Xenoman

15 Anti-gravity Victim

Xeno stopped chewing his cornbread, interrupted by a faint trotting sound. He looked down to see a small unicorn foal with pearl-white fur and small gold alicorn, nibbling fallen cornbread crumbs at his feet. Xeno broke off a chunk of his cornbread and merrily fed the mythical creature by hand.

"Are you capturing all this, Garry?" Xeno bent over so Garry could get a better look at the unicorn with the POV camera. "It's a real unicorn."

"Set the flashlight on your black box to infra red," Garry said from the studio, "and shine it in its eyes."

Xeno did as he was told and shone the black box infra red beam into the unicorn's eyes, revealing the translucent barcode in its reflective iris. The creature remained still, without being spooked by the observation.

"It's artificial," Garry continued, "complete with an artificial digestive system."

"Expensive?"

"Very. It's the cost of doing fantasy."

The lull was broken by a distant shriek, echoing from the rubble stone corridor beyond the banquet tables, falling in pitch to something almost human, than rising with a cluster of chirps, like an angered electronic cricket. The unicorn blinked with trepidation and fled in the opposite direction.

"What the hell was that?" Xeno gazed into the dark void of the empty corridor, anticipating someone or some thing to emerge in the light of the torches, the flames fading fast in the holders along the walls.

"Whatever it was, it didn't sound friendly," Garry cautioned.

Xeno drew a large steak knife from a set in a hardwood holder and held out the blade.

"You want a gun?" Garry suggested. "There's one in the glove—"

"No, I don't like the idea of shooting anyone or anything. I'd much rather stab it and not have to kill it. Just . . . kind of . . . hurt it, and scare it a little." Xeno crept away from the kitchen, to the mouth of the corridor, drew a torch from a holder, keeping the flame in front of him.

"I'll be standing by if you need back up."

"Roger that." Xeno entered the corridor, holding out the torch with one hand, the blade of the steak knife with the other, making his way through the gloomy arc of the rotunda, the sound of air conditioning and plumbing for a few yards, a door slam up ahead. He came to an alcove with a metallic hatch, set the torch in a holder, and pressed his face into the porthole glass. All he could see was the interior section of a vast torus, the whole surface covered with an unbroken stream of florally embossed whorehouse red carpet, the bright ambient light radiating from fiber-optic stitching. He stepped back and pressed the call button beside the door. Once again, Holly's solarized face appeared on the small screen, eyes glowing red:

FACEPRINT SCAN: COMPLETE

GUEST: XENO

ACCESS: GRANTED

GETTING WARM!

The hatch door hissed open. He stepped inside the torus, holding out the steak knife, letting the door hiss shut behind him. The ceiling appeared to be two stories high, the hollow doughnut interior looking like a fresh artery just emptied of blood. He walked a ways, hearing nothing, seeing no one, admiring the carpet, rounding the crimson bend, coming to a group of comfort disks, parked at his feet. They were roughly the size of a child's wading pool, contoured like an ashtray, upholstered with white leather. The inside contained simple seating pads, a basic control panel, a joystick for steering.

He sat upright in one of the discs, looked over the control panel, powered on the engine, then toggled the REVERSE POLARITY joystick towards UP. The comfort disk emitted a faint hum and rose from the ground, hovering several yards above the carpet.