And then, shockingly, fire blossomed in the small room, bursting forth from one of the fetishes festooning the shaman’s belt. Like a fireball it bloomed, washing over the technician, igniting her hair and clothing, turning her into a flailing, shrieking human torch. Sly screamed as the flame also licked over her, but somehow the fire did her no harm. She felt no pain, saw no blisters bloom. Neither her clothes, her flesh, nor her hair ignited. Nevertheless, she clenched her eyes tight shut.