by James Somers
A bird of prey sailed high upon thermal updrafts with the whole landscape open before him. The Waron Sea lay on his left, stretching out to the horizon. On his right the grasslands stretched far back toward Parengore for miles and miles. And below him the coastline and villages nestled the sea, looking to the Waron for their livelihood.
The large bird spotted a line moving just beyond the beach along the well worn path between the fishing villages. He sailed downward, gracefully spiraling in for a closer look. Up ahead, perhaps a good ten miles away, he noticed smoke rising above the sparse treetops and tall grasses bordering the sea.
Meineke swooped in to a nearby tree ahead of the line of men. Few trees grew near the sea in this area, but it provided him decent cover to spy from. He landed on a thick bough and his shape returned to that of a gray-coated Wil. He recognized the line of men at once. “Metamen,” he whispered. “And they’ve got Jale!”
Indeed, fastened to a pole between four of the metamen, hung the young panthera. He appeared to be unconscious or dead. Meineke had difficulty telling. Jale hung suspended by his four legs to the horizontal pole as the metamen marched steadily on the path toward the smoke miles ahead in the distance.
“I’ve got to tell the others!” Meineke said to himself, yet he hadn’t gone unnoticed. Being a mere twenty yards above and away from the path had given him a good view of the twenty metamen, but his talking had been picked up by their auditory receivers.
A keen cybernetic eye scanned the tree, searching for the voice. Then the eye spotted a Wil upon a branch. Meineke noticed the metamen halt their march and look his way. Bullets clattered into the tree bark around him. He had been seen. One of the metamen blasted metal slugs from his cybernetic arm—a fully mechanical appendage bearing several rotating attachments. Shell casings sprang out of the metal forearm like popcorn from a popper.
Meineke launched out of the tree behind the trunk, attempting to use it for a bit of cover. He landed back in the tall grass and took on the form of a long gray snake. Meineke put his form to work, slithering like mad through the tall green and yellow grass, causing only the slightest disturbance to the stalks.
The gunfire ceased behind him. When he thought he might have gotten far enough out of range, Meineke shot upward out of the grass in the form of the bird he had been before. I’ve got to get back and warn the others. I just hope Jale is still alive down there.