Metamorphosis Alpha 2

by Craig Martelle (ed)

  Edwud, stepped between Foran and One-Eye’s blade, which sank into his stomach. Edwud collapsed to the ground clutching his stomach, bleeding. Varan bellowed in anger as he hefted his axe at the shaman, but Karl was quicker, raking his poison claws over the shaman’s chest. The shaman was unaffected by his poison! The Shaman stabbed the knife at Karl, but missed.

  Foran didn’t hesitate and plunged his vibroblade into One-Eye’s chest.

  One-Eye sagged, and then started to turn red. His face cracked and he quickly crumbled into dust. All hell broke out in the village.

  Author Craig J. Brain

  Craig lives in Australia and has been a long-time fan of Metamorphosis Alpha. His contributions to the game can be seen in numerous published MA products. Craig’s website says it all.

  www.metamorphosisalpha.net

  Shepherd, Where Are Your Sh’poids?

  By Bob Brinkman

  It is said that there is no greater bond than that between a dog and her boy. That bond is forged of trust and tested in fire, and will be tested again as crisis looms. In an odyssey across the lands and into the underworld, one dog sets out to save her people.

  I dream of color.

  I dream of endless colors wrapped around my legs, stretching to my human-like paws. I always awake to a world of grays; the gray shades of the world around me, the near-uniform bands that decorate my legs and remind me of my past. I’m aware that I’m only dreaming of what color must be like, that these are just unfulfillable fantasies, but they are my dreams.

  It was from such a dream that I was awakened by a hand on my side. I opened my eyes blearily, first seeing an unrecognized yet familiar dark-bearded figure. I shook my head and cleared my vision before I looked again. Gone was the unknown figure; it was my man waking me, and the look on his face was troubled.

  ***

  For those unfamiliar with my appearance, allow me to explain the relationship between myself and my man. My name is Mitzi. I have flowing golden hair, powerful locust-like back legs for leaping, and hands for my forepaws. Despite these slight oddities of appearance, I’m in all other ways a normal cocker spaniel, or at least so I’ve been told. As one might guess, my man is just that – my human. Real humans aren’t easy to come by, but they do seem to gravitate to a dog as if some ancient racial memory calls to them.

  Come to think of it, that might explain why wolfoids seem so adept at picking them off.

  My human calls himself “Jan-Tar Owen” although I’ve never been able to ascertain whether that was his name, his tribe, or a mixture of both. He wandered into our village more than 100 dark-cycles ago, wounded and half-starved. Even as tired and delirious as he was, he found himself drawn to me and so our shaman, Steven-5, appointed me as his keeper and appointed Jan-Tar Owen as my man. Steven-5 is a wise shaman, and my village believes him to be human; I know that he is not. It is a secret that we keep between him and me, and it is why he will never be my man.

  ***

  “Mitzi girl, wake up.” There was a scowl across Jan-Tar Owen’s face as he patted my side to wake me. “There’s trouble and Steven-5 wants to see us.”

  The words hung in the air for a moment, and I knew the truth of them. Steven-5 wanted to see me; that Jan-tar was my man was immaterial. There was trouble and I was one of the village’s best fixers. I rose to my feet and nudged my head towards our go-bags.

  “Might as well grab our gear now,” I recited almost by rote. I gestured in the direction of his spear and shield, my bracelets clattering as I did so. I grimaced at the memories associated with them, knowing what the future would bring, what it always brought. “Steven-5 will probably want us to leave with haste after we speak.”

  Jan-Tar gave a quick nod in the affirmative and began throwing things into his satchel. I didn’t sit to wait for him. I knew Steven-5 was waiting for me. I flexed my hind legs and, with a bound, leapt from our shared hut and into the glow of morning. The wrongness in the air hit me immediately, and I was surprised enough that I nearly missed my landing. Skidding to a halt, I sniffed at the air, shook my head and inhaled even more deeply. The sh’poids were gone, and only a fading ghost of their scent remained in the air.

  ***

  Sh’poids represent a significant portion of the local economy. Prized both for their wool as well as their meat, sh’poids are fluffy little animals and docile to a fault. They are so calm and tame that a predator could move into a flock and begin slaughtering, and the rest will simply continue to eat. It isn’t that they are fearless so much as oblivious: they wouldn’t know to run if their wool was on fire. Shepherding them is a full time job. They tend to wander, but this was something different. The sh’poids had simply vanished.

  ***

  Now understanding the urgency, I hurried to the shaman’s hut, bounding over buildings and mutants alike. Steven-5 met me just outside his hut, as is his custom. As I had anticipated, he did not wait for Jan-Tar to arrive before launching into his explanation.

  “As you have no doubt noticed, our livestock is missing.” Steven-5’s dispassionate face belied the severity of the situation. Without waiting for response, he continued. “I have spent the morning gathering what information I could and I fear that this is something unlike anything we have faced before. There were lights above during the last dark-cycle…” His voice trailed off, as though he thought that those words would carry special meaning for me. They did not.

  Before I was forced to embarrass myself by asking for more information, Jan-Tar came rushing up. He tossed our gear down dramatically, and I winced. That was no way to treat artifacts of the ancients who has come before…

  “Mitzi,” he exclaimed, red-faced, “the sh’poids are missing!”

  Steven-5 and I shared a look, one often shared between two higher beings when confronted with something that they are already aware of. I began to raise a paw so that Steven-5 could continue but Jan-Tar’s words continued rushing forth.

  “I heard that there were strange lights above the village last dark-cycle,” he nodded knowingly and placed a finger alongside his nose. “Those lights, they came from starboard.”

  Steven-5 and I shared another look, this one of surprise. “Starboard, you say?” Steven-5 asked. “Are you certain?”

  I envied the emotionlessness of Steven-5’s face. Mine was filled with pride in my man, clever Jan-Tar. A glance down my forelegs reminded me of both the past and the future. I gave a small shudder before looking back to him. While I’d been speaking to Steven-5, Jan-Tar had been out gathering information. He was a good human. I wish he didn’t need to take this dangerous journey with me…but I knew that he would.

  A few minutes later and it was time to head out. Our journey was of grave import. Without the sh’poids our people would starve in the cold-cycle. Jan-Tar and I gathered our things and headed off. I could feel the eyes of the villagers as they followed us. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I knew what it was all the same. “Mitzi the Death Hound” was taking another victim into the wilderness. Almost as if he could sense my despondent turn, Jan-Tar threw a ball down the path. Shamelessly I bounded after it, shaking off my black mood and relishing the perfect moment of escapism as it was offered. It would be a long time before I would feel so carefree again.

  ***

  We had been walking starboard for six hours before we came across the first empty pasture. The fencing looked to be intact, stretching as far as we could see, and I could smell that there had been sh’poids here recently – within the past few days. Jan-Tar clambered over the fence into the pasture, crouching close to the ground. While human senses are not as sharp as mine, human instincts and “hunches” are things to pay attention to. I dropped onto my belly and crawled under the fence to come alongside him.

  “We’re being watched,” Jan-Tar whispered. “Maybe about one hundred meters ahead of us, by that stand of razor thorns.” His gaze never wavered as he continued staring forward. “There is something over there, I’m sure of it.” As he f
inished, his hand edged his shield ever so slightly higher as he began bracing for an attack.

  That had been more than the normally reticent human had spoken in the entire journey from our village. He had my attention. From my position, low to the ground, I couldn’t see much and the breeze was at our backs, negating any chance I had at catching a scent. Our surroundings seemed to go still as we hyper-focused on the potential threat. Tense minutes rolled by while neither we, nor our unseen adversary, were willing to risk exposure.

  “It would be a shame to kill a boy and his dog,” called a voice. We looked to one another with relief; our watcher sounded relatively human. “Why don’t you just stand up and we can have a civilized conversation?”

  The breeze carried me another scent. As we’d been holding still, another individual had been moving to get behind us.

  I struggled against my instincts to snarl and attack. Normally, life was simply fight or die. We always had to be cautious, as we never knew what harmless-looking plant or animal would turn out to be predatory and dangerous. We had to be careful to not stray into the zones of so-called “bad air” that caused flesh to blister and infected unfortunates with a wasting disease that our healers could not stop. It was rare to come across strangers from another village, but this time it was we who were the strangers and it was they who were cautious.

  I gave a nod to Jan-Tar, but remained quiet. I was not willing to give up the advantage of being mistaken for a dumb animal just yet. Jan-Tar lowered his spear and shield to the ground and slowly rose while making himself look bigger by outstretching his empty hands into the air above him.

  Only humans would attempt to look harmless with a display that makes them look more threatening.

  “Easy friend, w– I am looking for no trouble,” Jan-Tar called across. “There were lights in the sky over our village last dark-cycle and this morning our sh’poids were missing.” He raised a hand to shelter his eyes from the light-cycle’s glare. “You know anything about that?”

  “By the Cap’tahn’s table, Wilmer,” a pair of burbling voices from behind us drawled, “these folks are in the same trouble we’re in.” Jan-Tar resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder, waiting to be certain that all was well.

  “Well…” the first voice considered for a moment, “alright. But keep him covered to be safe.” A slight humanoid figure stepped out from the cover of the stand of trees, the smoothness of his appearance spoiled by his getting caught on the sharp thorns.

  Perhaps the mutant looked embarrassed, but with his coat of short scarlet fur, it was difficult to tell. As I glanced behind I saw a two-headed, frogoid-like mutant shimmer into view. Invisibility – very impressive. Despite the bluster of the first, neither mutant appeared to be armed with anything more than a short crook. Certainly, looks could be deceiving among mutants but they looked so young…they were just—

  “Kids!” I exclaimed. “You are just kids. Shepherds, right?” Jan-Tar shot me a quick look as a broke my cover.

  Both mutants took a step back as I spoke, clearly unaccustomed to intelligent mutant animals that weren’t busily trying to eat their faces. (Must be nice.) They stared as I looked from first one to the other. They looked uncertain and the two-headed mutant began to fade slightly.

  Jan-Tar slowly lowered his hands and spoke in a friendly tone. “I’m Jan-Tar Owen and this here is Mitzi,” he gestured in my direction. “Don’t worry; her looks are more dangerous than her bite.”

  I inwardly laughed at how true that was. I could stare at something and cause it to slowly freeze and shatter. No need to worry the kids with that, though. Instead, I cocked my head and gave my tail a wag (it tends to aid in smoothing things over).

  Once all that got settled, it didn’t take much convincing for the two shepherds to take us to their village to meet with their shaman. Jan-Tar openly gaped at something I’d long suspected, but I was polite and didn’t mention anything while we were being introduced to Steven-18.

  ***

  The story we heard was much the same as ours: strange lights in the dark-cycle sky, followed by the disappearance of the sh’poids. The details matched, down to the lights having come from starboard. We were at least headed in the right direction, so we had that going in our favor. But other than having traveled 30 km from home, nothing much had changed. With another 4 hours of day-cycle remaining, we decided to push on. Saying our farewells, we continued heading starboard.

  A mere two hours later, we arrived at the next village.

  Jan-Tar questioned the tribe while I sniffed around for other clues. I felt, rather than scented, the figure standing behind me. I stiffened for a moment before speaking.

  “Yes, Steven?” I knew it was he, it had to be. I’d not encountered anyone else that lacked any distinctive smells. There was just a faint smell of ozone, much like some of our ancient artifacts. “You’re which one? Steven-12? 24? 129?” I allowed my exasperation to show through. There are so many secrets in our world. Too many secrets.

  “Yes, Mitzi.” The shaman didn’t even attempt to dissemble – he knew me. “I am designated Steven-26.”

  I coughed a guttural laugh. 26? I had been close, almost by accident. “So, what do you want to tell me without giving me any details, Steven-26?” It had been a long day and we were no closer to finding the sh’poids. My patience was thin. I glanced up at Steven-26 and he raised an eyebrow.

  “I was merely going to point out that, once it grows dark, spotting the lights overhead should be far easier.”

  I inwardly cringed, he was right. I hadn’t even considered that. Still, Steven-26 probably knew a lot more than he was letting on and it really irritated me. Fortunately, it was about that time that Jan-Tar came back. Steven-26 excused himself and left the two of us alone.

  “Isn’t it weird?” Jan-Tar let his words hang in the air meaningfully for a moment before continuing. “Why would Steven-5’s brothers live in different places? I’d still live with my ma and pa if I could.” Jan-Tar’s obvious confusion, and no small amount of distress, was troubling. I moved over and lay on the ground next to his feet.

  “Weird is a good word for it,” I said. “So is ‘suspicious’. I’m sure that they know a lot more than they are telling us.”

  My human beamed down at me, “But so do we!” He nodded sagely. “We know that the Stevens aren’t human, because humans cannot give birth to one hundred children at once.” He furrowed his brow, but if we know what they aren’t, do we know what they are?” He raised his arms and then slapped his hands back down against the sides his thighs. “We don’t know, do we girl?”

  “No,” I admitted, “we don’t.”

  Jan-Tar sat down on the ground next to me and ran his hand absently down my back, seeking comfort amidst his confusion. We sat there in silence for a long while, watching the light-cycle gradually dim into dark…until we heard the shouting. We became truly alarmed when the screaming and howling began. I released the smallest trace of fear onto the ground.

  ***

  Wolfoids. The very mention of them is enough to make most people nervous. I suppose once upon a time they were dogs of some sort but, like me, they aren’t simple canines anymore. Like many other mutant groups, they managed to achieve some sort of semi-stable breeding point and are able to reproduce more of their kind – as opposed to more random mutants. That “semi-stable” thing? That is the real crux of the matter. Elders speak of a time in their memory when wolfoids stood roughly one and a quarter meters tall, but many of them stand more than twice that.

  If they were just hostile, intelligent, weapon-using, pack-hunting mutants that stood close to three meters tall, that would be bad enough – but the reality of the matter is so much worse. Their very gaze can bring the flesh-boiling death of the bad air, and their fur makes them impervious to many of the weapons of the ancients that they themselves use. They hit fast and hard, and vanish just as quickly.

  Oh, and they think that the left hands of humans are a delicacy of some sor
t. They go crazy for them.

  ***

  I caught scent of the wolfoids at about the same time that their howling, barking laughter could be heard above the screams of the local’s, which hit a pitch of true panic. After my momentary indignity, I sprang forward in a series of bounding leaps while Jan-Tar scooped up his spear and shield and followed. My mind’s eye reviewed everything we’d seen since arriving in the village, and weapons had been uncommonly scarce. Perhaps they were pacifists, or their hunters were out looking for supplies; but no matter the reason, these folks were mostly undefended.

  I landed on the roof of a hut near the center of the village and I could see that four of the wolfoids had surrounded Steven-26. I had to admit, he was doing a fair job of holding them at bay. It seemed that the death gaze from their crimson eyes was having no effect on him, but their more traditional weapons were taking a toll. As I watched, one of their numbers lunged towards Steven-26’s back, striking him with some sort of blade. I could hear it whirring before it made contact.

  Steven-26 screamed. His scream was answered by a battle cry.

  Jan-Tar Owen rushed the group like some avenging servitor of the Cap’tahn, catching one of the wolfoids under the chin with an upwards thrust of his spear. The glow of the creature’s eyes faded as it slumped forward – sliding the spear further into its skull. Its fellows momentarily recoiled from the intruder in their midst. I took that moment to spring at the one with the strange blade. The collision of my body against its bulk staggered the mutant. I looked up into the wolfoid’s face, into the eyes not covered with that strangely protective fur.

  “Bad dog,” I grunted. The beast howled and dropped to the ground writhing in pain and clutching at its ruined eyes.

  Around us the raid continued, although the sounds had already begun to diminish. Real resistance is something that these curs prefer to avoid. At the edges of my awareness I could feel, rather than see, a number of the wolfoids had already pulled away from the village, leaving only small pockets of ongoing combat.