|
Her delicate nostrils quiver as she catches a whiff of an alien presence in this last outpost of Silicon Investor-the mirror world of Quintex where only the occasional, usually lost soul makes an appearance and where she has set up her summer camp. Cautiously she creeps toward the origin of the odor, her slim, tanned body appearing relaxed yet fully alert, hand hovering gracefully over BOOM, ready to dispatch without hesitation any threat to her territory. An odd sound reaches her-a jingling noise accompanied by a rather obnoxious male voice, gloating as it carries out some nefarious deed. Realization dawns and her perfect face flushes with rage. This oaf is taking the carefully hoarded cache of P's! She swings the Uzi up but pauses-this situation calls for something more suitable than gummiammo. A statement needs to be made. Swiftly she reaches for the small bag tied to her matching thong, a lovely summerweight leather model in a soft buttery shade of tan. With a practiced, easy motion (fie on Alex the Feelie's procedural examinations)she removes the gummis and replaces them with uncooked alphabet noodles. With a beatific smile, she moves toward the sound, steps out and takes aim, her smile broadening almost to a grin as the startled look on the thief's countenance is replaced by disbelief and then fear. He falls cowering to his knees as the rockhard letters pelt him, the bag of purloined Ps falling to the ground beside him. Still firing, Rambi marches up to the moaning body, now prostrate and curled into a fetal position. She reaches down and he momentarily catches a whiff of her scent- today she's wearing Joy- while her hand gently touches the scars that pepper his face and arms, tiny runic reminders of his encounter with an edible alphabet. Amazingly across his forehead the word RAMBI is permanently imprinted. How will he explain this back home? She silently picks up the bag of Ps and is gone. |
