valkarr slid down into the center of the rear seating and spoke heartily, “Hey, I understand. You’re comin’ home early and you gotta check in…But do you want to tell them you’re bringing in a slime monster, or shall we surprise them?”
There was a voice response to Corlman’s signal and the young soldier seemed suddenly proud as he reported, “Corlman, GS section, 44L. We have something here that is RR5, sir, repeat, RR5. Please advise.”
The other soldier looked curiously at the driver and seemed to take heart. “Of course,” he was beginning to recover from his shock, “we should not be separated then. The rogues in retention would kill us to steal the honor, lest thou favor us again, which would be too much to ask.”
Corlman was nervous, but he was also obviously relieved as his clearance progressed: “GS44, I am required to remind you of the penalty for abuse of your request.”
“Sir, speaking is Corlman, S. M. HBGD-445507, assigned in company with Sildarn, J. D. Routine GS section patrol, 44L. We have an RR5 and request instruction.”
Valkarr enjoyed with amusement the unfolding drama, with its building pace of dialog and rising vocal intensity. He saw that his guides were fearful of their command, and that getting past this field level of the military might facilitate his seeing someone important.
Headquarters acted quickly. There was a terseness in the dispatcher’s voice, “On your statement, and after warning of wrong usage, the RR5 has been acknowledged by Laonlasa. You are to proceed on the fifth security plane to the main gate. There, you will remove the tog, and relinquish yourself to the palace.”
Both soldiers sat up straight and smiled with a look of renewed hope. The burned one even smiled at Valkarr, who responded to the warmth, “Well, it sounds like they’re going to roll out the red carpet. How about it guys? Wanna take me to your leader?”
With a silent smoothness, the boat-like floater rose. Soon they were moving rapidly across the field; first at waist height, then they rose to what Valkarr guessed was the “fifth plane,” just above the treetops.
Valkarr began to see lights through the trees, and soon he could make out what he assumed to be residences. He noted their arrangement resembled some sort of feudal system.
Looking back to the rock escarpment, then bringing his slow, wide-ranging scan to the front, he saw, rising above the mostly dark forest, another wall. Impressive, but man made, no doubt this was the Holy City.
Between his sightseeing glances Valkarr was inspecting his covering, which could no longer accurately be classed as “slime.” He found himself wondering just what it was, and why it behaved as it did. Whatever the answers, he was sure they would be worth a lot of money.
There was a gentle rolling rise in the land as the city’s wall began to rise above them. Its surface reflected much of the green moonlight.
The craft made for the elaborate main gate, and as they neared the city the lights of much multilevel traffic became visible. Only two structures rose higher than the wall. One was crowned with a sword wielding statue, the other was a large dome, illuminated from within.
There were many levels of entry at the main gate, but this small four-seater was the only one on its plane. At the checkpoint, both sides of each bay were attentively manned.
In the threshold Corlman stopped. Reaching to the center of the dash, he grabbed and began rotating a small protrusion. After unscrewing and removing a small cylinder, he tossed it far and away over the side. The instrument lights changed from green to amber, and the motion instantly returned.
Valkarr was impressed with the directness of the takeover that occurred. He felt now that he was being chauffeured, and he figured the ride wouldn’t last long. It was much to his chagrin that his outer coating began again to glow.
There was no oozing, but there was a renewed discomfort in spite of the quam, and he felt an increased pressure at each of his limb roots. Legs first, then the arms, at the pits, were pinch-points of mild pain.
He felt it necessary to stretch and stood up rather suddenly, seeking to support himself by holding on to the back of the forward seats. He felt his body succumb to an instinctive cathartic yawn. Standing full height, he lifted his hands high and apart, then he moved to again hold the seat before him.
He was unable to do so.
When his arms reached his sides, they were frozen in their swing by the suddenly very solid what-had-been slime. As it froze on him, the coating generated an incredible brilliance.
Then there was a wash of light from outside him, from some building below, and it was spotlighting the Journeyman. He was instinctively squinting when he experienced the first movement, in some time, of the slime covering.
When the glaring white spotlight was almost hot from its beam, the oozing muck from the slime sea covered his eyes, sealing his ears as well. And there was that seep into his mouth—not bad. He found himself surprisingly satisfied with the new taste of the once rank liquid as he now swallowed it.
There were loud noises, not friendly sounds. Sirens, and the like. Wails, horns, whistling rockets. He couldn’t move, but he didn’t care. He wondered if he was getting enough air. He was fully conscious, but unable to make anything of his sensory input. There were voices. Corlman and Sildarn were crying out; their familiar pleading. There were other voices, harsh, threatening, commanding.
He was st anding almost at attention, his feet firmly on the floor, his hands at his sides, when he felt the craft land. His ears were now sufficiently stopped up to prevent his hearing what was going on, biut he could tell, eventually, that he was moving again.
The slime suit had become extremely rigid, like some Neldornan plastic, and oddly enough Valkarr now thought of it as his friend, and definitely a protection. Unable to hear, very tired, and somewhat bored, he found himself finally giving in to the quam nod.
