______________
A.R.Yngve
The MSTing Of
DARC AGES
Book 2 1/2: The Smell Of Fear
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(This is your brain on drugs. Any questions?)

Chapter 35

It was yet another morning of farewells.

(Is the author trying to telegraph his boredom?)

The flight across the Atlantic would cost the Sunray every last drop of fuel. Dohan had removed all unnecessary internal furnishing to ease the craft's weight - most of the seats, all ornaments, body armor, weaponry, wall panels, casings, and fire extinguishers.

(At these oil prices, who can blame him?)

He was sure his father would never forgive him this vandalism.

("Dad, I wrecked Iraq...")

Chief Claw and his tribe cheered as they took over the discarded weapons and gadgets, which would come to good use.

("This ornament'll make an excellent bong!")

Darc had gathered and stored samples of Virus A and B for later studies, plus some of his new vaccine.

("Pure homeopathic goodness!")

All that remained before their departure, was a surprise offer from the Leper chief - Claw's last great test of Darc's commitment.



"Take one of us with you," Claw asked, or rather commanded.

("Take one of us with you, or the broad gets it!")

Darc looked at the grotesque face of the Leper leader - as ugly as ever, despite his clean, brightly colored robes and shiny new armor pads.

(He's a pro wrestler??)

However, there was a softness to Claw's hardy features that had not been there before.

(Not to mention there was a shortness to his tall stature.)

Standing safely apart from his guests, Claw continued: "You must. If you could cure just one of us completely, and show her to the healthy city-dwellers as one of them - then we would all have won a great victory. You understand the reason of it, Darc. The path to our redemption begins with one person, but the first one is the most difficult, no?"

(Ah, the delicate subtlety of Paolo Coelho.)

Darc nodded slowly, and said: "If I say yes - then it must be a Leper who can be made absolutely resistant to Virus A. And even then, I can't swear she will be completely cured of Virus B. Who shall it be?"

([Chorus] GIVE US BARABBAS!!)

He half expected the Leper chief to suggest himself - Claw's healthy eye revealed how much he wanted it.

(Here?? In front of all these people??)

But the chief shrugged, as though he had read Darc's mind.

Somberly, Claw replied: "Not I. But someone who may not survive without you."

He beckoned forward two cloaked Leper women, who were supporting a third figure on their shoulders. The third one's cloak was thicker and longer than normal, covering up all ends completely.

(Except all the loose plot ends...)

Darc, Shara, and Dohan stared at the slumped mystery, puzzled and just a little afraid. This was a tribe member who apparently had been hidden away until now. Claw gestured at the figure with his claw-like left hand. "This is Eye-Leg," he explained. "Show them."

(The money!)

With great care, the two women rolled up the four sleeves of Eye-Leg's clothing and exposed her limbs to the sun.

(*FSSST*...)

The figure bearing that name winced in the light, and made little gagging-clicking sounds with her tongue. Darc suppressed an instinctive convulsion of his stomach - Shara gasped and covered her face.

("Turn off Fox News! Quick! For the love of God!")

Dohan, who stood at a distance from them, mumbled a prayer, "crossed" himself with the eye-mouth-heart-sign and averted his eyes.

Eye-Leg's head and throat - complete with mouth and tongue - grew separated from her shoulders.

(What really saddens me is that some jerk found this page by searching for "nude handicapped women.")

The girl's close-shaven head hung upside-down, attached firmly to the joint of her right hip - instead of a thigh. Her right leg dangled like some perverse, atrophied trunk from between her shoulders.

(But enough talk about Nancy Grace!)

Dohan looked again. It got worse.

(On the mutant's lapel hung a "Huckabee '08" button.)

He saw that also her left leg and right arm grew in switched places, rendering them both useless. Tears welled up in his eyes - of disgust, pity, and anger. How could the gods and goddesses allow this cruelty to a child?

(Because they Just. Don't. Care.)

At the point where the base of Eye-Leg's "neck" - or, what should have been her right leg - met her collarbones, one could see two brownish, quivering holes. They opened periodically, as little flaps of sore skin - hardened tissue? - twitched.

(A human Rubik's Cube?)

Darc realized what those openings were: her gullet and her windpipe.

"How... how does she breathe?" he whispered.

("Terribly!")

Claw saw rather than heard the question - for like all Lepers, he was skilled at tracing minute facial and body movements.

("How do you see a question?" - "Look for the question-mark in the word balloon.")

"She was born late. We had to cut up her mother's womb to get her out. Everyone thought Eye-Leg was stillborn. But then she started to breathe through that hole you see. And we fed her milk and soup through the other opening. Her head is mute, and she has lost all her teeth, because the mouth neither breathes nor eats. But, the true tragedy, her mind -"

("- is convinced that Hillary can win!")

They watched her silently for what felt like hours.

(They checked their emotion wristwatches.)

Eye-Leg looked up at them with a flickering, frightened gaze - her eyes bulging, with pink whites, shot through with capillaries.

(But if you down eight vodka shots, she looks much better.)

Her head seemed swollen with blood pressure, and thick veins stood out from around the Leper tattoo on her forehead. And despite all this, the spark of awareness and intelligence in those childlike eyes was obvious - and infinitely sad.

Claw added, like a judge meting out a gruesome sentence: "She's almost fourteen. You see, Darc? You see why it has to be her?"

(No.)

Claw's stern gaze could not hide how tense he was. Darc had wanted to bring along the boy Four-Leg instead, but this girl needed help much more. He gestured his approval, looking away from the others, and looked across the plateau at the distant horizon.

When he spoke he felt strange: possessed by something greater than himself. Dohan would have called it fate.

(Others call it electric boogaloo.)

"We bring her along. And I swear this: You shall see Eye-Leg again, all limbs in their right place, alive and well. Even if I have to spend the rest of my life making it happen."

("Read my lips: No new taxes!")

Dohan moved behind Darc and whispered: "This is too much even for you, Darc. I am not that dumb - she is beyond all help! For the sake of the Goddess and your honor, choose someone else!"

([Chorus] WE WANT BARABBAS!!)

"Shut up," Darc snapped.

(Okay, okay, sorry...)

Claw had been planning this for days, and went on to silence any possible objections. He told them, that Eye-Leg had never suffered any of the lumps or skin deformities which were now connected to Virus A; she was immune to it.

Also, her physical stamina was remarkable: Eye-Leg had never been seriously ill and might survive extensive surgery.

(And her first nose job.)

She had been cleaned and her clothes sanitized, and was ready to leave at short notice. The two Leper women told Shara how to feed the girl; on her own, Eye-Leg would risk choking on food slipping into her lungs.

(Slipping?? Of its own will? What do these people eat anyway??)

Darc made a mental attempt to guess what Eye-Leg's insides looked like - to no avail.

(Mental avail.)

For this task he needed expert help... or a miracle.

After a few additional preparations, the four travelers could board the Sunray.

When Darc and Shara first tried to carry Eye-Leg into the aircraft, the girl became terrified and fought to come loose. She kicked and scratched her helpers feebly. It was a most unnerving experience for them, to be kicked with a misplaced hand, scratched with a foot that was in the arm's rightful place.

(The foot had usurped the arm!)

Only when Claw had calmed and soothed her for several minutes, Eye-Leg seemed to accept her fate. But she wept and made more gagging-clicking noises.

"Can you understand her?" Darc called at the Lepers.

"Some," Claw called back. "But we do not know how much she can understand."

(Paris Hilton presents the same problem.)

They moved Eye-Leg up into the vessel's rear cabin, and Dohan started up its two powerful jet turbines.

Claw kept shouting instructions, even as the craft's rear port swung shut: "Be kind to her! Always explain to her what is happening! She likes when you talk to her, even if she might not understand the words!"

"We promise!" Shara replied. ("Read our lips: no new taxes!")

The metal door closed, and the frightened Eye-Leg was helped into the single remaining passenger seat, where she was put into a lying position and secured with seatbelts. They decided upon a sideways position for her, so that her head would lie free from the g-forces of the accelerating craft.

(Damn his lying head!)

As the Sunray soared in a cloud of dust, Eye-Leg shook and writhed in her seat, making one last escape attempt. Shara talked soothing words to Eye-Leg, and held her tense hand - that is, the hand that was fitted to its correct joint.

And finally, when Eye-Leg could see that they were already high up among the clouds, she settled down in a stiff posture. Dohan pulled the lever that activated the autopilot, and turned in his seat to face the others - carefully avoiding the gaze of Eye-Leg's horrified gray eyes.

"Could everyone aboard please hear me?" he said, and paused.

("This is The Colbert Report!")

"Thank you. I have calculated the fuel expenses for a flight with three passengers. But I cannot account for any unexpected additions due to bad weather, turbulent air... or extra passengers. To put it short: We might not make it all the way across."

(Customs, that is.)

Darc interrupted: "Does the Sunray have wheels to land on?"

The young pilot frowned, scratching his short red beard.

("Wheels, wheels... now where did I put them?")

"We have six small wheels, on the pontoons on which the engines rest, so you can roll the plane across the ground. Why?"

(To move the plane, dumbass!)

Darc straightened his back - he was sitting on the floor against the wall - and put forth his idea: "In my time, an aircraft could land while flying forward... sort of glide down, and land on extended wheels. Could you try such a landing, instead of using up fuel on a slow, vertical landing?"

Dohan thought about it.

(And a horny adolescent leer appeared on his spotty face.)

"Air gliding," he said slowly. "No, that's for fools and acrobats. I tried it once when I was young. Very dangerous. One false move, or a sudden wind, and..." He let his right hand make a dive into his left palm. "Besides that, you need large wings for gliding on the wind. The Sunray is made for short, fast flights - our wings are too small by far."

(He's real gone now, thinks he's got wings...)

Darc sank back against the wall. His friend's sudden cowardice disappointed him.

Then Dohan brightened up a little, and said: "It just struck me - there is an emergency parachute - you know what I mean? It is meant for emergency landings without fuel. Very simple - I just pull the lever, and the chute unfolds above our heads.

("And we fall to our certain doom.")

Then the whole craft sinks down on the air, and if the tanks are emptied... then we could make a rough touchdown and not go up in flames, Goddess willing. But we might land in the sea, far from land. The Sunray will sink like a rock."

(Pumice or granite rock?)

"The chute," Darc probed. "What shape is it?"

"I cannot recall the precise shape... a rectangular chunk of silk, shaped like dozens of hollow tubes -"

("You know, shaped like the Internet...")

"Dohan. Have you ever heard of parachute gliding?" The pilot rubbed his temples, and explained with some irritation: "Well, yes, but - this is not a single man's weight here. Once the engines are shut down, it goes as reckless as a kite. And chute gliding is outlawed in our cities, anyway. It happened in ancient times, that glide-flyers ended up outside the city walls..."

Dohan lapsed into reciting the sort of crash-landing stories which flying men are so fond of telling... and Darc realized that Dohan could be stunningly boring at times. It was going to be one long flight. Shara patted Eye-Leg's hand, looking pityingly at her curious face.

"Chutes, wheels, rudders... it makes no sense to either of us, huh? Don't worry. If we fall into the ocean, I'll grab something for us to float on. Okay?"

(And the mutant replied in sign language: "Bite me.")

The withered, misplaced leg on the girl's shoulders made a little twitch - a nod? Shara shuddered, and almost burst into tears.

This unfortunate Leper had lived through a misery far worse than her own - and without promising or wishing it, Shara now felt responsible for Eye-Leg. Yet, the sight of the girl was almost too much to bear.

Shara recalled Up-Mouth - the man who had killed himself at the hint of having done wrong.

(Oh Putin, why can't you be more like him?)

How much greater, then, was not Eye-Leg's will to live against all odds? She was more than a freak.

"Do you want to hear a song, Eye-Leg? A song my parents taught me when I was a child. It always made me feel better."

("It's called 'Hurt', by Nine Inch Nails.")

Shara began to sing softly, a slow soothing church hymn in a forgotten language called Latin - the meaning of which had been lost even to her own parents.

(Does anybody know the meaning of Hotel California?)

Dona, nobis, pacem pacem...
Dona, nobis, pacem pacem...

([Loud song] "OOPS, I DID IT AGAIN...")

She stayed with Eye-Leg and sang, until the Leper girl was finally lulled to sleep. Shara took her hand in hers, and kissed it.

(Before she remembered where that hand had been!)



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