The liquid bullets imploded in
midair, hung in their splattered state as against the windshield of
a
smail-transport. Alyss had, by the power of her imagination, cocooned herself and the others in a protective NRG shield and the bullets had smacked against it. A good thing too, because the few that had zipped past them hit the trunk of a guppy tree planted in the lobby, the poison causing its fish-faced leaves to audibly suffocate and its bark to fall off in colorless strips. “Penniken Fields,” Alyss said again.
They stayed close together, the better to remain within the protection of the NRG shield. The Glass Eyes were now entering Wondronia by the smail-loads, having gotten the better of the rook’s T-Cup, and they fired orb generators, crystal shot, and razor-cards at the Alyssians while the scorpspitters let fly with round after round of their poison bullets. The bullets splatted against the NRG shield; the crystal shot and razor-cards bounced off of it, visiting damage upon the lobby’s restaurants and theaters and shops. “Couldn’t we at least run?” the rook asked. “No,” said Alyss.
Penniken Fields: the largest indoor park in Wonderland; a masterpiece of landscape architecture that might have made Nature jealous if it hadn’t paid such beautiful homage to Her with its arrangements of flower beds and shade trees, meandering paths, picturesque ponds, streams, and gently sloping vistas. At the Fields, the architect had managed to hide the ceiling behind the deep blue of an artificially produced atmosphere complete with clouds. With Glass Eyes and scorpspitters trailing them, Alyss led the others to a meadow bordered on one side by a hedge three Wonderlanders tall. “Now we wait until there are more of them,” she said. “Keep me informed.” “Keep you—?”
Mentally, she was already deep within herself. She had to focus, to concentrate on imagining a weapon that could explode with ten times the force of an orb generator. She thought of the munitions factory in the flatlands between Outerwilderbeastia and the suburbs of Wondertropolis that she’d once toured. “How many Glass Eyes are there?” she asked. “About a hundred,” answered Dodge.
Not enough. She remembered the production line where orb generators were assembled. She visualized the round, lightweight casings that might have been balls in a children’s game if not for the arrangement of molecules and atoms they contained.
“How many now?”
“Somewhere between three and four hundred maybe.” In her imagination’s eye, she gazed into the hot center of an orb generator—the chambers that would open into one another on impact, allowing the nuclei they held to fuse in a chain reaction that gave the weapon its deadly force.
“And now?” She was tired. The protective cocoon, the outsized orb generator—all this imagining required stamina, physical strength.
“I have no idea,” Dodge said. “A lot.”
smail-transport. Alyss had, by the power of her imagination, cocooned herself and the others in a protective NRG shield and the bullets had smacked against it. A good thing too, because the few that had zipped past them hit the trunk of a guppy tree planted in the lobby, the poison causing its fish-faced leaves to audibly suffocate and its bark to fall off in colorless strips. “Penniken Fields,” Alyss said again.
They stayed close together, the better to remain within the protection of the NRG shield. The Glass Eyes were now entering Wondronia by the smail-loads, having gotten the better of the rook’s T-Cup, and they fired orb generators, crystal shot, and razor-cards at the Alyssians while the scorpspitters let fly with round after round of their poison bullets. The bullets splatted against the NRG shield; the crystal shot and razor-cards bounced off of it, visiting damage upon the lobby’s restaurants and theaters and shops. “Couldn’t we at least run?” the rook asked. “No,” said Alyss.
Penniken Fields: the largest indoor park in Wonderland; a masterpiece of landscape architecture that might have made Nature jealous if it hadn’t paid such beautiful homage to Her with its arrangements of flower beds and shade trees, meandering paths, picturesque ponds, streams, and gently sloping vistas. At the Fields, the architect had managed to hide the ceiling behind the deep blue of an artificially produced atmosphere complete with clouds. With Glass Eyes and scorpspitters trailing them, Alyss led the others to a meadow bordered on one side by a hedge three Wonderlanders tall. “Now we wait until there are more of them,” she said. “Keep me informed.” “Keep you—?”
Mentally, she was already deep within herself. She had to focus, to concentrate on imagining a weapon that could explode with ten times the force of an orb generator. She thought of the munitions factory in the flatlands between Outerwilderbeastia and the suburbs of Wondertropolis that she’d once toured. “How many Glass Eyes are there?” she asked. “About a hundred,” answered Dodge.
Not enough. She remembered the production line where orb generators were assembled. She visualized the round, lightweight casings that might have been balls in a children’s game if not for the arrangement of molecules and atoms they contained.
“How many now?”
“Somewhere between three and four hundred maybe.” In her imagination’s eye, she gazed into the hot center of an orb generator—the chambers that would open into one another on impact, allowing the nuclei they held to fuse in a chain reaction that gave the weapon its deadly force.
“And now?” She was tired. The protective cocoon, the outsized orb generator—all this imagining required stamina, physical strength.
“I have no idea,” Dodge said. “A lot.”