by Tim Marquitz
Most of the group nodded in agreement, heads bobbing, Torbon most of all, though, for once, he actually kept his mouth shut.
Taj let the Tom loose after Beaux’s declaration, and he darted off to pass along Gran’s message, but she couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of what they would have to do soon. She couldn’t picture these aliens doing anything but what they’d already done: shoot at peaceful Furlorians. The next time, people wouldn’t be so lucky to escape with a few cuts and scrapes. Of that, she was certain.
While Culvert city was the primary settlement on Krawlas, the largest of the three established, it was little more than an outpost on the far edge of the Omaratus Universe. The Furlorians settled there because of its out-of-the-way location, its distance from other “civilized” worlds.
Those Furlorians who’d wanted even less to do with others after the horrors of the war spread across the planet to live or die on their own, having little to no contact with those of Culvert City.
Gran Beaux and the other survivors hadn’t wanted anything more to do with modern civilization after their escape, and for good reason, or so it seemed to Taj today. And while that had kept Krawlas peaceful, a good place to raise self-reliant litters without the stresses of a fast-paced or corrupt society, it had stripped the Furlorians of the one thing they’d had in abundance on their old world: technology.
These days, the most viable tech they had was the Thorn, a windrider crafted from the spare parts of a broken-down, sub-orbital fighter and a crop duster, as well as the Paradigm and the Voltar. The latter had been the two antiquated freighters the people had traveled to Krawlas in. The Paradigm was the only one that remained functional. The Voltar had been scavenged for parts over the ages.
Neither of the ships had been considered high tech, not even the day after they’d been built. They’d been created more for grunt duty and hauling supplies and people than anything resembling warfare. And while the sturdy freighters had seen the Furlorians through the harshness of space after the war, that journey and the intervening years of minimal maintenance and over-use hadn’t done the last remaining ship any favors.
Much like the Thorn and Gran Beaux, the Paradigm was a temperamental old beast, getting by more on stubbornness rather than any real upkeep. It had run out of any substantive fuel source cycles ago and had been hidden away inside an underground cavern to keep it from being picked up by orbital scans.
Rowl only knew if the ship still functioned on more than an essential level. If the Furlorians had to rely on the freighter to see them free of their current predicament, as they had so long ago, Taj knew they were spitting into a sparkstorm.
“We are so screwed,” Torbon muttered. Lina elbowed him in the ribs before Taj could do it. He grunted, covering his side against another attack. “What? I’m only saying what we’re all thinking.”
“Keep it to yourself, boy,” Beaux told him. “Now ain’t the time for defeatist thinking, ya hear? We got more important things to focus on.”
“Yes, sir.” Torbon dropped his chin to his chest, offering a shallow nod of deference.
Taj didn’t believe he meant it for an instant, but it sure didn’t hurt to show some respect to Gran Beaux. Otherwise the smack he got from Lina would be nothing compared to catching a blow across the head from Gran’s cane. Wouldn’t have been the first time it happened.
“`Sides, we don’t even know what these folks want yet. All this could be a misunderstanding, their folks spooked by you popping up out of nowhere. No telling how disoriented these aliens might be after their crash.”
Taj stared at the old Tom, peering into the slits of his eyes. She knew him too well to think he actually believed that, but she didn’t question him out loud since it was clear he was playing to the crowd and managing expectations.
It was how he oversaw the settlement since they’d arrived, and long before. It was a skill he’d done his best to pass on to Taj over the turns, grooming her to take over in his stead when the fateful—and, hopefully, far off—day came that he could no longer do it himself.
She wasn’t looking forward to being in charge. Fortunately, she didn’t have to be today.
Beaux waved the crowd away. “Go home, get your families, and head on over to the meeting hall so we can figure out what needs to be done. And don’t dawdle. Don’t know what kind of time we’re looking at `fore these aliens come a calling. Best to be prepared and waiting than caught with our tails stuck between our cheeks.”
The throng started off, muttering and whispering among themselves, casting furtive glances back toward Gran Beaux and the crew, as if hoping to overhear something more before they moved on too far. Beaux, though, held his tongue until they were all well out of earshot, shooing them on with a wave of his cane every time they slowed even a tiny bit. Then he turned back and met the eyes of each of the crew, one after another, until he settled on Taj.
“Don’t no one come here on purpose,” he started, “or for good reason.”
“Besides us?” Torbon asked.
Cabe sighed, and Beaux shuffled in place, propped against his cane.
“That’s why we’re out here, boy, to stay as far away from other folks as possible. No good comes of being overly neighborly to an advanced species, I tell ya. Know this from experience, I do, having tried to settle a few other places before we found this here planet. That these folks came in shooting first, not bothering to ask questions, tells me I’m right. We’re looking at a rough few days unless we can scatter to the wind or find a good place to hunker down, out of sight, out of mind.”
“So, we hide?” Cabe asked. “Is that what we’re supposed to do?”
Beaux shuffled forward and clasped a hand on Cabe’s shoulder, squeezing. “I know I done been teaching you to fight and fly your whole gacking life, boy, but that’s for when your scruff’s against the wall and ain’t no other way. No point in risking our necks if we can scamper for a dark hole and stay outta sight until the situation becomes clearer, safer. Fighting’s a last resort. If no one gets hurt, that’s the way I’d prefer to go, ya hear?”
Cabe nodded. Taj knew he didn’t quite agree, the excitement of doing something, anything, other than chasing loose balborans or herding trrilacs were what the crew dreamed of. Excitement was sparse on Krawlas, worse so in Culvert City, the pinnacle of modernity here at the edge of the universe. Still, Taj could tell Cabe understood where old Gran was coming from despite his reservations.
Quiet and peaceful, boring as it might be, it was safe. Everyone went home for dinner at night and woke up healthy, barring old age or the rare accident. The arrival of a destroyer packed tight with trigger-happy soldiers stuck on the planet, while interesting and new for sure, was a threat to the Furlorians existence. One that could bring death and destruction to everyone they knew. They couldn’t take their arrival lightly.
Beaux shook Cabe’s shoulder. “Now, go on and get to the hall, all of ya,” he said, “but before ya do, be sure to swing by the armory and let old Rogue there know I told him to set you up with some firepower. Nothing fancy, ya hear, but some good, solid pistols or two. Maybe a rifle, in case our alien friends get to showing up early.” He tugged Cabe forward, inching out of the way to let him pass. “And hurry. I’ll meet you in the hall shortly.”
Taj grunted her acknowledgement and pushed Torbon and Lina forward, forcing them to move along with Cabe. “Will do, Gran. Be careful, whatever you plan on doing,” she told him, knowing he had something in mind. It wouldn’t be Beaux if he didn’t.
He grinned and shooed them off. “Don’t ya be worrying about me, girl. Take care of business like I said, and I’ll see ya soon.”
Taj nodded and started off, but let her gaze linger over her shoulder on the old Tom. As much as he’d been a stable presence in her life, ever since she could recall peeling her eyes open the first time, she couldn’t help but think this might well be the last time she ever saw him.
An empty pit opened in her stomach at the thought,
and she felt flush, not looking away until he disappeared from sight as the crew marched down the street.
Never before in her life had she wanted to be more wrong than right then.
Chapter Seven
Gran Merr, or Mama as everyone called her instead of using her official title, stood at the podium, unconsciously clacking her claws against the wood in a steady rhythm, whiskers flittering.
Unlike Beaux, who had a rugged brusqueness to him, despite his thinning fur and aging frame, Mama was a wisp of a woman who always bore a smile for everyone; at least to their face.
She had sharp claws when she needed them, as Taj could attest, having seen them up close more than a time or two growing up wild like she had after her mom had passed on.
Mama’s fur had long ago turned white, like snow on a high mountain peak, reflecting the light of the hall with brilliant sparkles. She had on spectacles that magnified the emerald of her eyes, and there was no mistaking the intelligence lurking behind the glasses. She stared out over the crowd, waiting quietly as the group debated back and forth about her last statement.
The gathering was torn between riding out to meet the aliens and hiding away in the narrow catacombs that ran beneath Culvert City. It was one of the more functional reasons the Grans had decided to settle where they had on Krawlas. While the tunnels were little more than a labyrinthine mass of crawlspaces, somewhat re-shaped for better function, they had saved the Furlorians from a number of past tragedies, from trrilac stampedes to tornados.
Unfortunately for those here now, the population of Culvert City had grown beyond those early days. While still barely numbering two hundred or so Furlorians in the wayward town, that was probably eighty more than could comfortably squeeze into the warrens while still giving them room to move and store supplies. That left a lot of folks scrambling for someplace to hide if things went south with the aliens.
A cold chill crept spider-like down Taj’s spine at the thought of what might happen if things turned violent. Furlorians were good at scattering, darting into the wilderness to vanish.
A good number of their people had gone nomad cycles back, but Taj knew there’d be nowhere to hide on the barren planet if the aliens turned the full might of their efforts to finding them.
The warrens were safe, for a time. The thick rock and minerals of the planet deflected deep scans, but the rest of the world was open fields and broad spaces. There was nothing providing long-term shelter or cover from the elements or encroaching forces.
All it would take was for a few of the Furlorians trapped outside to be captured before a dedicated alien menace learned the location of the rest of the people. As brave, strong, and independent as Furlorians were, they’d been alone on Krawlas for gack-near a century now. Only the Grans were true warriors, the only ones among them who had seen non-simulated combat. Taj couldn’t picture them holding their own, or their tongue, for long under duress.
“As I was saying…” Mama Merr’s voice broke through the clamor, subtly reminding folks that her presence was as sharp as her claws. The crowd grew quiet in a rush. “We’re not being given much in the way of options here. I know several of you want to gather arms and rush out to meet these aliens, confront them and see what they want before they come to us, which is inevitable given that they crashed here and are likely stuck. Still, what do we know of these aliens?”
“They love their guns!” Torbon called out, hiding his face and muffling his voice to try and keep from being recognized.
Mama Merr nodded, pointing a finger in the general direction of the crew, who lingered near the back. “Torbon is right,” she said, calling him out despite his pathetic attempt at subterfuge.
Cabe and Lina chuckled, and Taj muzzled her own laugh as Torbon’s cheeks burned red beneath his fur. His Aunt Jadie shook her head at him from across the room, shushing him with a paw to her lips.
Mama went on. “They opened fire on our children, offering nothing but violence from the get-go.”
“That’s why we need to hit `em back!” Grady called out from the front row, his flabby, striped-cheeks wiggling beneath the weight of his thick whiskers. “We need to show these aliens they can’t come here and roust us out of our homes `cause their bad luck landed `em here on our home.” A mutter of agreement floated through the crowd. “We done staked our claim to Krawlas, and ain’t no one got the right to take that from us. We earned our place, and I’ll be gacked if some stranded aliens are gonna take it from us.” More folks raised their voices in support, the room erupting into heated debate once more.
“Too true,” Mama called out, slicing through the noise like she was scraping mud, shaking it from her claws. “But when’s the last time you used your rifle for something other than scooching your nip pouch across the porch because you were too lazy to get up out your chair and grab it, Grady? Have you even cleaned that thing since we landed here? Got any energy packs with juice left?”
Muffled laughter burst to life, stilling only when Grady stiffened in his seat and turned to stare at the crowd. The amusement flickered back to life the moment he turned back around to glare at Gran.
“The same goes for the rest of you before you start in on Grady as if he’s the only one,” Mama told them, gesturing toward the gathered throng, shaking a finger at each. “None of us have had to battle for our lives since we set down here, so long ago. Yeah, maybe we’ve had some trials and tribulations, hard and lean times now and again, but no one’s pointed a weapon at your head and tried to punch a hole in it to take what’s yours.”
She straightened as best as her back would allow and let her green gaze roam the assembly. “I don’t see but maybe thirty old-timers in all the faces here, veterans who’ve seen action, who have spilled blood in the name of our people, and most of them are near as old as me and Gran Beaux.”
“Ain’t nobody that old!” someone shouted.
The laughter reared to life again as Mama’s smile broadened before fading a degree or two a moment later. “That may be true, but I’ve held the futures of living beings in my hands before, felt the warmth of someone’s life dripping wet and sticky between my claws. How many of you can say that?”
There were a few muffled acknowledgments, the oldest of the Furlorians muttering that they had, faces hard with shame, grief, or some emotion Taj wasn’t entirely sure she understood or recognized.
Regardless, those grizzled few certainly didn’t look as if they relished getting into another fight or having that thrust upon them again. It was the younger ones who looked angry, determined, ready to go to war.
She recognized the gleam in their eyes as she turned and glanced at her crew. They, too, had the same shimmer, a coloring in their cheeks that highlighted their excitement. Yes, they were obviously worried, scared even, but she could see they wanted to stand up for something, to fight to defend their home like the stories the old Grans had told them.
They clearly understood there would be a cost, but since none of them had paid such a price before, including Taj, she was certain they were oblivious to what was to come. She sure was, though her imagination more than filled in the horrible gaps.
Taj fiddled with the bolt pistol strapped to her leg, an errand claw running its length. It was one thing to imagine fighting for your life, getting drawn into the romanticism of protecting one’s home and kin like they told of in the books and holos, but the reality of it was etched across the faces of the Grans and elders.
There was reluctance there and, to Taj’s surprise, real fear, something she couldn’t recall having ever seen before. She stared at the crew’s faces for several long, silent moments, wondering what was running through their minds. And then it struck her, a hazy memory of a conversation she’d had with Gran Beaux long before she even reported for her first day of service. She’d been little more than a kitten.
The elders didn’t want to avoid war because they were scared of dying, but because they were afraid of what it would do to those made to serve, how i
t would impact their lives and futures. Their own lives had been made harder, more bitter, darker—jaded Beaux had once said.
Taj remembered hearing the Grans lament the loss of innocence that had happened in the aftermath, and how the young paid the price for it all. Beaux and Mama didn’t want that for their litters, and that’s why they’d settled so far from the rest of the populated universe, hoping to escape such cruelty by avoiding the cause of it. Other people.
Still, as fate would have it, no one escaped the bleaker aspects of life for long, no matter how hard they tried.
Taj sighed and pulled her gaze from the ground and placed it back on Mama Merr as the old Gran went on.
“I don’t want any more blood on my hands, and I know none of the other Grans do either. As such, I think it best that we—”
A massive explosion cut her off, the whole room shuddering under their feet. Whirls of dust stirred in the rafters, and the boards creaked. A harsh whistle screeched nearby, and there was another explosion, another shaking the ground. The front doors of the meeting hall were flung open.
“The aliens are here already! Shuttles brought them,” an older Tom shouted through cupped hands as he stepped through the doorway. He looked flustered, winded.
“How many?” Taj asked, but her question would never be answered.
Painfully familiar green bolts of energy tore through the door frame, and the old Tom’s back at the same time. Wood splintered and went flying, followed by blood and shards of bone.
The old Tom grunted as he was knocked forward by the impact of multiple blaster shots. Black holes welled at his chest before his shirt ran red. Wide-eyed, his voice stolen along with his life, he crumpled to the floor without a sound. The assemblage stared on, frozen in place until Mama Merr’s voice cut the strings of their hesitance.