Realware

One of the other Snooks moldies had split himself or herself up into an archipelago of body segments, shaped like egg-sized two-legged eyeballs carrying swords and shields. There were maybe two dozen of them, a few with wings as well, the eyeballs ru

In the far corner of the room was a big transparent-walled love-puddle with a bunch of people in it merged together. Hard to be sure how many. Four, five, six? You could see the faint outlines of their limbs through the sides of the merge tank; the limbs were temporarily fused, but there was still a kind of wrinkle where one person started and the other left off.

Right next to the merge tank, some moldies were sitting around a big round table getting high on betty, rubbing each other with ointment from a little jar shaped like a pyramid. The lifted moldies were growing their bodies into really odd forms. It was like they were trying to outdo each other--though none of them was really as good as the fighting eyeballs, who kept ru

"Gettin' a little rough," said Randy. "Let's go into the big room, Babs." They pushed through the sound-canceling imipolex curtains that separated the bar from the big room. It was a vast echoing space, formerly one of the ship's holds, with steel deck and slanting steel walls. Dwarfed in the center of the cavernous volume was a little round stage, lit by an overhead spotlight. Slowly-gyrating at stage left was a pale purple Snooks moldie with a fat stomach and a nose that grew out like a long trumpet. Babs knew him from sight; his name was Ramses. Ramses was fingering his nose horn, playing soft Egyptian music. The note progressions were hypnotic, a whole different world from the bar's chaotic munge. Babs took a few deep breaths and peered around, getting a look at the crowd.

There were no chairs; people and moldies were either standing or sitting on the steel deck. There were maybe a hundred spectators in all -- far too small a crowd to make this enormous cold room feel properly inhabited. It was easy to pick out the few moldies in the crowd because they glowed. Of the humans, it looked like there were a lot more men than women. Babs had never known anyone who had even met any woman who was a cheeseball. But men liked to imagine that such women did exist--to imagine, in other words, that some women could be such indiscriminate hump-anything horndogs as men.

Now Babs noticed some objects moving about overhead, repeatedly passing through the spotlight's bright cone like great, bumbling moths. Phil's blimps! He must have given them to the moldies when he left town. Babs knew them well, as Phil had always brought them to their block parties. She pointed out the blimps to Randy, telling him some of their names. "That little one is the Graf Z," she whispered. "And there's Led Zep, and the big fat polka-dotted one is the Uffin Wowo. And, oh look, its dots are Egyptian cartouche patterns now."

"Pssst!" said Yoke, sidling up out of the darkness. "Most of the Metamartians are in here. See over there? Peg the devil-girl with the proverbial drunk businessman. I asked her if she could help us, but she said the same thing as Josef. 'It's up to Om.' What a bitch. I didn't talk to any of the others yet. See Wubwub over by the wall? With the beautiful woman on his arm? Can you even believe?"

"That's a tra

"I don't see Siss or Haresh," said Babs.

"Siss went off with Cobb," said Yoke. "Maybe he can get her to talk? Like if he fucks her?"

"What's Siss look laahk?" interjected Randy.

"Like a snake-woman," said Babs, giving Randy's leg a big pinch. "Bite! Uh-oh, Shimmer and Ptah are going onstage."

Babs had been around moldies for most of her life; she'd been five when her father sponsored the Moldie Citizenship Act of 2038, and there had been a steady stream of grateful moldie visitors ever since. And of course Babs's mother herself was part moldie; that is, Wendy Mooney's personality lived in a moldie Happy Cloak that had a symbiotic relationship with Wendy's human flesh. In the natural course of things, Babs had seen moldies having sex a number of times -- moldies weren't modest. It excited her even less than seeing two dogs fucking, which was not at all.

But Shimmer and Ptah certainly did give a spirited performance. They bounced up onto the stage, began embracing each other, and, just for the goof of it, Shimmer pushed her body right through Ptah's, his bronze flesh forming itself back together on the other side of the marble Shimmer. Ptah did the same to Shimmer, and then they corkscrewed themselves together so tightly that they looked like a candy-cane or a barber-pole. To top off the foreplay, Shimmer divided herself up into an archipelago of separate globs, and Ptah juggled her. While continuing to juggle, Ptah began pinching off more and more globs of himself, until all that was left of him was a pair of hands down on the platform of the stage, incredibly keeping some two score white and bronze balls aloft. And then the bronze hands became balls as well. Before the balls could all tumble out of the air, two of the white balls stuck to the ground and formed themselves into hands -- and took over the juggling. At each round another white ball stuck to the hands, and the hands grew into arms, into a torso, and finally into all of Shimmer, juggling bronze globs of Ptah, and then Shimmer stepped aside and Ptah's globs somehow sprang together in midair, reassembling the gri

Even Babs had to applaud for this. But now the inevitable had to happen. Ramses's music took on an urgent, throbbing tone, and Shimmer and Ptah swooned to the ground. They softened their flesh to a near liquid state and pasted their bodies together, opening up their pores enough to exchange wet flows of imipolex that carried along cells of their algae and their fungal mold. The mold nerve magic took over, and they shuddered in a mutual orgasm. A musty, cheesy reek came drifting down from the stage.

Babs peeked over at Randy. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open. Emboldened by her two beers, Babs couldn't resist letting her hand steal over to gauge the state of Randy's excitement.

"Oh yes, Babs," moaned Randy. "Please touch it."

Well, why not? Just for a minute, anyway. She slipped her hand under the waistband of Randy's baggy pants. Hmmm. A girl could definitely do something with this. But no point letting him come. After a few quick caresses, Babs took her hand back out.

"Later!" she whispered. "Can you get me another beer?" Randy hurried off.

"What's up?" said Yoke, who was standing on Babs's other side.

"Never mind," said Babs. "I bet Kevvie's next." Ramses picked up the pace of his music, managing to sound like several instruments at once: drum, oud, tambourine, and flute.

And now, surging out of the darkness behind the stage, there came a big bird-headed moldie carrying a robed woman in his arms.

"Oh puke, it really is Kevvie," said Yoke. "I don't want to see this."