The Fluger

As a youngling with a skull full o’ mush in the 1970s, I read tons and tons of SF. My first books, if I’m remembering correctly, were a half-dozen masterpieces by Isaac Asimov, followed by a couple from Robert Heinlein and Ray Bradbury’s short stories. When my local library beckoned, I feasted on the two- or three-hundred SF titles in its one little section. There was a trio by Gary K. Wolf I loved, three or four by Ron Goulart, a couple by Roger Zelazny, a Bob Shaw, some old stuff by Edmund Hamilton, Watership Down by Richard Adams. Countless now-forgotten others.

During the summer of my twelfth year I read a short DAW paperback by Doris Piserchia, The Spinner, that unequivocally floored me and primarily shaped a big section of SF stuff that I enjoy, be it movies or novels.

Now, The Spinner ain’t Tolstoy, that’s not anywhere near the idea I’m pushing forward here. Part of my personal definition of good art, I suppose, is somewhat utilitarian: it does exactly what it sets out to do, and does it perfectly. As I blogged about briefly, here, this book is the perfect mix of science fiction and horror. Plus, it’s a monster story, and a black-and-white one at that. The Spinner is evil. It hates us, and that’s why it kills us. We didn’t create it. We didn’t trespass on its turf. We didn’t ruin its habitat. No; we’re the good guys, pure and simple. And the Spinner is the devil.

Which brings me to The Fluger. This book has been on my radar forever, but since it’s out of print, I finally had the bright idea to go through one of those online books stores and – voila! – here it is at my doorstep. Four and only four hours later, I’ve read the slim, oh-so-beautiful paperback, and there are still goosebumps on my arms.

There are many similarities between the two books, so many that I find it odd that both books were published the same year, 1980. I’d sure like to know the backstory. Imagine if James Cameron was the creative force behind Dances With Wolves, not Kevin Costner, and he released that movie the same year he released Avatar. That’s what this is like. The books are classically “similar but different.” Still, though, I’ll take two minor masterpieces over a crapshoot any day, regardless of how much word-of-mouth or good print the longshot may have going for it.

Warning: Here Be Spoilers …

Corradado is an alien beastie called a Fluger. Think of a cross between a lion and a triceratops, encased in yellow armored skin, armed with teeth and claws so sharp they can burrow through solid rock. That’s Corradado. Intelligence: something greater than an animal, yet not quite that of a man, but it’s a predator’s intelligence – cunning, merciless, relentless. And the beast is filled with rage. In fact, it has developed nodules in its brain to pour more and more vitriol hormones into its bloodstream, a survival mechanism from its hellish homeworld of Fluga.

Stowed away in an spacecraft, he finds himself on Earth – specifically, Earth a dozen or so centuries in the future. All the megalopoli have condensed into great dome cities. From the opening pages the Fluger is ravaging through Olympus, or what was once known as New York. Faced with this unstoppable menace, the mayor of the giant domed city contracts off-world for a “fixer” who can succeed where all the Olympian armed forces have failed: destroying the Fluger. Then, the mayor commits suicide.

Kam Shar is the Eldoron – alien – assassin. Part Exeter from Metaluna, part puma, and part miniature angel – don’t worry, it’s all revealed slowly and somehow makes sense – the second nonhuman visitor to Olympus is equally tsunamic. First, the contract killer does not reveal details of the deal he made with the recently deceased. Second, since he’s been paid, he is morally obligated to do what he was paid to do – kill the Fluger – and nothing will stop him. Third, he seems omnipotent and omnipresent.

Send a monster to catch a monster, as the novel’s byline tell us.

Several surreal scenes stuck with me. Corradado, engorged on human flesh, lounging lazily on a pool diving board, staring into the dead eyes of a woman floating in the red-stained waters, bit in half. Hundreds and hundreds of men and women streaming into a tunnel, offering themselves as martyrs to the Fluger, because it must not go further – just beyond them are the domes holding the city’s children. The way the monster refers to humans as … shriekers. And, of course, the final half-dozen pages of the novel.

What’s up Kam Shar’s diabolical sleeves? Is he the savior of Olympus, or its judge and jury and executioner? He has the abilities to manipulate our mere thirtieth-century technology at will. His multiple selves give him access to everywhere in the city. Indeed, he shows up at the new mayors’ quarters, and also encounters five other characters in the novel – and injects them with something. But to assuage their fears, he also injects himself.

Corradado, having slaughtered thousands and consumed hundreds, is feeling the need for sleep. His species sleeps only a week a year, so Kam Shar must act now. Only, he’s not going to go after the Fluger as it sleeps. No, he’ll wait for when it awakes, when it will be most hungriest.

The assassin seals up the six humans, with himselves, in the great reactor room of Olympus, where the deadly monster slumbers. They will be bait. Upon awakening, the Fluger will be ravenous, and they will be the main course. But why? It’s all part of Kam Shar’s plan. The Fluger will go after the first man he sees, and when he kills him, he, Corrodado, will die. How? Injected into each man is a superadvanced compressed-molecule package – hundreds of cubic feet of whatever material packed into an area nanometers in size. What triggers the expansion? The electrical signal from the brain when its owner realizes his immanent death. Corrodado will die a relatively slow death as the package grows within him and grows past him.

There is the always agonizing gallows scenario as the men await possible death. Well, certain death, for at least one of them. And for a being so simplemindedly evil, Corrodado’s demise kinda moved me. He is, after all, a glorified animal, doing only what he had evolved to do. But as his stomach distends, and he loses all desire to hunt down the remaining shriekers in the reactor room … as he feels pain for the first time … as his limbs grow sluggish as the packing material grows within his innards … into his bloodstream … his lungs … surrounds his heart … and the last thing he sees before his eyes fade …


Verdict: Solid A