A huge crack of lightning split the air, and I heard a sizzle in my earpiece. I watched in awe as a giant tree fell across the trail, shuddering the ground with its enormous weight.
I looked through sheets of rain to the trail my brethren had followed, but they were gone. I heard distant shouting. Wary the devil dogs would sneak around and flank me, I cleaned my blades and jogged off the trail, finding a lesser used game path to head in their general direction.
Focusing on where to place my boots, I didn’t mark the snap of a branch until it was too late. What felt like the density of a snarling log hit me in the shoulder and knocked against my helmet.
I fell to the ground with a curse and felt the teeth of a lone devil dog worry my elbow joint. Growling, I unsheathed my short sword and stabbed it in the belly, silencing its high-pitched whine for good, then stood and aimed a disgusted kick at the huge blood-spattered corpse. More curses followed when I slipped in the mud of the trail, almost falling on my ass. I heaved great breaths from exertion, feeling heat from my anger flush my skin from my armpits to my neck. Glowering, I scanned for more pazathel-nax to lunge at me from the ikfal. Crouching in wait, I held my blades ready.
Rain poured over my armor, washing the blood and gore from its seams, as well as powering the cells. A fuzzy static pierced my earpiece. I cocked my head. “Hello? Raxkarax?” More static. “Natheka? Raxthezana?”
Kathe. That mutt jostled my comm when he pounced on me. The sight-capture feed blew out as well. The lightning strike. Once the rain stopped, I would remove my helmet and try to fix the delicate technology. For now, I was isolated.
Alone.
Out of communication range.
Last seen being attacked by the vicious pazathel-nax.
My breaths increased as my heart raced. The tendons in my neck tightened.
I could not have planned this any better if I had spent ten cycles arranging it. A gust of breath escaped my lungs. If I were dead to Theraxl, I was free. I paused a second to leave my prized blade sunk into the body of the dog. No living Iktheka would leave his raxtheza.
I spun on the trail and tore off in a different direction. Careful to step on springy undergrowth instead of black mud, I chose to hide my trail sign.
I ran for several zatiks, sometimes leaping to grab hold of a low branch and swing myself forward a veltik. The farther west I ran, the freer I felt.
No more sight-captures for the Ikma. No more nights in the Ikma’s pungent lair, filling her baser needs while the promise of more posterity withered and died. No more lengthy feasts in the dining halls, pretending to be humored by others’ stories or females’ batting eyes.
On Ikthe, I was Iktheka alone, beholden to no one save my goddesses.
Holy Goddesses, I thank you for the gift presented to me. May I use it to give you glory.
My armor felt lighter. A sensation like cool air lifted from my belly and burst forth out of my mouth. A laugh.
Shaking my head at my foolishness, I ran on, headed for the private glade I sometimes escaped to for precious moments of solitude. I liked it because it was defensible on three sides. Protected by a defile of rocks on one side, a gulch on the other, and flanked by a stream on the third, it was perfect. It had access to the bounty of the forest on the north side. I smiled. I would be there in three days’ time, then I could scheme how I might live out my days as an exile on Certain Death.
I stopped for short meals of speared jokal over small fires. I built them under the heaviest canopy, so the smoke filtering through the leaves became invisible. I obscured my footprints, choosing rocks and treefalls to walk upon, or reversing my stride in places where prints were inevitable. Leaping and jumping, climbing trees, or crawling through bowers, my trail sign was untraceable. Once the heavy rains descended, I would be but a memory of a dream to my fellow hunters.
I slept in the vee of the red tower trees and killed the animals that threatened to kill me first. On the morning of the third day, I smiled at the Sister Suns. Soon I would settle a camp. I would dry meat and use my hands to build a semi-permanent shelter.
Lowering myself from the tree, I pulled a jeweled talathel serpent off my arm and twisted its jaws until they popped. I threw it to the ground for the jokapazathel and loped the remaining veltiks to my glade.
Unhurried for the first time since my adolescence, I slowed to a walk. I reported to no one now, save the Holy Goddesses.
Using my gloved hands to part the foliage, I came upon my glade through the deep woods. Already I heard the babbling waters of the stream where large glisten-fish swam upstream. They made a delicious soup. My mouth watered at the thought.
My eyes caught a movement, and I stilled.
I switched to my heat-vision and cursed soundly.
Holy Goddesses, do you now play a joke on your servant, Hivelt? Do mine eyes see another soft traveler in truth? Do you play with Hivelt?
I zoomed in on the figure. There, in front of a small ship, stood a person of the first soft traveler’s race. I watched in disbelief as the slight figure, so reminiscent of my hunter-brother’s heart mate, Yasheza Mahavelt, gathered sticks and twigs and placed them in a huge pile at the back of their ship. They had been collecting for days.
My eyes widened as I scanned the site, switching back to my natural vision. A drying rack had strips of meat and pelts draped over it. The traveler had built a cairn of rocks at four corners of the glade, and another large boulder sat against the rock outcropping, a concave bowl collecting rainwater.
My breaths came in short bursts. My heart seemed to slow with time. I blinked, willing the sight to change. It didn’t. This soft traveler’s industry belied Yasheza’s race. Perhaps this was another race? Naraxthel’s Yasheza ran from him and hid. She took baths. This one—this one worked.
I watched for several jotiks, checking my camouflage settings obsessively. When she left her site to approach the tree line, I faded farther back into the ikfal. What was she approaching so carefully? Flailing movement at ground level caught my eye. Ah. This traveler had set traps.
The mahavelt’s suit was identical to Esra’s, just as the ship was. I retreated into the ikfal an extra step but waited to see the face. If it was a female, I would turn and run, if it was—
They turned to look at me, but I knew I made no sound, my armor at maximum stealth settings. My camouflage obscured me. But she—I could see her face.
Luminous silver eyes, like the scales of the glisten-fish, saw through me and pierced the empty place where my heart was not. They shone out of a darker skin tone than Yasheza Mahavelt’s. The contrast was striking.
Her brows turned down, as if she could detect my presence, and the corners of her mouth followed suit. Her eyes narrowed, and she dropped her wood, taking steps toward me.
Run, Hivelt. Run and hide.
My face grew hot, and I clenched my fists. My heart hammered in its heart-home, and I took a great draught of air. The little industrious trespasser had built a homestead in my glade.
I reached for my raxtheza, but my hand came away empty. Kathe. Why did I abandon my sword? All of my plans to evade notice now seemed ill-contrived. Unless the Goddesses meant for me to find her …? No, that couldn’t be.
She took one more step, then cocked her head. I watched her lips move as if she spoke, but I heard nothing. She turned away and resumed checking her snare.
My heart returned to its usual pace, and I relaxed my hands at my sides.
By all appearances, this female intended to stay. But I should observe for a few days until I decided if she deserved the raxfathe and death. Naraxthel spoke of corruption in Theraxl ways, and the Ikma Scabmal Kama revealed it to be so, but that didn’t mean the raxfathe didn’t have its place in the order of things. Especially when an uninvited interloper took up residence in my place of solitude and serenity. How did we know this human race were not spies? Perhaps they colluded to pillage and destroy Ikthe.
I snarled and snapped my teeth, remnants of the pazathel-
nax fight hounding my thoughts. I watched her progress along the tree line, and my gaze tracked a path to a spot in front of me. There! A clever snare utilizing a sapling sat within a long stride from me. A dead jokapazathel hung limp. Seeing she was preoccupied with her load, I cut the rodent loose, and kept it for myself. Let it be a tribute for trespassing.
Death and fury would be my companions tonight. I retreated farther into the ikfal and climbed a tree, unhappy with this turn of events. Unless the Goddesses gave me an unmistakable message, I would do everything in my power to discourage this human from getting too comfortable in my sacred place.
3
Blue light filtered through the pod’s single window, indicating the planet’s double sunrise, while I assembled the air sampler, screwing the cyclone attachment into the clear filter disc.
My Computational Machine Matrix sat dejected near my slouching backpack. I wanted to play with it, but there were more pressing matters. My expertise lay in mechanical engineering with a little hobby on the side called complex systems. When I wasn’t repairing a jerry-rigged Mech-Drill with a busted calibrator, I was running huge system models on my ancient CMM.
My stomach rumbled as if to punctuate the fact I was planet-bound with a limited supply of rations. With a final snap, I finished the air sampler assembly.
“Vector, prepare the sample chamber for when I return.”
“Complying.”
Checking mine shafts for airborne silicates was standard operating procedure for a mining engineer, but I needed Vector to go the extra mile. Once I had set more snares to trap wildlife, I would try to set up a program to combine the mass spectrometer’s abilities with the air sampler. I figured any kind of bacteria, spores, viruses, or Great Spirit knew what might piggyback on the particulate suspended in this planet’s atmosphere. I needed every edge if I was going to make a go of it here.
Mitigate.
Helmet in place, gloves and boots secured at the sleeves and legs, I was in my own little perfect atmosphere when I exited the pod. Teeming. It was the first word that popped into my head when I gaped at the life pulsing and swallowing me. I retreated a step while pressing my butt against the closed hatch.
The air seemed to dance with glitter as the suns sparkled on droplets suspended in the air from a mist. Hundreds of meters above, countless bird-like creatures soared on updrafts. Darting movements at my peripheral vision drew my attention as if watching a tennis match. Something black and brown hid in those grasses to my left. A green blur vanished at my right. Something scurried over my boot and disappeared into the field.
My plot of land boasted tall sweeping grasses swaying in a hot wind that my in-visor monitor’s temperature display said was 101 degrees Fahrenheit. Anything could be hiding in that grass. A tree, about two feet in diameter, stood thirty-five feet away, maybe halfway between the pod and the tree line. Something could be up in the tree. With sound amplified through mics, I could hear the pleasant trickle of water from the stream. Even an innocent brook might harbor creatures never imagined. I pressed a fist to my sternum. My pulse throbbed. Sweat tickled my temple.
I would start exploring the stream first, despite my nerves.
Sweeping the industrial-grade machete over the grasses, I cleared a trail as I went. I planned to create a “yard” anyway, to give myself plenty of safe area for working.
A droning sound came from overhead, and I ducked. My heartbeat raced as I gasped and craned my neck to see what it was. A huge black insect hovered above me, arching its back so its vicious barbed rear angled up. Its flurry of transparent wings blurred, and before I knew it, several more swarmed out of nowhere.
“Stop!” I swung my machete at them, but they swarmed. I felt pressure at several points on my suit but no punctures or pain, just my sore arm from the GVB shot. Viscous blue venom sprayed with every thrust, until one of them fell dead at my feet.
The others landed on it and began chewing it with blue-black mandibles, using their sharp shiny limbs to “elbow” one another out of the way.
Panting, I stood back, holding the machete poised to kill. But they were now preoccupied. I stepped back slowly, never letting my gaze drift from the horrific bloody scene in front of me.
They cannibalized their brother without thought, so I crouched inch by inch, wary to draw their attention once more, and once the grasses obscured me, I waited for them to finish their meal and depart.
There were seven, not including the mash they wiped off their serrated mandibles with flexible phalanges on the ends of their double-jointed black legs. A deep shudder rippled through me. I swallowed and watched them drift away on an invisible eddy.
I sat on my haunches and composed myself for a minute.
That was close!
I choked back a tight swallow. I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Those things were the size of bobcats, just as fierce, and they could fly. I wished I could swivel my head like an owl. What else was out there? I hugged my knees to my chest, remembering my father telling me not to move, right before he drove a shovel into the poisonous snake just a strike away. I shook my head of the memory, trying to recover my equilibrium.
A bowling ball-sized force came out of nowhere and knocked me face-first into the grass. I clawed at the soil as I tried to wrap my head around what had just happened. The realization I was being attacked only dawned on me when I caught a glimpse of something brown slithering coiling around my waist.
Panic surged, and I froze just long enough for the hold to tighten and really start to hurt. The rolling coil had turned me onto my back, so I could take in all of my would-be killer: a monstrous serpent that looked nothing like an Earth snake but was still undeniably serpentine. It had to be six inches around, if not more, and squeezed tighter with each passing second.
The sight of it finally spurred me into action, and I groped around me blindly, looking for the machete that was no longer in my hand. I kept my gaze trained on the monster, looking for identifiable features like a head or a tail, trying to figure out where to strike once I—
My hand closed around the handle of the blade and I swung. My only keen sense as the air was forced out of me was to not chop off one of my own limbs. Whatever I struck of the monster would work.
I chopped wildly, recklessly, and still it tightened its coils, as if its reaction to pain was to make sure its prey died quicker. I was losing sensation in my hand, and my head pounded. I would lose consciousness soon and then …
But the Great Spirit was looking out for me; I swung, and, instantly, the pressure eased. Not much, but some. Enough for a breath. Enough to fill my aching lungs. I took in as much oxygen as I could get through the valves and tried to hit that same spot again. Somewhere in the bloody mess was a weak point, and I’d uncovered it. A final desperate stroke and it slugged off, its erratic crawling pathetic and messy. Strips of meat hung off it, and blood smeared the grasses and dirt. The grasses parted as it slithered away, but then I noticed a shiver rise from the tall reeds in several different spots. A herd of speckled rodents scissored through the grasses and fed off the tattered creature while it crawled.
I felt a brush against my leg and screamed, jumping a foot to the side. The gleam of a second slithering thing caught my eye, and I fought the temptation to retreat to the pod. I swung at the thing, sick satisfaction flooding my gut and calming my breaths when more rodents erupted from the grasses and fed on the constrictor, even as I smote it, hit after hit. Together, we took its life.
With tears streaming down my face, I rested with hands on knees, taking in great breaths. How long had I been on this planet? Already the peril of this place had me on edge. Fear parried with my need to control, and it had the upper hand.
I trudged through the grass, searching for the air sampler. I found it, relieved to see it was none the worse for wear. I toggled the “on” button and held it as I made my way toward the stream again, mindful that every action on this planet would be quadruple the effort than it would be back home, even with t
he less strenuous gravity.
Sunlight skated across the brook ripples, and silver fish leaped over the little rapids, sewing a seam among the purple and orange rocks that jutted from the water. I lost my breath for a moment, mesmerized by the light play. I approached the stream.
“Vector, water composition?”
“Unpolluted, covalently bonded, hydrogen molecules with oxygen,” Vector said in my ear. “Potable after filtering microbiota.”
Squatting, I took a shaky breath and closed my eyes as I felt the push of water over my hand through my glove. Once I knew what the atmosphere’s composition was, maybe I could bathe here. Fish. Swim.
Something brushed my glove, and I started, pulling my hand out of the water so fast I teetered on my heels. The fish? Eel? I peered closer. Snake? Whatever it was, its long, sinuous, and forest-green body slipped between some rocks and disappeared.
If I hadn’t been helmeted, I would have bitten the back of my hand to prevent the sob ripping from my throat. Tears formed in my eyes. As much as I wanted to pretend this was just another Earth, that bloodbath back there had been proof-positive that it wasn’t. And it never would be. Fish and swim? I scoffed. I’d be lucky to live out the next three days. I shut my eyes and bit my lip hard.
Feeling sorry for yourself won’t heal that skinned knee, Pattee. Get up and try again. It’s just a scratch.
I blinked the tears away and sniffed, then scooped water to rinse away any residue of blue venom and black blood from my suit. Most liquids sloughed off by themselves from the fabric. I turned off the air sampler, secured it in a side pocket, and rinsed my machete blade. The blade would require sharpening soon. Sparing a wistful glance at the stream, I stood and faced my campsite.
Tracked on Predator Planet (Predator Planet Series) Page 2