Gods of Sagittarius – Snippet 27


In one respect, at least, the heterochthonatrix was indeed helpful. She placed one of her mission’s transports at Occo’s disposal. She even provided her with a chauffeur.

That was perhaps a mixed blessing, since the chauffeur in question was a male Ebbo named Circumvents-Jeopardies-and-Exposures — an insalubrious monicker, it would seem, for someone in that line of work.

Still, there seemed no particular hurry required. If Occo’s presumption that the villains she sought were of supernatural origin — divine or demonic; that distinction meant nothing — then it seemed unlikely that they operated according to a time schedule measured in days, or even years. And if Circumvents-Jeopardies-and-Exposures operated the vehicle in a stately manner of progression, at least there was none of the nerve-racking uncertainties associated with travel-by-Teleplaser. Much less travel-by-Warlock-Variation-Drive!

They left the Envacht Lu station in late afternoon, flying at a low altitude over the soggy terrain that bordered the river on whose banks the station was located. A torrential rainfall came after sundown, as it had before. Stolidly, the Ebbo chauffeur ignored the downpour and continued onward, now flying entirely by instruments.

He continued to do so through the night. Even after the rain ended, visibility was very poor. Apparently, Cthulhu possessed no moon; at least, none large enough to cast a noticeable amount of light.

Shortly after sunrise, another downpour began.

“The weather here is predictable, I take it,” Occo commented to the chauffeur.

Circumvents-Jeopardies-and-Exposures, heretofore as stolid in his demeanor as in his driving, brightened up a bit. “Yes. It’s quite delightful. The planet’s only redeeming feature.”

Shortly before noon, they arrived at the outskirts of a bedraggled-looking town.

“Where is the prison?” she asked.

The Ebbo pointed at a jumble of buildings more-or-less in the center of the town. “You will find it there. More or less.”

“What do you mean, ‘more or less’?”

Circumvents-Jeopardies-and-Exposures opened his vestigial wings and snapped them shut again. “As you will see, Human architecture can best be described as haphazard.”

He clittered at the controls with a digit for a moment, and the hatch at the rear of the transport began to open. “Can you read Human script?”

“Poorly. But my familiar can handle that problem.”

“In that case, instruct it to look for a large sign that says PEN-TENT-ARY. That’s supposed to be ‘penitentiary’ but the illumination mechanism has been failing for some time and Human repair procedures are even more haphazard than their architecture.”

Occo pondered the peculiar term. Penitentiary. “Is this intended to be a place where Humans come to express sorrow at their own misdeeds?”

“Yes. As you may have deduced by now, the species is pathologically optimistic.”

“So it would seem.” The function of Nac Zhe Anglan prisons was rational: to inflict suffering on criminals in order to provide law-abiding individuals with vengeance and retribution.

“You had best hurry,” said the chauffeur. “The noon downpour is about to begin and I am not waiting for it to end before beginning my return journey.”


Occo made it into shelter before the rainfall began. Just barely, for her progress had been slow. Not wanting to risk their modes of travel in the tight confines of a town, she’d had to carry not only the Teleplaser but Ju’ula as well. Unfortunately, while Bresk could be of great assistance at many tasks, the familiar was not strong enough to lift much weight.

Nor buoyant enough, although . . .

Occo made a note to herself to investigate the possibilities of — what had Ju’ula called it? — disemboguelled hydrogen. Bresk would complain bitterly, of course. But while that would be irritating it would also be entertaining.

Fortunately, however haphazard Human notions of building construction might be, they seemed to dislike being drenched as much as Nac Zhe Anglan did. So, while it took a fair amount of time for Occo to find her way through the ramshackle half-maze that was the Human town’s peculiar design, at no point was she exposed to the downpour that she could hear pounding on the roofs above her.

Eventually, they came into what passed for a covered plaza of sorts. Across the way, above an entrance that seemed to be more solidly designed than most they’d passed, Occo saw a flickering sign whose weirdly angular Human script . . .

Might say most anything, so far as she could determine. But since she and her familiar were neutrally linked again, that didn’t matter. Long ago, Occo had programmed the familiar to know the dialects of every major sentient species in the explored galaxy.


<Yes, that’s it. The pen?tent?ary. Or maybe it’s called the pen[k!]tent[k!]ary.>

The word came out with two bizarre interspersions, either way. That’s not how the chauffeur pronounced it, Occo pointed out.

<He’s an Ebbo clerk. What does he know? Clearly, the word is in one of the minor Human dialects. Logic leads me to assume that it must be one of those featuring either what Humans call a glottal stop or a dental click. Maybe Hebrew or Xhosa.>

Well, which is it?

<How should I know? You’d probably do best to assume Hebrew. All Human theologies are preposterous, but at least the ancient Hebrews weren’t soppy about it.>

They went across the plaza. As they neared the entrance, the force screen went down. More precisely, it flickered away. If that was a fair indication of the prison’s general level of maintenance, it was something of a wonder that it still held any prisoners at all.

Inside, they were met by a robot. No polite and cordial guide robot, this one, however. The robot was almost as big as the corridor it stood in, was festooned with what seemed likely to be weapons, and had a disposition to match.


Occo wondered if her universal translator was malfunctioning. The robot’s syntax was puzzling. “It seems to be using the fuck-word as a noun in this instance.”

<Don’t expect consistency from Humans. Generally the fuck-word is used as a verb, but it has many applications. The fuck-word is often encountered as an essential auxiliary verb, as well as a gerund, a participle and an adjective. Keep in mind, though — >

One of the robot appendages extended toward them. At the tip was something that might be a Human version of a flamethrower, an intestinal discombobulator, or . . . a performance award, for all Occo knew.


Under the circumstances, Occo decided the presumption it was a weapon was warranted.

“We wish to speak to the Warden.”


“Any suggestions?” Occo asked her familiar.

<Try being equally rude. It’s either that or waking up the Skerkud Teleplaser and that could get out of hand.>

“All right, then.” Occo raised her voice, trying to emulate the robot’s booming peremptory tone as best she could. “I’m not asking you, I’m telling you! Take us to the warden. Now!”

The robot stood there motionless.

<You forgot to use the essential term.>

“Oh, right.” She raised her voice again. “Take us to the fuck warden!”

The robot remained motionless. But the appendage holding the probable-weapon was retracted.

<Okay, we’re making progress> said Bresk. <Try using it as an adjective.>

“Take us to the fucking warden!”

The robot swiveled on its base. “FOLLOW ME.”