Martin began to reach for the can, halted his hand and stared.
A creature approximately two inches in length, with a human face, a lionlike body and feathered wings was crouched next to the beer can.
"A minisphinx," the voice continued. "They came when you killed off the last smallpox virus."
"Are you trying to say that whenever a natural species dies out a mythical one takes its place?" he asked.
"In a word—yes. Now. It was not always so, but you have destroyed the mechanisms of evolution. The balance is now redressed by those others of us, from the morning land—we, who have never truly been endangered. We return, in our time."
"And you—whatever you are, Tlingel—you say that humanity is now endangered?"
"Very much so. But there is nothing that you can do about it, is there? Let us get on with the game."
The sphinx flew off. Martin took a sip of beer and captured the Pawn.
"Who," he asked then, "are to be our successors?"
"Modesty almost forbids," Tlingel replied. "In the case of a species as prominent as your own, it naturally has to be the loveliest, most intelligent, most important of us all."
"And what are you? Is there any way that I can have a look?"
"Well—yes. If I exert myself a trifle."
The beer can rose, was drained, fell to the floor. There followed a series of rapid rattling sounds retreating from the table. The air began to flicker over a large area opposite Martin, darkening within the glowing framework. The outline continued to brighten, its interior growing jet black. The form moved, prancing about the saloon, multitudes of tiny, cloven hoofprints scoring and cracking the floorboards. With a final, hear-blinding flash it came into full view and Martin gasped to behold it.
A black unicorn with mocking, yellow eyes sported before him, rising for a moment onto its hind legs to strike a heraldic pose. The fires flared about it a second longer, then vanished.
Martin had drawn back, raising one hand defensively.
"regard me!" Tlingel announced. "Ancient symbol of wisdom, valor and beauty, I stand before you!"
"I thought your typical unicorn was white," Martin finally said.
"I am archetypical," Tlingel responded, dropping to all fours, "And possessed of virtues beyond the ordinary."
"Such as?"
"Let us continue our game."
"What about the fate of the human race? You said—"
"... And save the small talk for later."
"I hardly consider the destruction of humanity to be small talk."
"And if you've any more beer ..."
"All right," Martin said, retreating to his pack as the creature advanced, its eyes like a pair of pale suns. "There's some lager."
Something had gone out of the game. As Martin sat before the ebon horn on Tlingel's bowed head, like an insect about to be pinned, he realized that his playing was off. He had felt the pressure the moment he had seen the beast—and there was all that talk about an imminent doomsday. Any run-of-the-mill pessimist could say it without troubling him, but coming from a source as peculiar as this ...
His earlier elation had fled. He was no longer in top form. And Tlingel was good. Very good. Martin found himself wondering whether he could manage a stalemate.
After a time, he saw that he could not and resigned.
The unicorn looked at him and smiled.
"You don't really play badly—for a human," it said.
"I've done a lot better."
"It is no shame to lose to me, mortal. Even among mythical creatures there are very few who can give a unicorn a good game."
"I am pleased that you were not wholly bored," Martin said. "Now will you tell me what you were talking about concerning the destruction of my species?"
"Oh, that," Tlingel replied. "In the morning land where those such as I swell, I felt the possibility of your passing come like a gently wind to my nostrils, with the promise of clearing the way for us—"
"How is it supposed to happen?"
Tlingel shrugged, horn writing on the air with a toss of the head.
"I really couldn't say. Premonitions are seldom specific. In fact, that is what I came to discover. I should have been about it already, but you diverted me with beer and good sport."
"Could you be wrong about this?"
"I doubt it. That is the reason I am here."
"Please explain."
"Are there any beers left?"
"Two, I think."
"Please."
Martin rose and fetched them.
"Damn! The tab broke off this one," he said.
"Place it upon the table and hold it firmly."
"All right."
Tlingel's horn dipped forward quickly, piercing the can's top.
"... Useful for all sorts of things," Tlingel observed, withdrawing it.