Ribofunk   ::   Филиппо Пол Ди

Lying on his side, his mind racing, his body transformed into that of a Minitel poupee viande,Coney watched two pairs of bare feet approach. One pair belonged to a big human; the other belonged to a child, or dwarf, and seemed barely to touch the ground.

Hands lifted Coney up.

He saw his captors.

The big one was seemingly a baseline human, save for one appendage: a long, flexible, jointed scorpion's tail arching over his shoulder, a drop of venom still glistening at its sharp tip.

The other, smaller one was equipped with fluttering wasp wings sprouting from his shoulders and a stinger emerging from his coccyx.

Both were naked save for clinging pubic clamshells, their bodies laced with streetlife scars.

"Nice supper, huh, Art?" said the wasp one. "Nice supper!"

The scorpion studied Coney with less avidity than his partner. "Not so fast, Ick. This is a neo fresh from outside. There could be some other use for him. We could trade him or something."

"But I'm hungry, Art!"

"Listen, let's get the roast home and decide then."

"Okay, Art. You're the boss."

The scorpion hoisted Coney over his shoulder and they set off down the crumbling remnants of a paved path.

Coney knew he was doomed. Lacking the spirit even to curse the cupidity of Peej Hopcroft for sending him here to die so ignominiously, he began to drift off into a protective mental predeath fugue.

The smell of a large body of water came vaguely to Coney's sensitive nostrils.

"Quiet now," urged the scorpion in an undertone. "We don't want to wake Namor."

"Yeah, that fucking Namor-"

Water sprayed the trio. The next second, a newcomer stood beside them: scaled skin over slabbed muscles, winged heels, pinniped ears.

"That's 'Prince fucking Namor' to you," said the Submariner insouciantly.

Tossed to the ground, Coney landed with a thud on his back.

Dropping into a crouch, the scorpion lashed his tail menacingly. "Get him, Ick!" he called, but the diminutive waspman was already airborne.

Prince Namor seemed untroubled by the aggressive dual attack. Weaving, darting, avoiding the poison barb, he quickly latched on to the scorpion's wrist. There was a crackle of onboard capacitors discharging and the smell of burning flesh; the big man collapsed. Without even looking backward, the Submariner flung an arm up and grabbed the wasp's ankle as he made ready to plunge his stinger. Scorched meat, and the wasp fell.

The merman now came to Coney. Bending over the splice, he laid his hands on either side of his head.