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continuously; their bodies required the release of the upper regions. So their population had been
culled in the region of thickest jell, and few lived to old age.
Usually the victims survived the first attack, but an uncomfortable convalescence was required to
restore the depleted juices. As most of the necessary food was on land, the had to walk up through
the bog repeatedly, and be subject to repeated attacks by the lancer. The second puncture was more apt
to be terminal, and a third almost invariably.
A convalescent could not work effectively; therefore the Dash had initiated their bog-safety program,
which had been of immense mutual benefit. Far better to haul heavy wood than to suffer the ravages of
the lancer!
Melody had thoughts of her own. If the were able to direct a lancer to a specific region of the bog,
why couldn't they have directed the creatures all the way out of the bog, and been free of the menace
long ago? And it was strange that so large and fierce a predator should show up now, after a long
period of relative quiet. Few dangerous predators were left in this region. They kept mainly to the park
bogs elsewhere on the planet where they were not hunted.
But her immediate concern was how to deal with this particular thing. The creature was so large that
even this huge body of Cnom's would be severely depleted by the feeding. It would mean a great deal
of pain and inconvenience for the host, and would eliminate Melody's chance to go after the secret of
hostage transfer. She simply could not afford that!
The lancer was not a sapient; it could not think in civilized terms or master stellar technology. It was
merely an animal, a super-predator who had never needed more than its mobility and power. Melody
had intelligence, information, and aura, yet what could these avail her against the direct simple thrust
of that spike? The lancer could move much faster than she could, and if it happened to miss the first
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thrust, it would merely circle about and attack again. She could not flee it, and she could not even
dodge it well, for she was limited to the narrow lattice branch.
There was no time to consider further. The lancer slid through the jelly, its rigid tubular spike centered
on her body. Melody reacted automatically for her own kind: She jumped to the side.
Disaster! She was not in her Mintakan body, where a jump would have lifted her only fractionally
amid a ferocious clatter of castanet-feet. She was not in her Solarian host, in which the same effort
would have hurled her to the ground. In her present host, she went spinning to the side of the lattice
branch over-balanced.
The lancer cruised past, one of its stabilizing fins almost brushing her body. She had avoided it, but
now she was falling, unable to recover her balance. If only she had flippers to thrust at the jell and pull
her through! But that was the mode of the Spican Impact.
She reached out with all three tentacles and caught the adjacent lemoncurl trunk. Still acting on a
confused amalgamation of instincts, she clung to that trunk, drawing her body into it.
No good! Her weight was too much. The trunk snapped off, and she resumed her tumble through the
jell, clutching the aromatic wood.
Meanwhile the lancer turned smoothly and oriented its lance again. It did not care whether she was on
the lattice or off it; it had no need for such support. It angled down, accelerating. Tiny thin bubbles
streamed about it as the slipstream of thinned jelly parted.
Melody swung the lemoncurl trunk at it.
Another disaster. She was not anchored, but was slowly dropping through the jell. She had little proper
leverage to move so massive an object quickly. Her tentacles were meant for reaching, grasping,
drawing in, and holding, not for full-scale manipulation. And the surrounding jell made a rapid
sidewise strike impossible. She wrenched a tentacle, and twisted body and trunk in a kind of semicircle
that succeeded only in shifting the angle of the descent.
But again this surprised the lancer, who missed her narrowly. Melody suspected that that was about as
far as her luck was likely to extend.
She was sliding down on a nether branch. She managed to tilt her log so that it formed a kind of plane.
She flattened her torso, adjusting the angle of descent so that she landed on the branch instead of
missing it. She had a serviceable tool!
The lancer looped about and down, and charged again. It could play this game as long as she could!
Melody caught her balance and braced herself, still clutching the log in two tentacles. Tool? Shield!
As the lancer struck at her with its devastating accuracy, she shoved the log between her body and the
spike.
The impact shoved her back along the branch. But she was several times as massive as the predator,
and retained her balance. In fact, she had the creature trapped: Its lance had pierced the trunk and stuck
there.
But she had counted her victory too soon. The predator reversed its propeller fins and jerked back-and
the spike drew free.
Afraid and angry, Melody turned the log endwise and rammed it at the retreating body. Now she had
fair purchase for her feet again, and was getting the hang of her weapon. One tentacle hurt, but the spin
of her body compensated for this. Like a rod attached to a camshaft, the log struck forward.
The lancer, amazed at this aggressive behavior by its prey, retreated further. Melody continued her
advance, trying to jam the log on the spike, so as to nullify the point. Then she might be able to take
hold of the creature's slippery body in her tentacles and crush it....
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But the lancer had had enough. This atypical behavior interfered with its set style of attack; it could not
adapt. It curved its long body, revved up its fins, and shot away into the gloom.
"Come back and fight, you coward!" Melody vibrated after it, furious. She had not had the option of
fleeing! But the creature paid no heed.
Now the vibrations came in from all around. "The alien has vanquished the lancer!"
"Using a load of scentwood!"
"Astonishing!"
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