Ribofunk   ::   Филиппо Пол Ди

Expecting death, Coney felt only a gentle thrill along hisnerve endings.

"You're carrying something you think is important," said the Submariner after half a minute. "The Pangolin should know about this. Let's go."

Hoisting Coney up under one arm, Prince Namor raced deeper into the Soft Sector with a fleetness only winged heels could bring.

Within minutes, the Submariner and his burden stood in a coldtorch-lit clearing before a throne crudely assembled from junked cars. Surrounding the throne was a host of malformed creatures, beaker-born and bioreactor-spawned.

Atop the sham throne was the Pangolin.

A huge polymod with cascades of living armor plates down his back and limbs and a chromed skull, the Pangolin

brandished three thick claws-one opposable-on each hand in place of fingers.

"What do you have there, Namor?" resonantly boomed out the imperious ruler of the Soft Sector.

"An outsider, a messenger bearing something of value."

"What?"

"I don't know. He's paralyzed, and my SQUIDS only picked up the general drift of his thoughts."

"Well, let's wake him."

Out from the crowd stepped a Medusa. Namor transferred Coney to her. Licking some of the splice's sweat with a burred tongue, she pronounced, "Scorpion toxin. I've got just the trick."

Hissing, one of her headsnakes quickly fastened its fangs into Coney's rump.

As fast as he had frozen, he melted back into freedom.

Set on his trembling legs, Coney tried to chant his mantra, but not a word of it remained.

"Can you speak now, splice?" roared the Pangolin.

Coney wanted to faint, but couldn't. "Y-y-yes."

"What are you carrying?"

"It's a new trope, Peej Pangolin. It's called O-max-O. It's to be used during virtual sex. It's not for sale yet. I don't know more than that. I swear on my manufacturer's warranty!"

"Hand it over!"

"But, Peej Pangolin, my errand-"

The Pangolin ripped a polycarbon strut off a chassis and began to climb down from his throne.

Coney hastily dug the crawlypatch out. Prince Namor took it and passed it to the Pangolin.

"We'll match and batch this by dawn. By tomorrow night, it'll be on sale throughout the whole civicorp. I owe you one, Namor."

"That's a lock. Well, I've got to wet my gills. Stay sharp!"

The Submariner placed the tips of his ten fingers approximately two centimeters apart: a burst of sparks arced and crackled in the air between them. Grunts and exclamations issued from the more impressionable members of the audience.