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The Metahuman. Adult. (standard:fantasy, 2752 words)
Author: Oscar A RatAdded: Jun 22 2020Views/Reads: 310/198Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Grendelle lived to torture, so far decimating an entire planet. Enter Michael the thief and his metahuman companion.

Michael was so confused he was speaking and thinkling -- was it
thunking? -- gibberish or gigularish.  “Pull me out from inside or 
maybe inside to where I ain't and you is, you think maybe, honey?”  He 
and his companion, a metahuman named Janet, wouldn't be in that 
situation if they weren't there.  They were standing in, or out, inside 
or/and outside a Gray Hole, a place humans were not meant to be. 

A Gray Hole was or is or will be a hole, or bump, or some damn thing, in
or out of normal space.  Or, maybe the Gray Hole was normal space and 
our universe in or outside of it?  It was a matter of perspective, or 
lack of perception, right? 

Janet managed to, with effort, touch hands with her companion.  The
contact established a connection of sorts, binding them into the same 
physical plane and helping to reboot his mind.  "Things," the only way 
to describe them with their unearthly colors and shapes, whirled around 
in further confusion, eventually coalescing into a semblance of 
reality.  The two, human and metahuman, found themselves lying on a 
grass-filled plain. 

It was a sunny day at their new location, with images formed by two
yellow suns casting contorted shadows across windblown purple grass, 
interspersed by large treelike shapes.  In the distance, a dozen spires 
reached for the stars, huge edifices looking like man-made skyscrapers. 

“Damn, Janet.  Your powers never cease to amaze me.  I was certain the
police had us back there on Megadore IV.”  He removed a protective 
vest, seeing it still smoked slightly but had managed to stop police 
stun-rays.  Michael hurriedly threw the ruined clothing to the ground, 
where it abruptly burst into flames.  “Jeez, that was close.  One more 
hit and I would have fried.” 

Janet stood watching, unconcerned.  Except for a command or question,
the metahuman paid little attention to her master's antics.  Her race 
lived only to serve, never to rule.  Almost invulnerable and virtually 
emotionless, they had survived for millions of years because of being 
useful and compliant in the service of others -- the perfect servants. 
As with a good tool, nobody would think of killing or blaming them when 

Metahumans reproduced the same as other animals.  Dominate races took
every opportunity to help them breed in an effort to gain more value 
for themselves, the masters. 

A very small part of the galactic population, metahumans were used --
not understood.  Averaging only several to a star system, they were 
rare enough to be sought after and numerous enough to be a known race 
though few knew much else about them.  Not where they came from, nor 
their purpose in the master scheme of the cosmos -- if any. 

Michael had acquired his, named Janet, by theft.  It made no difference
to her who she served, only that she did have a master. 

“Let's check those buildings out, baby.”  Michael took time to kick soil
over his smoldering jacket.  The ground was loose, soft, and spongy -- 
something like hard moss.  He had been born in the backwoods of 
Northern Altair VI and didn't like to leave a campfire burning when 
finished with it.  After stomping on the jacket until it stopped 
smoking, he began walking over the soft purple surface, toward the 
towers.  Janet followed quietly. 


Grendelle put down a novel, a romance of the common type -- the common
type on De-Sade II.  An exemplary example of a humanoid female, long 
golden tresses framing a fine-featured face atop a perfect figure, she 
strode to the nearest window. 

She was only halfway up in her current torture complex.  Two and a half
more of them were still empty, yet she possessed nothing to fill them 
with.  The few remaining residents of her planet were hiding -- far 
away and deeply underground -- having learned from former mistakes in 
trying to overthrow her. 

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