Something Wicked

The dynamic forces at play in the destination zone are best not fought. Such forces are best used to your advantage. As it was the case that I had just been reverse slap-shot out of embracement, it took just a bit to get my bearings once again. They synchro-drive was some help, but I was more concerned that if I had been rejected, what, if anything, belonged in the zone?

Attempting to leave was very difficult. The power of the zone had begun a cyclic flow of One-Eight-Ones that were bringing more and more of the soup into capture range. Of course, this limited the direction vectors that were productive, making my choice lateral rather than back the way I had come. Not a horrible choice, since I had more opportunity to scan the soup members that did wander by.

An Eleven slid by as I locked on lustfully. Soup compatible, nimble, dangerous, yet useful. Ideal for so many tasks, I began to wonder if an Eleven might be the right choice for the situation when I was rudely jolted along my path. A wave of One-Eight-Ones had passed, upending the Shorty and scrambling my orientation while the Eleven became my anchor point. Reflected off the Eleven's Electrons, I detected a familiar wiggle. Or was it a Wag?