Titans of Chaos

Aside from that, they were free; they could evolve, adapt, mutate, and modify themselves as theyeach individually saw fit. But to prevent any wild nonconformity, such as had bedeviled my fishback on the island, I established an identity-purpose, a set of conformities, so that any group ofmolecules that cooperated with another group for their mutual benefit would be advantaged inthe competition over molecule-groups that just struck out on their own.

That was the theory. Activity started in his bloodstream and soon spread to all cells. Slowmutations started, then more rapid ones; I saw ten then one hundred monads get repaired. Then athousand. Then ten thousand. It was working! It was going to work!

His skin started changing.

Meanwhile, Phobetor had carried Quentin (tucked under one huge and hairy arm) across theshaking, jumping deck (not shaking to Phobetor), swept by burning rain and hail (Phobetorignored the weather), to where Vanity crouched under the bench. Phobetor spread one wing onhigh, like an impromptu umbrella, sheltering his two puny human-shaped comrades.

Quentin was trying to get a coherent report on the situation from Vanity. Why wasn't the shipmoving?

Vanity said, "I can't open any new doors. There are no unseen places to look, no walls for doorsto be in. There are no boundaries in this place!"

Phobetor said, over the storm noise, flame flicking on his tongue: "Leader, it sounds like thisplace was set here to trap us."

Meanwhile, Victor's skin changed color, becoming blotchy. Red, yellow, blue-black blotcheschased each other across his integument. Why was that happening? Maybe I had given thecreatures too much free latitude. They were supposed to fix things, not change things.

I drew back in alarm. The skin was hot to the touch.

Victor's flesh began to boil and bubble and fall off. His chest split open, and organs, strugglingand fighting against each other, began to slide away in each direction across the deck. I sawhearts and lungs and livers growing tentacles and eyes and multiple tongues slipping and slidingaround, throwing out thorns, growing shells, spitting poisons. His bones all curved into crookedshapes, and put out spines.

Oh my God, was it horrible. It was a nightmare. My Victor was melting.

I called out to Quentin for help. Called out? I screamed like a girl.

A girl who had just killed the man she loved.