down just as soon as he picked them up.
For the first time in his life, his murder memories felt unclean.
He flipped from one to the next, hardly daring to glance at them. Each one intensified his feelings of disgust: Number 12, Julie Kefler, age 33, strangled and minced; Number 37, Steve Parrote, age 41, tortured with pliers for three days and hung on a clothesline; Number 108, Abner Lockjaw, age 74, butchered and fed to his dogs a bite at a time; Numbers 246 and 247, Milo Chapel, age 17, and Peggy Brezini, age 16, cut up and stitched back together into one big mismatched body.
And then there was Number 150, which Luther couldn ' t even bear to think about for a fraction of a second. Once, Number 150 had been one of his crowning achievements; now, it seemed like the most twisted crime of his entire twisted life.
Contrary to what he had thought up until now, Luther realized that he was a sick and wicked individual. His disgust at the memories of what he had done in the past was equaled only by his newborn self-loathing.
How he could ever have imagined that he was a great man was beyond his current ability to comprehend. Would a great man have come all the way out into space and become the first Earthling to set foot on an alien world...only to murder its inhabitants? Would a great man have failed to see that unleashing the killer instinct might cause more harm than good on Ectos?
Would a great man stand by, arms dripping with pink milk from a punctured head-bulb, as one ' Zoid trainee fought another over the remains of a murder victim, playing a savage tug-of-war with the limp mess of bulbs and tentacles?
As the creatures squawked and yanked the corpse back and forth, Luther wiped his drenched arms on his black coveralls. Deciding he had had enough, he turned to walk away.
And before he could take a single step, a third ' Zoid flung itself in front of him.
" Make kill now, " the creature puffed from its forehead blowhole. " Now! "
Luther shook his head and backed away. " No more, " he said. " I need a break. "
The ' Zoid reached out with three tentacles at once, and Luther had to back up fast to evade them. " Make kill, " said the creature. " Save world. "
Luther wished he hadn ' t handed over the knife to the other two ' Zoids. " Not now, " he said, continuing to backstep as the creature pressed toward him.
" Save world make kill now not later, " said the ' Zoid, extending more tentacles.
Luther took another step and ran into a pillowy obstacle. Lurching away from it at once, he spun around and saw that it was Boraf.
The other ' Zoid shuffled closer, still reaching. Its tentacles brushed him as he ducked and darted behind Boraf, putting his ' Zoid host between him and the overeager wannabe.
As Luther got ready to run, the wannabe plowed into Boraf with a sound like wet spaghetti flopping into a colander . The creatures hooted and thrashed around, tentacles intertwining, fluid-filled bulbs sloshing against each other.
One of the wannabe ' s tentacles squirmed out from between them and twisted toward Luther...but he easily sidestepped it. Another wriggled toward him from below, catching him by surprise, but it only managed to graze his leg before he danced away from it.
Then, the wannabe stopped struggling.
It stood there for a moment, huddled against Boraf, breath whistling in and out of its blowhole. Then, slowly, it uncurled its tentacles from Boraf ' s and drew back, head bobbing from side to side.
Luther watched, expecting the creature to thrust past Boraf and pursue him. Instead, the wannabe shuffled back, tentacles coiling sinuously, head-bulb quivering.
" Want kill, " puffed the creature. " Want kill! "
" I told you, no more for now, " said Luther. " You ' ll have to wait. "
" No wait, " said the wannabe. " No need human. "
The creature turned and wobbled over to the two ' Zoids who had been fighting over the carcass. They had resolved the tug-of-war by tearing the corpse in half, and each was
For the first time in his life, his murder memories felt unclean.
He flipped from one to the next, hardly daring to glance at them. Each one intensified his feelings of disgust: Number 12, Julie Kefler, age 33, strangled and minced; Number 37, Steve Parrote, age 41, tortured with pliers for three days and hung on a clothesline; Number 108, Abner Lockjaw, age 74, butchered and fed to his dogs a bite at a time; Numbers 246 and 247, Milo Chapel, age 17, and Peggy Brezini, age 16, cut up and stitched back together into one big mismatched body.
And then there was Number 150, which Luther couldn ' t even bear to think about for a fraction of a second. Once, Number 150 had been one of his crowning achievements; now, it seemed like the most twisted crime of his entire twisted life.
Contrary to what he had thought up until now, Luther realized that he was a sick and wicked individual. His disgust at the memories of what he had done in the past was equaled only by his newborn self-loathing.
How he could ever have imagined that he was a great man was beyond his current ability to comprehend. Would a great man have come all the way out into space and become the first Earthling to set foot on an alien world...only to murder its inhabitants? Would a great man have failed to see that unleashing the killer instinct might cause more harm than good on Ectos?
Would a great man stand by, arms dripping with pink milk from a punctured head-bulb, as one ' Zoid trainee fought another over the remains of a murder victim, playing a savage tug-of-war with the limp mess of bulbs and tentacles?
As the creatures squawked and yanked the corpse back and forth, Luther wiped his drenched arms on his black coveralls. Deciding he had had enough, he turned to walk away.
And before he could take a single step, a third ' Zoid flung itself in front of him.
" Make kill now, " the creature puffed from its forehead blowhole. " Now! "
Luther shook his head and backed away. " No more, " he said. " I need a break. "
The ' Zoid reached out with three tentacles at once, and Luther had to back up fast to evade them. " Make kill, " said the creature. " Save world. "
Luther wished he hadn ' t handed over the knife to the other two ' Zoids. " Not now, " he said, continuing to backstep as the creature pressed toward him.
" Save world make kill now not later, " said the ' Zoid, extending more tentacles.
Luther took another step and ran into a pillowy obstacle. Lurching away from it at once, he spun around and saw that it was Boraf.
The other ' Zoid shuffled closer, still reaching. Its tentacles brushed him as he ducked and darted behind Boraf, putting his ' Zoid host between him and the overeager wannabe.
As Luther got ready to run, the wannabe plowed into Boraf with a sound like wet spaghetti flopping into a colander . The creatures hooted and thrashed around, tentacles intertwining, fluid-filled bulbs sloshing against each other.
One of the wannabe ' s tentacles squirmed out from between them and twisted toward Luther...but he easily sidestepped it. Another wriggled toward him from below, catching him by surprise, but it only managed to graze his leg before he danced away from it.
Then, the wannabe stopped struggling.
It stood there for a moment, huddled against Boraf, breath whistling in and out of its blowhole. Then, slowly, it uncurled its tentacles from Boraf ' s and drew back, head bobbing from side to side.
Luther watched, expecting the creature to thrust past Boraf and pursue him. Instead, the wannabe shuffled back, tentacles coiling sinuously, head-bulb quivering.
" Want kill, " puffed the creature. " Want kill! "
" I told you, no more for now, " said Luther. " You ' ll have to wait. "
" No wait, " said the wannabe. " No need human. "
The creature turned and wobbled over to the two ' Zoids who had been fighting over the carcass. They had resolved the tug-of-war by tearing the corpse in half, and each was
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