The Blind Assassin - Margaret Atwood [169]
They had sleeves? I thought they were naked on top.
Judas Priest, don’t be so picky. You know what I mean.
Will and Boyd were two old buddies – two scarred and battle-seasoned harry-craft veterans of three years’ standing. This was a long time in the harry-craft service, where losses ran high. Their courage was said by their commanders to exceed their judgment, though so far they had got away with their rash behaviour, raid after daring raid.
But as our story opens, a Xenorian zorch-craft had closed in on them, and now they were shot to hell and limping badly. The zorch-rays had put a hole in their fuel tank, knocked out their link with Earth control, and melted their steering gear, giving Boyd a nasty scalp wound in the process, whereas Will was bleeding into his spacesuit from an unknown site in mid-section.
Looks like we’re for it, said Boyd. Screwed, blued and tattooed. This thing’s gonna go kablooey any minute now. I just wish we’d of had the time to blast a few hundred more of the scaly sons of guns to kingdom come, is all.
Yeah, ditto. Well, mud in your eye, old pal, said Will. It looks like you’ve got some running down in there anyway – red mud. Your toes are leaking. Ha, ha.
Ha, ha, said Boyd, grimacing in pain. Some joke. You always had a bum sense of humour.
Before Will could reply, the ship spun out of control and went into a dizzying spiral. They’d been seized by a gravity field, but of which planet? They had no idea where they were. Their artificial-gravity system was kaput, and so the two men blacked out.
When they awoke, they couldn’t believe their eyes. They were no longer in the harry-craft, nor in their tight-fitting metallic spacesuits. Instead they were wearing loose green robes of some shining material, and reclining on soft golden sofas in a bower of leafy vines. Their wounds were healed, and Will’s third finger on the left hand, blown off in a previous raid, had grown back. They felt suffused with health and wellbeing.
Suffused, she murmurs. My, my.
Yeah, us guys like a fancy word now and then, he says, talking out of the side of his mouth like a movie gangster. It gives the joint a bit of class.
So I imagine.
To proceed. I don’t get it, said Boyd. You think we’re dead?
If we’re dead I’ll settle for dead, said Will. This is all right, all righty.
I’ll say.
Just then Will gave a low whistle. Coming towards them were two of the peachiest dames they had ever seen. Both had hair the colour of a split-willow basket. They were wearing long garments of a purplish-blue hue, which fell in tiny pleats and rustled as they moved. It reminded Will of nothing more than the little paper skirts they put around the fruit in snooty Grade-A grocery stores. Their arms and feet were bare; each had a strange headdress of fine red netting. Their skin was a succulent golden pink. They walked with an undulating motion, as if they’d been dipped in syrup.
Our greetings to you, men of Earth, said the first.
Yes, greetings, said the second. We have long expected you. We have tracked your advent on our interplanetary tele-camera.
Where are we? said Will.
You are on the Planet of Aa’A, said the first. The word sounded like a sigh of repletion, with a small gasp in the middle of it of the kind babies make when they turn over in their sleep. It also sounded like the last breath of the dying.
How did we get here? said Will. Boyd was speechless. He was running his eyes over the lush ripe curves on display before him. I’d like to sink my teeth into a piece of that, he was thinking.
You fell from the sky, in your craft, said the first woman. Unfortunately it has been destroyed. You will have to stay here with us.
That won’t be hard to take, said Will.
You will be well cared for.