Lords of the Seventh Swarm

Chapter 9

That night, as Orick slept with one arm resting over Tallea’s neck, his paw planted firmly on her snout, he dreamed a dream that would change his life.

He dreamed that he was riding a florafeem, sitting under a yellow silk pavilion as bright as the sun. The florafeem’s whole body thundered as it hurtled through the air. It soared through dark skies like blue velvet. Stars and worlds swung through the wide heavens.

Orick stared at the passing worlds in awe, then looked around in the bright starlight at the back of the florafeem.

Earlier in the day, he’d been surprised at the creature. Just as a whale will have multitudes of barnacles making their home on its back, the florafeem served as home to many small creatures-grasping gray plants that looked like anemones, black wriggling beasts that at first appeared to be some dark running liquid but which were more like worms. Another form of life might have been some purple fuzzy hairs that sprouted from the florafeem’s back, or it Orick looked about on the florafeem, hoping to find something to his tastes, but there were no platters of food sitting about. Instead, Orick studied the florafeem’s back, and all about him, in the dark grassy fuzz, he saw strange shapes: graceful birds on wide tan-and-green wings whipped past him, and. Orick realized that these must be Qualeewoohs, though he’d never seen a live one before.

Tiny people were also making their way through this furry jungle, slicing at hairs with machetes. Tallea was there, a tiny bear wandering over a wilderness of alien skin, between a herd of crablike creatures. Then there were dronon, Orick saw. Thousands of dronon in the distance, crawling over the furze like black mantises, their mouthfingers clicking over voice drums as they spoke.

Orick saw nothing to eat, yet his stomach was in knots. “Where did you put the food?” Orick asked the dove.

“Why it’s right in front of your nose, you doltish bear,” the dove said. “Just kill something furry and swallow it down quick. It’s just like eating squirrels. They might wiggle on the way down, but they taste fine.”

Orick stared at the tiny people, at the ratlike aliens, at the cruel dronon, at Qualeewoohs and other things that wriggled like worms through the jungle of hair. Orick could tell these were sentient creatures all-there was too much wisdom in their eyes. But it wasn’t their sentience that made the thought of eating them turn Orick’s stomach. It was their repulsiveness. There was something dark and evil here. “Well, I’m not so hungry as all that,” he grumbled.

“I-uh-it wouldn’t be proper to eat those dirty beggars.”

“Why ‘dirty beggars’?” the dove cried. “Look you, I washed them myself just last week. You’re not so much cleaner than them. You eat worms, don’t you? And slugs and snails and dead things you find by the roadside? These are no more dirty than that. Be a good bear. Go ahead, eat one of ’em!”

Orick peered forward into the hairs of the florafeem. A little crablike thing scuttled away with knowing glances, but a languid girl Orick had known back on Tihrglas stood at the edge of a small, clearing in the fuzz. She held a bottle of ale in one hand, and was staggering about drunkenly. “Eat me, Orick!” she called with a giggle. “What ‘arm can a little soot do ya? Wheeeeee!” She tumbled drunk on her butt into a puddle of mud.

Indeed, as Orick took a closer look, he saw that all the creatures wandering the florafeem’s back were sooty, stained, ruined; There were lewd women caked with rotting food. Smelly old men with greasy hair. And the dronon.

Orick could smell the biting tang of their stomach acids. Chewing one would be like eating a nest of ants in one bite.

Orick felt his stomach turn at the sight. The smell alone made him want to retch.

“Clean them, did you?” Orick complained to the dove. “I’ve never seen such a stinking conglomeration of ambulatory refuse. You could boil them in rainwater, and never get the first layer of muck off. I’ve seen hog’s snot cleaner than that!

“Come, my friend,” the dove cajoled. Orick looked up.

The dove blazed like a green sun. “No matter if they’re filthy. Pick up one of the slimy things and swallow. You can even hold your nose as you do! Chase it down with whiskey afterward, and you’ll hardly rue the bad taste!”

At the dove’s words, some little people came from the woods at Orick’s feet. One dirty little man turned as backwards and farted at the poor bear while others laughed. and made rude noises. Qualeewoohs stuck out their foul purple tongues and rolled their orange eyes.

Orick’s stomach was in knots, he felt so famished. He felt light-headed. Still, he couldn’t abide the thought of eating one of those stinking aliens. “Look, you,” Orick said, “it’s not me that will be eating one of those malodorous pieces of animated offal. If you think I’m that hungry; you’ve got another think coming!”

“Ali, Orick,” the fiery dove whispered, “what a thick head you’ve got. How can you say these poor brutes are dirty? What God has cleansed, how can you call, it unclean?”

Orick looked back up to the dove, and suddenly the whole currant bush burst into flames. The flames were more than warm, they were a comfort, a blessing. They burned Orick to the core.

He woke gasping and looked about. Tallea slept beside him, and the hoverlamps above glowed dimly, still drifting up near the roof, so much like moons.

Orick lay wondering at his dream, filled with awe. The warmth he’d felt in his heart remained, the burning.

Always before when Orick had imagined entering the priesthood, he’d thought he would perhaps live in a quiet monastery, devoting his days to quiet contemplation of God’s word. Now, though, he suddenly understood how mistaken he had been, understood why he’d never felt that his personal desire to enter God’s service was quite the right thing to do. For months now he’d waited for God’s spirit to confirm to him that his offering was acceptable.

But now a thrill ran through Orick, and he gazed up at the arching window, staring out at the stars: All of those worlds, all filled with heathens both human and alien.

Orick’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude for the sudden realization that flowed into him. God had a glorious calling for Orick, more glorious than Orick could have ever conceived. It was a calling that would require all the labors of his heart, all the days of his life: Missionary to the Cosmos.